by Amy Spalding
I guess that’s what dating is.
“Sure,” I say, doing my best to sound like this is standard operating procedure for me.
“Where do you live?” he asks. “I’m in Eagle Rock. We can pick a halfway spot.”
“I’m in Los Feliz,” I say. “Do you want to look at music at Jacknife Records in Atwater Village? And we can go to the farmers’ market and get free fruit samples and eat pupusas?”
Wow, I am suddenly brimming with ideas. Who knew!
“That sounds good,” he says. “Meet at twelve thirty?”
That doesn’t give me a ton of time to transform from Pajama Self to Normal Self, but I agree with this earlier-than-I’d-like time since he agreed with my agenda for the day. I was hoping dating would all be about hanging out and making out, but apparently there is also going to be compromise.
Milo is waiting at the entrance to the farmers’ market when I walk up, and he is like a vision, with his blond hair glowing in the sun and his Deerhoof T-shirt and his green Chuck Taylors and his jeans that I know would make his butt look awesome if he were to suddenly turn around. Milo, turn around!
“Hey,” he greets me. He is really good at casual.
“Hey.” I do an okay job myself, even without anywhere to lean.
“Come on.” He nods to the farmers’ market. “You said something about pupusas.”
“Totally, I did.” I walk in, past the booths selling fresh produce and organic homemade scented candles and fancy goat cheese, and get in line, with Milo right behind me. I always get really excited about getting pupusas, the fattest, most delicious corn tortillas stuffed with deliciousness, specifically beans and cheese and veggies and meat and whatever else, and topped with slaw and salsa and sour cream. Serious heaven.
“So how’s that Sandwiches album working out for you?” Milo asks.
“It hasn’t left my car stereo since I got it,” I say. “The sound is amazing, whatever they did remastering it.”
“Man, I never care about sound,” he says. “I feel like some of the best stuff’s recorded on crappy equipment in some dude’s basement, and it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t have to matter,” I say, “but when it’s something amazing, and then the sound’s great, too, it’s, like, synergy.”
Milo laughs, and I know I haven’t convinced him. It’s fine; I don’t need a frigging tuba player to back my music opinions.
“What kind do you want?” Milo asks me, stepping up to order.
“Two bean and cheese.” I don’t love the thing where because Milo’s a guy he’s supposed to pay, so I get a five out of my purse and hand it to him. He doesn’t act like that’s odd, so points gained for Milo.
We take our food and strawberry lemonades to the nearby picnic tables and, thanks to the crowd, end up sitting side by side.
“So what’s your band like?” Milo asks me.
“Kind of sixties garage pop is the best description, I guess,” I say. “I don’t always like saying who we’re like, since I hope we’re our own thing? But when I do, like, Smith Westerns, Best Coast, maybe, like, Rilo Kiley before they sold out.” I reach into my bag and take out one of our buttons from the Ziploc baggie that’s always with me. “This is us, if you want to go to our website; we have some demos and stuff.”
“Cool,” he says, examining the button and putting it into his pocket. “You guys need a tuba?”
“Not so much.” I take a sip of my lemonade. “Why did you get started playing the tuba anyway?”
“Some guy came to our school when I was in fifth grade or whatever with all these instruments and talked them up, and I thought the tuba was the shit. And I just kept playing. I’m good at it, so…” He laughs and shrugs.
“Is your band marching?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m in marching band, and I’m in orchestra, too.”
“Do you want to, like, play professional tuba someday?”
“I don’t know.” He takes a few huge bites of pupusa, which is liberally drenched in salsa. “I’m not really thinking ahead to that point yet. My teacher wants me to apply to Juilliard and all.”
“Seriously? You’re all blasé about applying to Juilliard?”
“I don’t think we should be making life decisions now,” he says.
I shrug. “Unless you know. I totally know what I want to do with my life.”
“Be a drummer?”
“Be a rock star,” I say. “I mean—you know, be in a band, be a serious musician, whatever.”
“You mean be a rock star,” he says with a huge grin.
I decide he isn’t patronizing me, and grin back.
“You ready to go sample some fruit?”
“No, hang on, I’m still eating,” I say with a nod to my paper plate.
“Are you going to the Vanderbilts show on Tuesday?” he asks.
“It’s not an all-ages show,” I say, my least favorite sentence about concerts, ever. Right before There’s a Ticketmaster charge. “Are you secretly twenty-one?”
“No, but I have ID that says I am.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You’re this into music and you don’t have an ID? We have to take care of that,” he says. “You miss out on way too much otherwise.”
“I KNOW!” I say more loudly than necessary. Take it easy, Riley. “I’m always missing amazing shows.”
“I know a guy,” he says, which I love, because isn’t that always how shady stuff goes down. “We’ll take care of it.”
“OH MY GOD!” My volume is turned up way too loud again. “In time to see the Vanderbilts on Tuesday?”
“Yeah, we’ll make it happen.”
After I finish my lunch, we toss our trash and wander around the tiny farmers’ market, sampling strawberries, plums, peaches, and passion fruit, before heading down Glendale Boulevard to Jacknife Records.
“Whoa,” Milo says when we’re prowling around Jacknife. “Check it out.”
It’s a copy of the Sandwiches album. “You’d better get it before another person moves faster than you do.”
“Then I guess I’ll have no reason to talk to you again,” he says with a grin. It’s such a good grin.
“I guess not,” I say. “It’s all I have to offer to the world.”
He buys the CD and texts the guy who apparently has the fate of my seeing the Vanderbilts in his hands. And we get coffee—well, chai—at Kaldi, and I find out we have seemingly countless favorite bands in common. Milo tells me about the time he met Kim Deal of the Breeders and the Pixies at a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. I tell him about the time I tripped down the sidewalk because Dee Dee Penny of Dum Dum Girls walked by, but it’s not nearly as good a story, and we both know it.
And hopefully I’m not being unfair to Ted—or Garrick—to think that this is actually how a rock star should fall in love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Sad Animal Project, Continued, by Reid
I stop by Paws again, but it seems okay and not like I’m a stalker because the dad-type guy says something about how people always want to hang out with their dogs once they’ve picked them. Also it’s really late, almost time for them to close, and I act distracted like I don’t know what time it is. Jane giggles like it’s cute that I didn’t know. So I hang around until they have to close up, and I guess when her boss is there I can’t help her, so I tell her I can wait for her if she wants.
And she says she does want.
She asks if I want to hang out because she’s free and it was fun last time. I try to play it cool but I probably seem pretty eager, but it’s okay since technically she’s the one doing the asking, so I’m in.
I try to think of awesome places to suggest but my mind’s completely blank. Luckily Jane suggests we see a movie, which is great. She wants to see this foreign animated film, which doesn’t exactly sound like a good date movie to me but it’s great she’s so interesting and also that she doesn’t want to see something inherently crappy. It’s playing at the Los Feliz 3 so it takes us
a while to find parking but we’re good on time, and when we get to the theater she lets me buy her ticket and popcorn and soda, so it’s clear this is a date. It’s got to be, with the buying of stuff, right?
The movie’s actually pretty good, and at one point it gets kind of sad--though I don’t cry or anything--but I can tell Jane’s getting kind of emotional, and I kind of nudge her to see if she’s okay and she gives me the best smile and then leans her head on my shoulder.
Unfortunately the movie is almost over! We do sit through the credits so that’s really good, though at some point during them she sits up all the way and stretches, so that’s over. I have to go to the bathroom really badly but I don’t want to lose momentum so I just walk out of the theater with her and ask if she wants to go to House of Pies or Fred 62. She checks her phone and says she should probably actually get home so if I could just drive her back to her car that would be great.
So I do, and the whole way I’m getting up the nerve to kiss her, but the best I can do is ask if she’s going to the fall formal. She says she is, to see us play!!
Okay, then, something can happen at the dance. It’s all lining up.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Reid is waiting by my locker on Monday morning, and I am 99.9 percent sure it’s because I left the Passenger Manifest for him in our secret spot (i.e., my house’s mailbox on Sunday nights because no one ever looks there) last night. I’d detailed my date or whatever it was with Milo pretty fully.
“He’s getting you an ID?” Reid waves his hands around for, I guess, emphasis. It looks like he’s attempting to land a plane in the hallway. “Riley! Do you know how long I’ve wanted an ID?”
I maneuver past him to get into my locker. “No, I don’t know how long you’ve wanted an ID. A while?”
“Yes, a while. I can’t believe you didn’t think to ask for me, too. Who are you going to shows with if I can’t go? Or Lucy or Nathan?”
“Um, Milo? I thought that was pretty obvious.”
“Fine.” Reid scowls. “See you later.”
If I were him, I’d probably be jealous, too. But considering Milo’s doing me a huge favor, I feel weird asking if he’ll get an ID for Reid, too.
Ted rounds the corner. “Hey, Riley.”
“Hey! How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun?” I say in the overly loud voice that seems reserved for all interactions with Ted.
“Not really. Just boring stuff. What about you?”
“Band practice; besides that, the same,” I say, because it doesn’t feel right to talk about Garrick or Milo in front of Ted. Obviously.
“See you in Spanish?” he asks.
“Well, yeah, and in history class first.” I smile at him because oh my god it’s cute you sort of made a mistake, Ted. “And if you need a ride tonight, I’m totally free after school.”
“Thanks,” he says, and takes off down the hallway.
Just then Lucy walks up to me. “You’re always talking to him lately,” she says.
I’m surprised that she’s noticed but also thrilled! Ted and I talk enough that it seems like always. “I guess, kind of.”
“Because of Yearbook?” she asks. “Or is it something else?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Homework?”
“No!” Lucy laughs and glances around like she’s making sure no one’s listening. “Is something up with him? Something”—she grins and raises her eyebrows—“sexy?”
Lucy would have made the exact same joke pre-Nathan, I KNOW THIS, but now it’s different. And I don’t know how to answer because nothing specifically sexy is up with him, but I have to believe Ted and I are maybe in our phase of witty repartee that’s headed directly to more straightforward sexy things. So I just shrug and leave it at that.
I sit down next to Garrick in chemistry, and he smiles at me in a manner I believe to be beyond our old level of Chemistry Partner Friendliness. Considering the rapid decline in amount of making out on Saturday night, I’m happy to see this.
“Hi,” he says. “Are you busy tonight?”
Whoa! This is unexpected.
“Actually I am,” I say. “I have a thing.” Probably the possibility that maybeI’lldriveTedtohismom’sofficeafterschool doesn’t actually qualify as a thing, but it’s what I’ve got.
“Oh, okay.” He glances around just like Lucy did, checking for any eavesdroppers. “It’s really over with Sydney. If you didn’t believe me, I promise it’s true.”
“No, I… I believe you. I was just surprised by the whole you-dating-a-TV-star thing. Maybe we can hang out later this week?”
“Yeah, I’m free almost every night.” He shakes his head. “I sound like a loser. It’s just not a busy week.”
“I get it,” I say. “I have Yearbook and band and Family Night, but I’ll figure something out. We should definitely hang out.”
After school I hover near Ted’s locker in the hallway. He smiles when he heads over.
“Hey, Riley,” he says. “Thanks for waiting.”
“No problem,” I say.
We’re quiet as we walk to my car, but it feels normal and not bad for Ted to be quiet, so I don’t panic. When I start the car, the volume of the Titus Andronicus CD in my stereo is up way louder than I remember it being this morning, and my hand flies over to the volume almost automatically to prevent Ted and me from both being deafened.
“What band is this?” Ted asks instead of saying “Now I will never make out with you because you almost took the sound out of my life forever,” which is what I’m expecting.
“Titus Andronicus,” I say.
“Oh, I think I saw them at FYF Fest over the summer,” he says. “Did you?”
“No! My parents picked that week for family vacation, so I was exploring Colonial Williamsburg instead.” I’m still annoyed I’d been off dipping wicks in wax to make sad misshapen candles instead of seeing a ton of amazing bands.
“It was kind of lame, actually,” Ted says. “Not the music, which was cool, even though I didn’t really know any of the bands.”
He didn’t really know any of the bands? HE DIDN’T REALLY KNOW ANY OF THE BANDS?
“But it was out in this park without any shade, and it took me an hour waiting in line to get this kind of gross tuna sandwich to eat. I’m still glad my cousin took me, though.”
“Yeah, my friend Reid went; he said the same thing, except for the tuna sandwich part. I did learn about churning butter at least.”
Ted laughs, this actual laugh like I am an actual hilarious person. I forgive him for not being as cool about music as I’d suspected. “My mom went there once when she was little. She’s always telling us about it like she actually time traveled. It’s a little weird.”
“It’s kind of like that, to be fair to your mom,” I say, and wonder if it’s okay to defend Ted’s mom to him.
Why can’t I think of anything else to say now? We’re not quite to his mom’s office yet. I have talking time. I have Make Ted Fall In Love With Me time. Whyyyy aren’t I using it wisely? Riley, get it together. Say something. Keep Ted in the car as long as possible.
“They also make wigs!” I exclaim.
Ted stares at me. “What?”
“In Colonial Williamsburg,” I say. “That’s all.”
“Oh.”
We are quiet until I pull up to his mom’s office building. And I have earned every single painful time-bending moment that ticks by.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Vanderbilts Show, by Riley
I meet Milo in front of the Echo on Tuesday night, and when I’m walking up to him I’m crazy nervous he won’t actually have the ID, but once I see him I forget FOR JUST A MOMENT because he looks exactly like the kind of guy who’d hang out all casual in front of the Echo. He’s wearing a Daft Punk T-shirt and a stripey cardigan that wouldn’t look good on most guys, but most guys are not Milo.
(Yes, Reid, what I’m saying is, I’m not sure cardigans are for you.)
And the
n… it happens! He gives me what completely looks like a real California driver’s license proclaiming my name is Jennifer Anne Matthews. I try to be casual like a rock star but I can’t help leaping around a little while thanking him.
We go to Two Boots for pizza, since we have time before the show starts. I pay for our slices (I know you’ll ask, so the answer is, we each get a piece of the Newman and of the Dude), since Milo won’t take money for the ID, and it’s the nicest thing I can think to do.
We talk about the last shows we’ve seen (Milo: Modern Marvel, me: Bleached) and upcoming shows we’re playing (Milo: his school’s football game Friday night, me: the fall formal).
After we eat, we walk back to the Echo and show our IDs (!!!) to the bouncer, who lets us right through. Probably I should have been nervous about that whole transaction, but luckily I forgot to be because Milo was being so cool about everything and I guess it rubbed off on me. Once we’re inside I feel superprivileged to be here on a night when no one else my age should be. (Sorry, Reid, but it’s true.)
Milo asks if I want a beer, and I accidentally blurt out, "You can get us beers?" I’m shocked, but then I remember fake IDs do more than get you into shows you are dying to see. They’re multipurpose! So we each have a beer, and we find an excellent spot to stand near the stage. As you know, the best spot is right between the amps and speakers, but where I still have a good view of the drummer. Also where a tall dude can’t stand in front of me, because it seems amazing how tall dudes always come to the same shows I do and manage to find the one open space in front of me.
While Stool Boom, the first opener, is setting up, Milo says: "I listened to your demo tracks. I can pick out drums. You’re really good.”
It is maybe the best thing a guy’s ever said to me ever.
Stool Boom is okay, nothing special, but the next opener, Sweetpants, is a better fit with the Vanderbilts. Of course the Vanderbilts are incredible, and Milo is a great fellow concertgoer. He makes a lot of noise, and we both nod to the beat.
