Page 103 of Intermission

“Two minutes, Slade,” a voice calls from behind me. “Quit gabbing and start hydrating. You won’t have another break for—oh.You.”

Gretchen’s former teammate, Fellowship Community choir member, and all-around sweet Christian girl—barf—Kaitlyn Roscoe moves into my line of sight. She crosses her arms over the whistle hanging around her neck. “What areyoudoing here?”

“Registration.” I have to work hard to keep from adding theduhthat’s on the tip of my tongue. “What areyoudoing here, Kaitlyn? Shouldn’t you be off at college or something?”

“I took this semester off. I’m volunteering as one of the team’s assistant coaches this fall. And by the way...” Kaitlyn visibly smacks her bright green gum, which is almost as gross as her condescending tone. “The girls are supposed to call me Coach Roscoe.”

“Well, I’m not on the team,Kaitlyn. So I guess that rule doesn’t apply to me.”

“From what I hear, you think a lot of rules don’t apply to you.”

I hold her stare until she looks away.

“Noah says you’re not like your sister,” she says, after an uncomfortable pause, “so I guess that includes volleyball, huh?”

“For real.” Jenna laughs, but it sounds forced. “If Faith wasn’t such a brainiac, I’d be surprised if she could even spell the word volleyball.”

“Too bad. The team could use someone with your sister’s talent this year. Her talent on the court, I mean.” Kaitlyn blows up at her bangs. “We missed you at Noah’s going away party Sunday night.”

“Did you? Since I wasn’tinvitedto the party you threw for Noah, I thought it would be kind of tacky to show up.”

“Hmm. I must have overlooked you. Sorry.” Her wide eyes and pouty lips reek of falseness. “But you’ll be happy to know we prayed for you. At Noah’s request, of course.”

The joint of my jaw twitches.

Kaitlyn Roscoe, ladies and gentlemen. The perfect example of a ‘nice Christian girl.’

Not wanting to stoop to her level, I seal my lips against the Tony-award-worthy soliloquy gaining script in my head.

“Um, Faith?” Jenna fidgets uncomfortably. “I think your mom’s trying to get your attention.”

“Right. See ya later, Jenna.” I don’t spare a parting word for Kaitlyn Roscoe.

I climb into the front seat of Mom’s car, which is already stifling from the August heat even though we were in the school for less thanhalf an hour.

Mom cranks the air. “I thought we’d go shopping this weekend. Get your school supplies and stuff. Maybe start scoping out some homecoming dresses?”

“Sure.”

“Try to contain your excitement, Faith.”

“Sorry.” I try to inject a little more enthusiasm into my voice. “Shopping. Sounds like fun.” But how can the mundane prospect of new pencils and notebooks excite a brain concentrating on the objective Gretchen planted in my brain? I have to find a way to see Noah one last time.

But how?

Numbness steals across my chest as I fasten my seatbelt. How is Noah spending his last full day in Iowa? Is he packing? Visiting friends? Working a final shift at the restaurant?

Mom pulls out of the parking lot and onto the street. “Don’t forget about your chore list. It’s on the table. And there’s a casserole in the refrigerator. Throw it in the oven around five or so. That way you and your dad can eat at six, as usual.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got a late meeting with a client at the Sommerton office tonight, so I’ll grab a quick dinner in town. It’ll be at least nine, maybe ten, before I get home tonight. And you know your father and his schedule.”

“No problem. Can I turn on the radio?”

“Fine. But no rap. Not even that historical Broadway rap stuff.”

“I’ve never heardHamiltonon the radio”—but that would be ah-maze-ing!—“so I think you’re safe.” I push the knob. “AM? Really?” I change to FM. “And in sports—” I hit the seek button. Classical music... doesn’t really fit my mood. The next stop is the shout of a Southern-accented preacher, so I hit the button again.