by Amy Spalding
I don’t want to sound like a cheeseball like you, Reid, but it is a pretty perfect night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I make a scary discovery the next morning when I’m brushing my teeth. Kissing Milo—who’s maybe a little bitey—has resulted in a swollen lower lip. I can’t tell if it’s obvious but I feel like it’s a blinking light on my face. I convince myself it’s in my head and finish getting ready, but Ashley stares as we walk out to my car together.
“What’s wrong with your lip?” she asks.
“I ran into someone,” I say, which doesn’t make sense, so I add, “someone’s face, I mean.” WHICH MAKES EVEN LESS SENSE, THOUGH IT IS ALSO SORT OF TRUE.
Ashley eyes me like I’m crazy.
I drop Ashley off at the middle school and make the fastest Starbucks run ever because between the late night and the swollen lip and the beer, my body and brain are not exactly ready for education. I speed to school and run inside like it’s the LA Marathon, even though back during freshman year when I had to take gym I wouldn’t run unless I got called out by Coach Gunderson to do so.
I still get stopped at the entrance to the school and get a tardy slip. At first I panic, but anything I miss in chemistry Garrick will cover for, and also maybe I am cementing myself as some kind of badass with a swollen lip and coffee I’m sneaking in carefully in my backpack and now this tardy slip.
“Hey, Riley.”
I wonder if Ted’s voice is a sleep deprivation–induced apparition. I’m not expecting anyone else to be in the hallway after the bell, much less Ted Callahan, and I trip on absolutely nothing and slam into a locker. The coffee in my backpack of course doesn’t remain upright throughout this, and suddenly, hot brown liquid spews out the bottom.
“Whoa.” Ted dashes over. “Is your bag leaking? Sorry, obviously it’s leaking. What just happened?”
“I was trying to sneak in coffee in my backpack,” I sort of wail, yanking open the backpack’s zipper and extracting all my stuff. Ted runs into the guys’ bathroom and returns a moment later with a ton of paper towels. We manage to dry off my textbooks, but my chemistry notebook is pretty damp and discolored.
“Thanks,” I tell Ted, who is cool in a liquid emergency. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Me neither!” He laughs and takes all the wet paper towels to the bathroom to throw away.
I expect he’ll rush off to wherever he was heading, late, as well, but he just comes back calmly to me. It’s the only time in recent history we’ve stood this close and I haven’t wanted to kiss him, thanks to my stupid lip.
“You should get to class,” I tell him.
“No, I have a free period this hour,” he says. “Well, actually I’m Ms. Matteson’s aide but she normally doesn’t have a lot for me to do, so it’s more like study hall. Where are you going to put your bag? You should let it dry out somewhere.”
“I don’t know,” I say glumly.
“I’ll take it to her classroom.” Ted points down the hallway. “You can pick it up after seventh period. Cool?”
“Supercool,” I say, because I am the dorkiest person alive. “Thank you, seriously. You’re like a hero.”
Ted laughs again. It’s so great to hear. I wish we were the kind of close where I could just reach over and give him the kind of hug where you bury yourself into the other person. Okay, actually I guess even with my lip in its sad state I’m back to thinking about kissing, et cetera.
“I should go to class at least,” I say. “See you later. And, seriously, thanks.”
He waves as he walks off. “Anytime.”
* * *
Lucy and I are discussing our algebra homework at my locker after chemistry when Garrick walks by and waves. I manage a supercasual wave back like this is No Big Thing.
“Did you know Garrick used to go out with some girl who’s on a kids’ show?” Lucy asks once he’s passed by. “Isn’t it crazy?”
It is crazy, but also I guess I’ve been swayed by the gospel of tween bloggers because it’s less crazy all the time.
“Yeah, I know. I guess it’s not crazy, though.” I shrug. “Garrick’s cute if you forget how he loves science, I think.”
It’s dangerously close to admitting something, but I feel I have to stick up for Garrick on the subject of his celebrity-having-sex-with worthiness.
“Hmm,” Lucy says, watching Garrick walk down the hallway away from us.
I can tell she’s considering it. It would be a great time to explain how I know firsthand that Garrick’s make-out abilities could probably bring about world peace if he was sent to the right places. But I don’t, and Lucy heads off, and I walk quickly to catch up with Garrick before he heads into class.
“Hey, what are you doing tonight?” he asks me.
“Nothing,” I say, because the coffee and my medicated lip balm are working. Kissing sounds great again! “Do you want to hang out?”
“Yes,” he says, and grins. Hopefully he’s not getting all excited about the prospect of studying like good little chemists but is instead calculating how much making out is possible with me.
* * *
Garrick has flash cards in his hand when he lets me in after school, but I lean in to kiss him, and there’s no hesitation on his part.
We lean back against the door, and I feel like my whole body’s buzzing because Garrick is pressed up against me, like, fully pressed up against me. His hands are holding my face, which I find straight-out-of-a-good-romantic-comedy romantic.
“Riley,” Garrick says, and I am expecting him to declare his love for me.
“Yeah?” I ask, slipping my hand up his T-shirt, but not trying to make my voice sexy because I can only really handle one of those seduction techniques at once.
“We really should study,” he says.
“Oh,” I say.
“The test coming up is really important,” he says. “And I’m applying for this student volunteer opportunity at UCLA, and I want Mr. Landiss to have no room to say anything negative about me.”
“I get it,” I say, because despite that I was really hoping studying would not come into play today, I do get it. The Gold Diggers have been practicing more than usual to get ready for our gig at the fall formal, and I guess to science geeks a test is a lot like a gig. So we sit on the couch and get out our notebooks and textbooks. Garrick gets us fancy sodas and a bag of organic Parmesan-flavored chips. A couple of weeks ago, this is what I would have expected from a study session with Garrick, but now it’s a total letdown.
Maybe it’s Sydney Jacobs. Or maybe it really is that science is more important to Garrick than sex. Well, things-leading-up-to-sex, at least. I try to quickly calculate if music or things-leading-up-to-sex are more important to me.
“Hey,” I say, kind of out of nowhere. “Do you want to go to the Andrew Mothereffing Jackson show with me? It’s next week at the Satellite.”
“Who’s that?” he asks.
My hope that Garrick is secretly some kind of music nerd because he’s heard of the Smell and once selected a good album on my iPod flickers a bit.
“A local band, but they tour nationally and stuff. They’re just these really loud punk guys, but they have kind of this 1960s vibe, the whole perfect three-chord song thing, and their drummer’s kind of crazy. Me and Reid always say he reminds us of Animal from the Muppets.”
Garrick’s looking at me pretty blankly, which is not an attractive expression on anyone, so I make a stern mental note to always at least pretend I know what the heck is going on if I ever want to get past second base with anyone.
“You’re probably busy,” I say, to save both of us. Have I decided we need saving? Yes, yes, we do. “With your application for this UCLA thing.”
“Yeah, I really am,” he says.
“Cool,” I say, even though I’m feeling really uncool. “Hey, um, so, can I ask you something? I’m kind of embarrassed about it, but…”
“But?” Garrick asks.
&nbs
p; “But I’m just going to ask it. Okay. Did you and Sydney Jacobs ever… you know… do it?”
“That’s really personal,” he says.
“Oh, okay,” I say, like an understanding person. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, I can tell you,” he says. “Yeah, we did. Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone gossiping about her.”
“Totally won’t,” I say, even though I’m going to write it down in the Passenger Manifest later. That doesn’t count. Also maybe people in Ashley’s circle would care that Sydney Jacobs had sex, but I don’t think anyone in high school is exactly following Nickelodeon scandalous behavior.
“Let’s get back to our flash cards,” he says. And right now that does sound like the right call.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Best Places for Doing It, by Riley
Your own bed (when your parents are away, obviously)
It’s boring but free, and probably the most comfortable place.
The guy’s bed (when his parents are away, double obviously)
It’s slightly less boring (for me) but also free and comfortable.
Backstage at a concert (after, not during--don’t disrespect live music)
I’ll just say I’ve thought about this a lot.
On a tour bus (parked, not in motion)
If no one else is around. I may have thought about this a lot, too.
Best Places for Doing It, by Reid (Fine, Ri, I will make this list even though I will probably never need it.)
A fancy hotel
I’m not saying I can afford a fancy hotel, but I could save up or figure something out. If you’re wanting to make the moment really special and romantic, this is your best option.
A really nice house
I’m not sure how I’ll get access to a really nice house, and mine is pretty average, but I think you could blow a girl’s mind if you walk her into a house that’s really big or is designed by a famous architect or is near a beautiful landmark.
An expensive car
Would it be too weird if I borrowed Mom’s BMW for these purposes? (Maybe you shouldn’t answer this, Ri--I can hear your answer already and it’s not good.)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I should be terrified the night of the fall formal, but I am a Rock Star. I’m wearing my Upset T-shirt over a long-sleeved sparkly gold shirt, with a denim skirt, striped tights, and my cherry-red Doc Martens. The Gold Diggers have been using our free time to practice, and Reid set up a recording the other night. Despite the crappiness of the sound quality, something that wasn’t crappy was us.
We are ready.
We’re some of the first to arrive at the gym. Kids from the Edendale Spirit Club are setting up tables with punch and bottled water, while chaperones look on like the mere act of beverage setup and distribution is more than a bunch of overachieving teenagers can handle. I ignore them, even though I could go for some punch. I assume successful musicians don’t get distracted by a drink made for kindergarteners.
“Whoa!” Nathan skids into a slide as he carries over a mic stand. “Be careful, guys, the floor is really slick.”
“I’m fine.” I point to my boots, which aren’t just badass but tend to protect me from things like floor slickness.
“This is pretty cool, right?” Reid asks, like he knows it is, but also like he wants some props for getting us this gig. AGAIN. It’s weird how a guy can simultaneously have the best and worst self-esteem of anyone I know.
“It’s pretty cool,” Lucy says with a big smile. She’s wearing delicate blue flats that match her dress, and she also slides across the floor and crashes into Nathan. They laugh like all the fun in the world is shared between the two of them alone.
“Hi, everyone.” Ms. Matteson, who is the head chaperone for the dance, makes her way over to us. “Here’s how it’ll work. A DJ’s playing the first half, then you guys will play your set. Feel free to play an encore if it seems like you should. Got it?”
“Got it,” Nathan says in his Natural Leader way.
I’m too stuck on the idea of our school chanting encore, encore, encore, encore.
“Can we do a sound check now?”
“Of course, have at it. We’ll just want you to clear the area at eight when the dance officially begins.”
I sit down at my drums and wait for Ms. Matteson to walk off before counting off so we can play through “Tease.” The gym is not exactly an acoustical wonderland, but we make it work. Reid is blathering on, saying he’s nervous about everyone seeing us and judging us, so we’re back to that, and I pretend like I’m calm, even though by now of course this show is a big deal, and I wish I could guarantee it’ll be perfect.
After the sound check, we head out to a little room off the gym, where I imagine the basketball team gets pep talks before going out to play because people have written all this GO LIONS! graffiti over the walls. Backstage at a lot of concert venues it’s practically encouraged to sign your band’s name when you’re playing, but I resist.
We could probably attend the DJ’ed first part of the dance, but we’re treating this a lot like a real gig—I guess it is a real gig. So we hang out and go over our set list until Ms. Matteson summons us to the stage. I climb behind my drums, wait for Nathan to introduce us (he is best at it), and count off for “Tease.”
People are watching, or dancing, or nodding approvingly. There are of course some bored-looking seniors hanging around the punch bowl, but, whatever, the majority of the crowd is into it.
And they should be! Nathan and Lucy are nailing every single lyric, and even with the muddy gym acoustics, their guitars ring out bright and harmonious. Reid and I are lacing a rhythm that’s vibrating through the slick floor. Better yet, it’s not like it’s the two of them and the two of us: The Gold Diggers are all four of us, and it’s so good when I remember that.
For the first time in my own history I love absolutely everything about my high school, especially when I catch sight of someone between songs: good hair, a button-down shirt, nice pants, and Converse. Ted’s at the punch bowl. I’m not sure if he can see me too well, but I use my rock star energy to summon up the best smile I’ve given anyone.
And he smiles back.
“Garage” goes just as well, and then we’re on a roll, and everything is flowing. Lucy, Nathan, and Reid are moving around onstage with ease—yes, even Reid!—and I’m nearly jumping off of my stool with energy and excitement and, just, music.
After our Ted Leo cover and then “Longer Days” to close the set, we make a proper exit and crowd back into the little room that now feels too small to contain us. I don’t care about Lucy and Nathan’s relationship, and I don’t care that Reid and I are not huggers-of-one-another. Right now there is so much hugging and high-fiving going around between the four of us, you’d think something bigger than a great set at a high school formal just happened.
“Oh my god.” Lucy speaks in the kind of hushed whisper people use in church. “You guys, listen.”
There’s clapping and wooing and whistling. And it’s for us. They want an encore.
The energy is feeding us, and our two encore songs, “Figuring You Out” and “Going On,” have never sounded like this before. I know that a friend of Nathan’s is filming the set, and I’m so glad we’ll have proof this happened one magical night in a school gymnasium. I picture the footage rolling in our Behind the Music.
After the set is over we stick around onstage, drinking in the applause and attention and also because Ms. Matteson had told us as we walked out our equipment had to be off the stage by the time the dance technically ended.
“Hey, Riley,” Ted says from behind me.
I turn around and smile.
“Hey, Ted.” My face is still hot from adrenaline and stage lights and the general climate of the gym, and I can’t control the tidal wave of words smacking at the shores of my mouth. “I’m so glad you came, I know you’re not into dances, like, who is, ugh, dances, but—”
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“Riley, you guys were great.” He is so close and smiley and real. I’m emboldened, or crazy. Crazyboldened. I am Making Things Happen.
I lean in and kiss him.
He kisses me back, but he’s timid. Whenever you hear about guys and kissing, it’s all about how they throw themselves at you and their hands turn into gropey paws, and their tongues turn into bad snake metaphors. The T word never comes into play.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“It’s okay,” he says, which isn’t exactly an I-want-to-do-you-right-now.
“Oh,” I say, because it’s the best response I can come up with to the response to a question YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE TO ASK upon kissing someone.
He touches my collar, like he’s smoothing it down, even though my collar’s pretty much impeccable. But it feels like Ted’s making a move—a tiny move, sure, but I’m taking it—and so I lean in for more kissing, which happens, and slightly less timidly at that. My brain is full of thoughts, which is weird because I thought all thoughts would run screaming from my head once my lips made contact with Ted Callahan’s. Universe, I am kissing Ted Callahan! Ted Callahan is kissing me! IN PUBLIC! Sound the alarms!
Something beeps, which for a second makes me think someone did sound an alarm.
“Oh.” Ted takes his phone out of his pocket and checks it. “My mom’s here to pick me up.”
The thing is, Reid is right about Ted being uncool.
“I can give you a ride,” I say.
“Well, she’s already here,” he says with a smile. “I guess you’re going out after this with your band—”
My band! I love that he thinks of us that way.
“—but I’ll be up for a while. If you want to email me or something.”
“Of course I’ll email you.” I lean in and kiss him again. “Bye, Ted.”
“Bye, Riley.”
“Reid!” I shout. He’s probably talking to Jane or Jennie or Erika, but I really want to tell him about what just happened.
