Page 48 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
Noah shakes his head. “Hedidfight. He got my sentence reduced, and my fine waived because he’s a good worker. But not the scholarship.” Noah looks down at the ground, but I can see that his brows are furrowed, and his jaw is clenched. “He said,That’s why it’s better not to even try to get into the big leagues. He didn’t want me to apply for the scholarship in the first place.”
I sigh. Everyone has failed Noah. His father. His brother. This stupid town. My stepfather. Because of Jason, or because of Jason’s family, neither Noah nor his father gets to follow his music dreams. I should tell my mother all of this… She has no idea what kind of man she married. I’ve never been angrier, or more ashamed to be a member of the LeClair family.
I’m going to do everything I can to help Noah Jacobs get the heck out of this town so he can make his dreams come true.
When we get to the cell phone shop, we have to wait for the lady to be free, so we play Tetris on my phone, taking turns playing rounds and comparing scores. He’s way, way better than me, but it’s still so much fun. Literally everything is fun with Noah. Eventually he gets his new SIM card.
“I didn’t wipe the phone,” I say as we’re walking out of theshop. “I meant to, but I forgot. I back up my pictures, though, so you can reset it to factory settings.”
“Okay.” He’s already tapping on the phone, eagerly setting everything up. “So, I have a vocal lesson in a few hours and was going to hang out in the park until then. Want to come? Unless… It will probably be boring for you.” He bites his lip nervously, and it’s so darn cute.
I shake my head, grinning. “Not boring at all. I’d love to watch you practice.”
He smiles as wide. “Okay. Perfect.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEENJust a Boy and His Guitar
When we get to Gordon Park, Noah goes straight to the bandstand. Seeing it up close, it’s in better condition than it seemed from far away. Yeah, there are a few wood planks that are rotted through, but the paint is the biggest issue. I have no idea what color it was originally, but now it’s a dirty gray-brown. The bandstand is basically a big octagon-shaped gazebo with a shingled roof and decorative wood at the roofline. There are two sets of stairs to get onto it and a short wood railing around the perimeter.
Noah climbs onto the stage, sits on the worn wood floor, then leans against one of the corner posts. He takes out his guitar and starts tuning it. I pull out my camera and take some pictures of the bandstand while he’s setting up. We’re going to start restoring it in CROP on Monday, so this will probably be the last time anyone documents what it’s like now. I can’t wait to get all this chipped paint off it, but right now it’s got…personality. Like, it looks lived in, not neglected. It’s actually quite beautiful.
And the most beautiful thing about the bandstand is Noah, sitting cross-legged in one corner, playing simple chords on his guitar. “Can I take your picture?” I ask.
He smiles and nods but doesn’t glance up. “Go nuts, Noorani. Make sure to get my good side.”
I laugh as I start snapping pictures of the bandstand and of Noah playing his guitar. Some close-ups, some distance shots. I play around with the settings, trying out different effects. Noah is pretty much ignoring me, just playing chords and stopping every once in a while to write something down in a notebook.
“What is it you’re working on?” I ask while shooting him from the other side of the bandstand.
“New song. Figured out the lyrics last night, so now I’m getting the chord changes nailed down.” He writes something in his notebook.
“Can I hear it?” I ask.
“Yeah, give me a few minutes… I’m almost done.”
Since we first met, Noah has always struck me as someone who was so sure of himself. But with his music, the confidence radiates off him. I smile. “I love how you have no stage fright. You’re instantly ready to let someone hear your brand-new song.”
He smiles, still not looking at me. “I’ve been in music lessons for years, and play at Donut Den almost every week. I’m way beyond stage fright by this point. I’d rather sing for most people than talk to them.”
Finally he tells me he’s ready. I ask if I can record him, and he agrees. He even tells me to send him the video after because he can use it to figure out how to improve. I shake my head, amazed. Noah needs to get out of this town and play music professionally. He wasbornfor it.
I switch my camera to video mode and sit in front of him. I’d prefer to have a tripod for this, but since I don’t, I lean down and rest my elbows on the floor to keep the camera steady.
After I hit Record, Noah starts playing.
The song isn’t what I expected. The tempo is slow, and it almost sounds haunting. His voice, that soulful, smooth voice I first heard at Donut Den sounds even better with this song. The lyrics seem to be about longing and feeling unworthy of someone. The chorus has the words “I want to be more, to be magic like you, more like the stars, more magic like you.”
The song is gorgeous. Noah is gorgeous. And I’m in so deep, I can barely breathe when he’s singing.
After I record his song, we head to Donut Den. Noah says Clara, his vocal teacher, doesn’t get off work for a bit so we can get a coffee first. When we’re at a booth with apple fritters and coffee in front of us, he waves at Clara behind the counter.
“Do you do your vocal lessonshere?” I ask incredulously. This is the last place I would’ve thought held music lessons. “Yeah. The owner lets Clara use one of the back rooms. She teaches a bunch of people in town. Clara is the one who started the open mic nights, mostly for her students.”
“That’s very cool. How did you meet her?”
He smiles. “Through my mom. There aren’t a lot of Filipinos in Cherrybridge, and when Mom lived here, a bunch of women used to get together regularly. Clara was born in Canada, though, unlike my mom. She grew up in Toronto.”
I nod along but remember the gossip that Noah was thefather of this woman’s kid, just because he spent time with her. It’s quite ridiculous. He’s part Filipino; of course he would spend time with other Filipinos in town.
