by Amy Spalding
Last night may have been the best night of my life.
I’ll back up. When I walked by Paws for People, I didn’t see Jane at all. There was a guy working, but he wasn’t a douchebag--he was like a dad type. So I started to go in. But then I thought, wait, maybe that guy actually is Jane’s dad. So here are the problems with that:
If Jane and I end up going out, I want to plan out what to say and what I’m wearing when I meet her parents. It can’t just be some random day when I have on a random T-shirt and when I have nothing composed to say to them.
I actually always get along really well with people’s parents. One of the worst things that ever happened to my rep was when I went to Darcy Levien’s party freshman year and ended up talking to her parents all night about their vinyl. Come on! They had a freaking awesome collection! Original Nirvana! Sub Pop Bleach! They were way more interesting than anyone else there. But on Monday morning, even though stuff went down like Ryan Holland and Michaela Brewster hooking up, and Logan Perry throwing up in Jesse Torres’s good-luck hat, all these people were talking about what a loser I was for staying in the house all night and not going out to the backyard where the party was. Writing it out now, I guess I can see how I was kind of a loser. Still--the Slits’ “Typical Girl” 7-inch! The Voidoids’ Destiny Street--and not the Razor & Tie reissue, the Red Star Records original pressing. Amazing. My point’s that if Jane walks out of the back room or wherever else she could be while I’m bonding with her dad, any forgotten memories of me being a loser and hanging out with parents are going to rush to the surface and she will never fall in love with me.
I’m only doing this to talk to Jane in the first place. I’m not wasting time pretending to love disabled pets for any other reason.
So I walk over to Silverlake Coffee and the barista’s pretty cute so I try to talk to her but she seems busy and I don’t want to be disrespectful to Jane so after I kill some time I walk back and she’s there.
I go in and she smiles and says, “Hi, Reid,” which is awesome. She knows my name! We talk about world history, and how Mr. Agos’s tests don’t seem fair but we do okay on them so we’re not too worried. She asks me about the Gold Diggers, and I tell her how we might play at the fall formal, and she tells me to let her know for sure because she’s not usually into dances but she’d go if we were playing. Which is amazing. I tell her I’ll let her know, and I give her a Gold Diggers button, which she pins to her jacket. Without hesitation!
The dad-type guy comes out of the back and says Jane has to walk some of the dogs, and I think he’s waiting to get me alone so he can yell at me, but I guess Jane did have to walk dogs because this guy just takes over answering questions about dogs, and he decides I would get along really well with this dog with only one eye for some reason. All the dogs there have something wrong with them so there’s probably no symbolism in that.
I hang out with the dog for a while so that Jane comes back in before I go, and I act like I’m going to go home and talk to my mom and I make a big deal out of how much I love this dog and so Jane seems happy and actually so does the dad-type guy and Jane is still wearing the button (not like I thought she’d take it off outside but I did think it was a possibility) so I say good-bye because it feels like I’m leaving on a high note.
Jane says to hang on, and she puts all the dogs back where they’re supposed to go, and she walks out with me and hugs me! She says it’s great I care about animals, and she’s crossing her fingers everything works out for me and this dog. So I thank her and act like I feel the same way about the dog and leave.
It was an amazing evening.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturday night I stop at Albertsons on my way to Garrick’s to buy some root beer and Nerds because I feel like being a good guest. Garrick’s house is up in the hills past the Shakespeare Bridge, which is not that fancy or big a bridge to be the namesake of the most famous writer of all time. It’s like naming our guesthouse the Beatles Manor.
“Hi, Riley.” Garrick opens the front door of the sage-and-white house tucked behind a ridiculous number of palm trees. You have no idea whose parents think stuff like extra palm trees are important when you’re at school together, but the second you walk up to someone’s house for the first time, all these details come spilling forth.
“I brought Nerds,” I tell him. “And root beer.”
“Cool. I love root beer,” he says with a big smile. “Come on in.”
“Thanks for inviting me over,” I say. “This is way better than the library. I don’t trust any place with a Leonardo DiCaprio computer wing.”
“He did donate a lot of money for those computers,” Garrick says. “But this will be better. My parents are out, so we should be able to get a lot of studying done.”
“Rock on,” I say, walking inside and glancing around the front room, which is the kind of eclectic that doesn’t happen naturally. Mismatched artwork and photographs and posters decorate the walls, a purple throw rug covers most of the hardwood floor, and none of the furniture matches. Garrick’s dad is a TV director, so I assume the chaos is strictly on purpose. Fancy creative people love chaos. It’s weird someone could love chaos and also breed to produce Garrick, geneticist in training, but probably no more so than my academic parents ending up with me.
Garrick and I settle in the living room with our books, him on the couch and me on the floor. I am way more interested in the as-promised fresh chocolate chip cookies Garrick’s mom left for us than studying, but I manage both.
“What is the name of NaClO?” he asks me.
“Mffffwww,” I say, because my mouth is stuffed full of hot, melty, salty-sweet chocolate chip action. I wonder why more songs aren’t written, monuments aren’t built, wars aren’t fought over chocolate chip cookies.
“Wrong,” he says. “It’s sodium hypochlorite.”
“It’s really weird you knew what I said,” I say, and he laughs.
“I know. But I did. Okay, diamond is composed of what bonds?”
Of course I’d already reached for another cookie, so: “Mmmvvnt?”
“Perfect, yeah, covalent.”
I pump my fist like I just scored a home run or some other sports thing. “These are basically the best cookies I’ve ever had.”
“They’re pretty great,” he says. “Oh, you probably want to turn music on, right? I can turn some music on.”
“Yeah, I study way better with music,” I say, even though I’m scared about the kind of tunes a future geneticist rocks out to. So I toss him my iPod, and he hooks it up to the stereo and plays an Allo Darlin’ album, and maybe it’s just because it’s one of the first alphabetically, but, still, good selection.
“Your turn,” he says. “Quiz me.”
I swipe his flash cards even though this seems pointless. Garrick knows everything there is to know about science, and he proves that point right by… well, knowing everything I ask him. It’s so predictable that when I ask “If you have two-point-five moles of oxygen, you need how many moles of hydrogen for complete combustion?” and he answers “Five” and I tell him “Nope! Try again, contestant!” it’s clear I’m just being stupid and of course he’s right.
“You’re going to do fine,” I tell him.
“You’ll do good, too,” he says, less enthusiastically, but I think he means it. “So, are you going to the fall formal?”
“Reid’s trying to see if we can play at the dance,” I say. “Are you?”
“I was seeing if you wanted to go,” he says.
Oh, oh, oh, WHAT!
“No!” I say. I kind of shout it, actually. I sound like a Grade A jerk. “I just mean—I can’t. I’ll either play or I won’t go. I don’t like school functions.”
“Except Yearbook.”
“Except Yearbook, yeah. That’s just because I know I have to have some extracurriculars to get into a decent college.” I shrug because I would rather dwell on Yearbook and college than this weird possibility that DID GARRICK JUST ASK ME OUT?
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I look over at him and try to evaluate him as a new person, as if I didn’t know he liked DNA and molecules and got excited about his mom’s cookies. Okay, to be fair, I was pretty excited about his mom’s cookies, too. And Garrick is no Ted Callahan (who is?), but he isn’t reprehensible. His dark blond hair is shaggy in front, which I approve of, and he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which is boring but isn’t a sin, either. (To be fair, most of the time Ted Callahan wears jeans and T-shirts, too, though his are always faded in this perfect vintage manner.) Garrick’s body is kind of shaped like that of a Lego man—rectangular torso and stick legs—but that’s nothing awful.
Wait, what is going on? Why am I evaluating Garrick like a dude and not a lab partner, and did he actually just ask me out?
“Extracurriculars are a smart idea,” he says.
The subject seems firmly changed, and I am firmly okay with that. The flash cards come back out, but I am now juggling thoughts about the potential ask-out, about shaggy hair, about being alone on a Saturday night with a boy who isn’t Reid.
Which is how I end up joining Garrick on the couch. I make a face like it’s weird that I’m there, and he laughs, and I touch his hair, SINCE IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE GOTTEN TO TOUCH TED’S, and I guess it is very much a foregone conclusion we are going to kiss, but what I am not expecting at all is that Garrick is actually a crazy good kisser. Perfect amount of pressure, moisture, lips he clearly uses balm on, good breath, good use of tongue. Check, check, check, perfect kissing report card, Garrick.
What is happening?!
“I’m going to have some Nerds.” I reach for candy while I regret my choice of words because I am TOTALLY HAVING A NERD, AREN’T I. Wait, is Garrick even a nerd? Is it that he just likes science and doesn’t seem to have much of a social life? I am a freaking rock star and I was free on a Saturday, too. Seriously, the world is upside-down and outside-in.
The Passenger Manifest is in my purse, practically beckoning me to detail what is going on. If it had the technology, it would be sending out its version of the Bat Signal to Reid.
“I’ll have some, too,” he says, holding his hand out. Garrick isn’t acting awkward at all. Garrick is a master of making out: he’s good at it and he doesn’t act like it altered the course of time and space afterward.
“Should we study more?” I ask. It’s the first time in the history of Garrick and Riley, Chemistry Lab Partners, that I am the one to suggest more studying.
“Yes.” He smiles and grabs for the flash cards again. As if studying makes him so happy. Okay, I know studying does make him happy. He’s the master of making out and studying.
Studying: expected. Making out: the opposite.
“If a reaction releases heat, it is a what kind of reaction?” he asks.
“Exothermic?” I guess. I’m right!
“Your turn.” He passes the cards to me.
Our hands touch for a second, and it isn’t electric, and it isn’t exciting, but our hands are touching, and not long ago our freaking lips and faces were touching, and I may have touched the heck out of his shaggy hair, and IS IT NORMAL WE AREN’T SAYING ANYTHING ABOUT THAT?
No, seriously, I have no idea. Is it?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Romance Playlist, by Reid
The Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side--Magnetic Fields
Speedy Marie--Frank Black
The Luckiest--Ben Folds
The Blues Are Still Blue--Belle & Sebastian
Talk about the Passion--R.E.M.
Punk Rock Girl--The Dead Milkmen
I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother’s Heart--The White Stripes
Such Great Heights--The Postal Service
All I Need--Radiohead
Lola--The Kinks
You Said Something--PJ Harvey
Jesus, Etc.--Wilco
Do You Realize??--The Flaming Lips
When My Baby’s Beside Me--Big Star
Go Places--The New Pornographers
Songs for Love and Sex, by Riley
Modern Love--David Bowie
You’re So Great--Blur
Step into My Office, Baby--Belle & Sebastian
Strange Currencies--R.E.M.
Always Looking--Dum Dum Girls
Maps--Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Damn Girl--Justin Timberlake featuring will.i.am
Friday I’m in Love--The Cure
Anyone Else but You--The Moldy Peaches
Take Me with U--Prince
Yeah You--Andrew Mothereffing Jackson
By Your Side--Beachwood Sparks
Take Me Anywhere--Tegan and Sara
Whole Wide World 4 England--Wreckless Eric
When You’re Young--The Jam
Free Money--Patti Smith
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“We need to talk.” Approximately fourteen hours have passed since the Garrick Incident, so I’m positive I say it calmly into the phone.
“We do,” Reid replies. “Meet at Fred Sixty-Two?”
“Now?” I ask.
“Yeah. Now.”
I leave my room and barely fully enunciate a “meeting Reid” to Mom and Dad, who are huddled over Dad’s iPad trying to solve a crossword puzzle together. It takes no time to get to Fred 62, but parking is horrible, and I see Reid strutting like an old-timey dude while I’m circling and praying to whatever’s out there that a space opens up.
“Did you see?” Reid greets me when I finally walk up. “My car is right around the corner. Parking magic.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
“A lot to talk about,” he says. “Let me see the book.”
My stomach is grumbling for a waffle, so I’m hoping we can get food into our systems before conversation or notebooking really begins. “In a minute.”
“Riley,” he says, then “Riley” again, the way you talk to a dog that isn’t listening to your commands.
“Fine.” I whip out the Passenger Manifest from my bag and smack him against the chest with it. “Take it back. There’s a lot I need to add but—”
“Good.”
“Good? How do you know? Oh my god,” I say. “ARE YOU FRIENDS WITH GARRICK?”
He looks confused. “Garrick Bell?”
I just nod.
“No—I mean, I know him, we have a bunch of classes together, we’ve hung out before but—” He appraises me with a look. “Why?”
We walk inside and sit down at a booth in the back.
“So what happened with Garrick Bell?” Reid asks.
“We were just hanging out studying,” I say.
“On a Saturday night?” Reid asks.
“It’s when we were both free,” I say. “So it was normal, and then I think he asked me to the fall formal—”
“You think?”
“Trust me, it was vague.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked if I was going, and when I said we might be playing, he said he was seeing if I wanted to go.”
“Riley.” Reid shakes his head like a wise old sage on top of a mountain. “He was clearly asking you.”
“No. Clearly would be, ‘Hey, Riley, do you want to go to the dance with me as my date?’ This was totally not clearly.”
“So what did you say?”
“Just that I’d only be going if we played.” I shrug. “You don’t have to hear all this stuff if you don’t want to.”
When we started divulging all of this stuff to each other, I never thought I would end up making out with frigging Garrick Bell, after all. MUCH LESS LIKING IT.
“No, tell me,” Reid says.
“Well… thenwesortofmessedaround,” I say, even though I’ve never said messed around before in my life, and if all you do is kiss with your front halves kind of smushed together and maybe an “accidental” boob touch or four, does that count as messing around?
“Whoa,” Reid says.
“And here’s the superweird thing,” I say as if nothing I’ve said yet has been superweird. �
�Garrick is a really good kisser.”
“No, I can see that.”
I almost miss the table as I set down my glass of water. “WHAT?”
Reid nearly knocks his own water over. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
I swat my menu at his head. “Why are you analyzing Garrick Bell’s kissing skills?”
“Ow, Riley, stop it.” He unsuccessfully blocks my every blow. “No, just because of Sydney.”
“Sydney who?”
“You don’t know?” Reid laughs, stops, then gets swept away by more laughter.
“I DON’T KNOW. TELL ME.”
“Sydney Jacobs,” he says, “went out with Garrick last year. Before he transferred to Edendale. I thought people knew that.”
It’s not that Sydney Jacobs is that famous. Okay, actually, yes, she’s famous, maybe more than a little, especially if you are under twelve, which until this year Ashley was. So I am well aware that Sydney Jacobs plays the lazy but aggressive best friend on eJenni, which I’m pretty sure never stops playing on Nickelodeon. So, no, she is not a rock star and she’s not even a movie star, but she’s something, and Garrick has dated that something. Probably messed around with that something.
Ohmygodwhatifhetotallydidit with that something.
“It’s weird you didn’t know that,” Reid says, like he’s an expert on everything.
“Crap,” I manage to say.
“Yeahhhh,” Reid says.
“So what about you?” I ask Reid. I’m sick of imagining how adorable and spunky Sydney must have looked all the time. I messed around with Garrick while wearing faded jeans and an even more faded Sleater-Kinney T-shirt. Not that clothes matter, but Garrick clearly could do and has done a lot better than me.
Reid smirks. “I’m glad you asked.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Sad Animal Project, Continued, by Reid
When I got in my car after practice I had a voice mail. It was Jane, seeing if I’d talked to my mom about the dog yet. I called Paws for People right away, and she answered, and just like last time we start talking right away, but this time she can’t talk for long since she’s on the work phone and she can’t tie it up.
