Noah (Angel Institute #7)

Chapter 7

Seven

NOAH

T he community center bustles with activity as I push the heavy glass doors open, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the chilly December evening. Cheerful chatter and laughter echo down the hallways, a reminder of the various holiday activities taking place throughout the building.

Paige bounces beside me. Her energy is infectious, and I find myself smiling despite the nervousness churning in my stomach. I’ve never been one for committee meetings or public events, preferring the solitude of my skate rental trailer or the quiet of my home. But Paige had been so excited about volunteering for the Christmas Parade that I couldn’t bring myself to chicken out.

My ankle has improved a lot. Sam rolled his a couple of years ago, and he gave me the printout from the physical therapist. I’ve been doing the exercises and icing it regularly. I hardly notice it anymore.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Paige says, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “I haven’t been to a Christmas Parade committee meeting since I was a kid. Remember how magical the parades used to be?”

I nod, a faint memory stirring of watching the parade with my siblings. “Yeah, seems like a lifetime ago.”

Paige laughs, the sound as bright and cheery as sleigh bells. “Well, get ready for a trip down memory lane because I have a feeling this is going to be just as magical as we remember.”

The center of the meeting room is dominated by a long rectangular table surrounded by comfortable-looking chairs. I can see power outlets built into the table’s surface, a modern touch that seems at odds with the traditional small-town feel of Benton Falls. A whiteboard and projector screen hang on one wall, while a small refreshment station is set up at the other, the rich aroma of fresh coffee mingling with holiday scents.

People are already gathered around the table, their excited chatter filling the room. I recognize most of them—it’s hard not to in a town this size—but seeing them all together like this, united in a common purpose, makes me realize I may have been missing out on something.

Martha Hendricks, the city secretary, sits at the head of the table, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in its usual neat bun. Beside her is Emily Thorne, owner of the local flower shop. Her face lights up with a warm smile as she discusses something with Sarah Chen. Sarah, who runs the town’s optometry practice, is arranging a platter of Christmas cookies on the refreshment table while her husband, Mike, chats animatedly with Lucas Ramirez, the eldest son of the family that owns the best Mexican restaurant in town.

Paige immediately dives into the fray, greeting everyone with hugs and excited exclamations. I hang back, offering small smiles and nods to those who catch my eye. The noise and energy of the room are a bit overwhelming after the quiet of my usual routine, but I push down the urge to retreat.

“Noah. So glad you could make it,” Martha says, waving me over to an empty seat. “It’s about time we got some new blood on the committee.”

I feel a pang at her words, a reminder of all the years I’ve spent on the sidelines, watching but never participating. She probably doesn’t mean it that way. I’m just used to filtering things through the lens my parents created, where they say something that sounds nice but it’s actually a sharpened blade. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be,” I start to say, but Paige cuts in.

“Don’t be modest, Noah. I’m sure you have plenty of great ideas for the parade,” she says, her eyes shining with encouragement.

Before I can protestPaige’s comment, Martha calls the meeting to order, and everyone settles into their seats. I’m sandwiched between Paige and Lucas, feeling a bit like a fish out of water as Martha starts going through the agenda.

As the meeting progresses, ideas are tossed around rapid-fire. Themes are debated (though nothing is decided), logistics discussed, and volunteer positions assigned. I’m content to sit back and listen, occasionally nodding when asked for an opinion. But Paige is in her element, enthusiastically contributing ideas and offering to take on tasks.

“What about you, Noah?” Emily suddenly asks, pulling me out of my passive observation. “Any ideas for the parade this year?”

I freeze, feeling all eyes turn to me. My mind goes blank, panic rising in my throat. Paige’s hand lands on my arm, a gentle, reassuring touch, and suddenly, an idea bubbles to the surface.

“Well,” I start hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper, “what if we showcased local artists and their work? Maybe have a float with live painting demonstrations or display reproductions of artwork along the parade route.”

The room falls silent for a moment, and my face burns. My idea isn’t like anything they’ve ever done before. They have done a Main Square theme, but nothing like this. There are two galleries in town and a couple of artists who have cabins where they do their work. They mostly sell things online, though. I’ve always wanted to talk to one of them but haven’t had the guts to just walk up to their door and ring the bell.

“That’s brilliant!” Paige claps her hands. “We have so many talented artists in town; it would be a great way to highlight their work and add a unique touch to the parade.”

Suddenly, the room is buzzing with enthusiasm. Sarah suggests having local businesses sponsor different art installations, while Mike proposes a photography contest leading up to the parade. Lucas chimes in about incorporating live music performances to complement the visual art.

I sit there, stunned, as my small suggestion snowballs into a central theme for the entire parade. Martha is beaming, jotting down ideas as fast as people can voice them. “Noah, this is exactly the kind of fresh perspective we needed,” she says. “Would you be willing to take the lead on coordinating the parade?”

My stomach drops. Lead? Coordinate? That’s not what I signed up for. I open my mouth to decline, but Paige jumps in before I can speak. “We’d love to. In fact, why don’t Noah and I co-chair the parade committee this year? Between his artistic vision and my event planning experience, I think we could really make this parade something special.”

The room erupts in agreement, and before I know what’s happening, Paige and I are being appointed as co-chairs. My head is spinning, a mix of panic and disbelief washing over me. How did I go from reluctant participant to co-chair in the span of one meeting?

As the meeting wraps up and people start to file out, offering congratulations and ideas as they go, I feel like I can finally breathe again. The relief is short-lived as the reality of what just happened sets in.

“Paige,” I say, my voice tight with barely contained frustration, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

Her smile falters. “Of course, Noah. What’s up?”

I wait until the room is empty before I let my feelings spill out. “What were you thinking? I can’t co-chair the parade committee. I don’t do things like this. I don’t put myself out there in front of everyone. I keep to myself, stay behind the window of my trailer, stay safe.”

Paige’s brow furrows in confusion. “Safe? What do you mean by ‘safe’?”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building that that is what she decides to focus on. “Being in charge of something makes me a target. People will judge what I do, and I don’t need their criticism. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, her head tilted to one side as she considers my words. Then she asks softly, “But if you don’t try something, how will you know if you like it or if you’re good at it?”

“I just know already,” I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t need a Christmas Parade fail on my back. I don’t even want to think about what people will say about me after that.”

Paige presses her lips together, a determined look crossing her face. “You’ve seen my channel, right?”

I nod, unsure where she’s going with this.

“Have you ever read the comments?”

I swallow hard, remembering some of the harsh words I’ve seen posted under her videos. I give a barely perceptible nod.

Paige’s voice takes on a mocking tone as she makes air quotes with her fingers. “Unoriginal. Small-town hick. Some people shouldn’t have passports. Clickbait—and not in a good way.”

I cringe at each horrible word, all of which I’d read before in the comment section of her videos.

“Do you know what?” Paige continues, her voice growing passionate. “I don’t care what they say. Just because they type it or say it or think it doesn’t make it true. What is true is that I love what I do, and it feeds my soul. At the least, I hope my channel is entertaining. At the most, I hope it’s an avenue for God to express Himself through me.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask, genuinely confused.

Paige’s eyes light up, and she starts gesturing as she speaks. “You express yourself through drawing, right?”

I nod, still not sure where she’s going with this.

“Well, that’s creation. God created us. We’re His creation. When we use the talents He gave us, it is an expression of Him. I make videos; you draw, Allen paints, the parade committee organizes, the Ramirez family cooks, the list goes on.” She pauses, drawing a deep breath. The passion she feels for this topic is evident, and I’m captivated by her energy. My fingers itch to draw her like this, to catch the fire in her eyes and the conviction in her stance.

“You’ve been holding back,” she continues, her voice softer now but no less intense. “Limiting God in your life. You need to let loose.” She pauses again, then adds quickly, “And you need to co-chair the parade with me because it will be a lot of fun, and I don’t want to do it alone. That’s boring.”

I can’t help but laugh a little at her sudden shift from profound to playful. It’s so typical Paige, and my resolve weakens.

Paige links her arm with mine. “I’m taking that as a yes. Let’s go to Violet’s, grab a couple of burgers, and talk about vision .” She waves her free arm across the air in front of us as if painting the word there.

I want to draw that, too, I realize. The way she moves, the enthusiasm that radiates from her—it’s all so vibrant and alive. It makes me want to pick up a pencil.

Instead, I f nod. “Alright,” I say, surprising myself with my agreement. “Let’s go to Violet’s.”

As we walk out of the community center and into the crisp night air, I’m struck by a realization. For the first time in years, I’m actually a little excited about something beyond my daily routine or the next workout Sam will have us do. The idea of involving local artists in the parade, of possibly creating something beautiful and meaningful for the whole town to enjoy, is creative in a whole new way.

Violet’s Diner is warm and inviting when we push through the door, the smell of coffee and grilled onions wrapping around us like a comforting blanket. We settle into a booth, and as Paige starts outlining her ideas for the parade, her eyes sparkling with excitement, I get caught up in her enthusiasm.

Maybe, I think as I listen to her talk about the people we need to talk to, including the police chief and the mayor, this won’t be so bad after all . Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to step out of my comfort zone. And as I look at Paige, I realize that maybe I’m opening myself up to more than just new possibilities in my career. Maybe, just maybe, I’m opening my heart as well.