by Amy Spalding
I am the Fifth Wheel Legend, always in the way.
Lesser people would have canceled. But I do not miss shows. For reasons other than being stuck in Colonial Williamsburg, at least.
“This is nice, right?” Reid asks me while we’re checking out the merch table. Lucy and Nathan are securing our spot, and Madison’s in the bathroom probably putting on lip gloss or eyeliner or whatever—her makeup always looks perfect. I guess having a date means Reid’s over having his feelings hurt. That’s maybe the one positive outcome from this Madison development.
“The Satellite? Sure, we haven’t been here in a while,” I say, even though I know that’s not what he means.
“Madison’s cool,” he says as if that will convince me. “And it’s cool being out with Lucy and Nathan, doing couple stuff.”
“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard you say, which is saying something.” I know I’m being a jerk, but I don’t care. I know if he was the only one without a date we’d all have to comfort him. “Why can’t you go out with someone nice you actually like?”
“I like her.” Reid examines a T-shirt. “What do you think?”
“It’s definitely the coolest one.” I’m glad Lucy and I have maintained control of Reid’s wardrobe, and it hasn’t gone back to his mom.
Reid gets cash out of his pocket to buy the shirt. “Do you really not like her?”
This much concertgoing should have already taught Reid that the smartest time to buy any merch is on your way out so you don’t have to clutch some obnoxious thing all night long while you’re trying to just listen and have a great time. But I let him buy it, and he doesn’t seem to notice I never answer his question.
He heads back over to Madison and therefore Lucy and Nathan, but I hang back. After only a moment of deliberation I get my—or I should say Jennifer Anne Matthews’s—ID out of my purse and buy a beer. The beer-buying versus beer-receiving part of my life is new, so I just pick the first kind—Stella—on the list. Good news! It tastes like a beer.
The opener, Remington Steele, comes out, and I shove my way to the front so I’m near our group plus Madison. Lucy looks to my beer and raises an eyebrow, but it’s too loud to explain and even if it wasn’t I wouldn’t. Remington Steele’s set is loud and fun and fast and I’m not sure I could ever be in a bad mood at a show once it’s actually happening so I just grin at her.
Once the set is over I dash off to the bathroom. One beer apparently does the work of many sodas on my bladder. On my way back out, I think about getting a soda because while beer is the coolest of concert beverages, I actually like root beer better.
And then I’m sure I start hallucinating because this thing I see cannot be a thing that’s happening right now. Does one lousy beer make you hallucinate?
“Hi, Riley.” Ted waves from a distance, and then suddenly he’s close. Oh, wait, he just walked over quickly. That part isn’t weird. “I was wondering if you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here,” I say, and grin at him. Because I wish one of us would have just asked the other one. But you wondered, Ted, you wondered!
“I knew they were one of your favorite bands,” he says, which is a fair guess given my multiple T-shirts and the button on my bag. “So I thought I’d check them out. I would have gotten here for the opening band, but I had to close at work.”
A rush of relief hits me that Milo’s busy with his tuba. I’d thought juggling was fine if your juggled items went to two different schools. “You’ll love them,” I say. “Where do you work anyway?”
“I, uh, I don’t really want to say.” Ted laughs. “I have to wear a pretty stupid hat.”
“Oh my god, now you have to tell me,” I say.
“It’s bad,” he says. “It was just the first place that was hiring when I went into the mall, and my mom said I had to get a job.”
I poke at his shoulder. “You have to tell me.”
“No, I’d have to yell it here, and I’m not yelling it.” Ted grins at me.
We get sodas, and I—AGAINST ALL MY BETTER JUDGMENT—lead Ted over to the spot the group’s got staked out. Everyone just greets him enthusiastically—well, except Madison, who gives him an expression-free nod. Lucy gives me the same look she gave me over the beer. Grinning back seemed to work before, so I do it again.
When Andrew Mothereffing Jackson’s crazy drummer counts off for the first song, I feel that switch flip in me. It’s so good to be standing here in this crowd—Madison included—even though she’s making an obviously forced bored expression and only vaguely nodding to the beat. The rest of us are jumping around and singing along, and it’s the best thing in the world how every good show becomes the best night you’ve ever had.
* * *
Ted is planning on taking the bus home afterward, so after bypassing pizza because it’s way too late to be out for even those of us with very lenient parents, I offer to give him a ride.
“I’ll tell you, if you don’t tell anyone else,” Ted says as I’m making a U-turn on Silver Lake Boulevard I’m pretty sure is legal.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’m going to have a secret with Ted!
“Hot Dog on a Stick.”
“What?” I pull up to a stoplight and look over at him. “Wait, do you work at Hot Dog on a Stick?”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says really fast.
“Oh my god!” Hot Dog on a Stick is this fast-food place in the food court that sells corn dogs and fried cheese—on a stick, of course, and deliciously tart lemonade. Also their uniforms are ridiculous. “Do you have to wear a striped fez?”
“No! Those are for girls! I just have to wear a baseball hat.”
I try not to laugh, but it happens anyway. “I’m sorry. Do you at least get free hot dogs?”
“Yeah, I get free hot dogs.”
“Do you have to wear those short-shorts?”
“No, those are also just for girls. My shorts are normal length.”
“But you wear shorts!” I’ve never seen Ted in shorts. My mind goes electrical imagining it. “Can I come in and see you work?”
He grins some more at me. “I can’t stop you.”
I am in love with grinning now. Also maybe Ted. No, Riley! Stop thinking about love!
“That was a great show,” I say. “Did you like it?”
I hold my breath because if he didn’t, where will that lead us, Ted, where?
“Yeah,” Ted says. “They were great. I looked it up, and actually they were at FYF Fest last year, too, while you were looking at wigs.”
“Colonial Williamsburg ruins everything,” I say, which makes him laugh.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says as I’m pulling up to his apartment complex. “See you tomorrow, Riley.”
I don’t have the right words, but I reach for his hand as he unbuckles his seat belt, and that must be good enough because he leans in and kisses me.
“Good night,” I tell him, obviously with my hands in his amazing hair.
“Good night, Riley.”
I wave as he gets out of my car. He glances back at me and waves again. And I suddenly don’t think I’m overreacting to think maybe it’s not yet but is turning into love.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Madison Thing, Continued, by Reid
After the Andrew Mothereffing Jackson show, I figure we’ll have to go home because everyone else says they have to, but once we’re in my car, Madison asks if I have a curfew. I don’t, but even if I did I would lie right now. I don’t think curfews seem especially manly.
So we discuss what’s still open, which is a list I’ve carefully cultivated, but Madison comes up with ideas I didn’t even know about. We end up just driving to that big fountain near the park by the 5. I figured late at night there’s probably drug dealers or prostitutes hanging around but actually it’s really safe, just people walking dogs.
We walk around and it hits me this is a really romantic place. So even though I prefer s
ituations where you’re around 95 percent guaranteed to have a kiss welcomed (like, a girl says “kiss me” or at least you’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven), I just go for it, and unbelievably Madison kisses me back.
It’s the best kiss of my life. We keep kissing, and Madison puts her arms around me like we’ve done this a million times. I go for her hair with my hands and then her face and then her back, like, in the safe back zone, not too close to her butt or anything, and we’re still kissing and it’s great.
I’m starting to think I might actually get away with touching her butt when there’s a siren and flashing lights, and I knew I was right that there are probably dealers or hookers here or something. But Madison starts laughing, and I realize the cops are coming up to us.
They ask how old we are, and Madison says she doesn’t know, which is funny but, holy crap, she shouldn’t be joking around with cops. Luckily, they laugh and tell us to go home, that it’s too late for us to be out. So we run to the car, and Madison says we should go get pie at House of Pies, and even if my mom wasn’t always warning me about the health code problems that place is always having, I’d say we should go home because, shit, the cops!
Madison doesn’t act like I’m being a nerd, so that’s good. She asks me who the last person I kissed was, so I tell her because it was that girl at my cousin’s birthday party which isn’t an embarrassing story, and she tells me for her it was Garrick Bell and I don’t say anything about Riley even when Madison says Garrick is “surprisingly good at stuff” which could be a direct quote from Riley. I just laugh and act like I’m cool with hearing her talk about kissing other guys, which I’m really not.
I take her home and we spend thirteen more minutes kissing before she gets out of the car. (I check the car’s clock.) It was a perfect night, but I’m sure by tomorrow she’ll have completely changed her mind.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Reid walks up alongside me as I’m on my way to chemistry the next day.
“Yo.”
“Stop that,” I say.
“Last night was fun,” he says. “Ted’s actually pretty cool.”
“I told you so.”
“So have you ended things with Milo—”
“Don’t say his name,” I say. “Someone could hear you.”
“You mean Ted could hear me.”
“Don’t say his name, either!”
“Riley,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not exclusive with anyone. I’m free and clear and an independent woman!”
“No, Riley. This isn’t about your independence, which, yes, you have in abundance.”
In abundance?
“What I’m saying is, remember what happened with Jane and me?”
“This is different.” I am positive it is. Jane has a boyfriend. Milo isn’t my boyfriend, and neither is Ted.
“How?” he asks. “Aren’t you leading them both on?”
I glare at him because he isn’t not making sense. Okay, I’m pretty sure I’m not leading anyone on. But also I know I am having Big Important feelings for Ted, and yet I still sent Milo a text about the show.
“I’m not, and everything’s fine,” I say, because we’ve reached my classroom and also because I am way the heck over this conversation. “See you later.”
* * *
After dinner that night with Mom and Dad and Ashley, I check my phone to find a multitude of text messages. Milo is just saying hey because that’s how he rolls, casual but thoughtful. Garrick wants to make sure I’ll check my email later because he sent me an “interesting science journal article.” Okay, Garrick, we’ll see about that. Reid has also texted, which is nothing exciting, just telling me he thinks the new Waxahatchee album is great—which it is, but I’m not feeling great about anything to do with Reid, so, whatever, I do not respond.
I’m sad to realize there’s no message from Ted. Ted doesn’t even have my phone number, but he’s smart. Ted, you’re smart! You can get it somehow. You can, and once you’ve procured my digits, reach out to me and say something clever that warms my heart and makes me laugh like there’s a wonderful private joke between us.
I realize if I talked this out with someone, I might be able to get good, solid advice. But there is no acceptable advice-giver in my whole life right now. Reid will probably just lecture me about dating multiple guys, Lucy and I are not that kind of friends anymore, and Nathan has never been that kind of friend to begin with.
It seriously sucks to feel super alone, even with a phone full of messages.
I think of something, and sit down at my computer and type without thinking. Sure, it’s a Friday night, and sure, we’ve seen each other a lot this week. But I just do it!
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
subject: hey
hi ted,
last night was fun. are you up to something awesome tonight? or are you deep-frying hot dogs?
—riley
I know it’s kind of lame, but he responds almost immediately, like magic I conjured up.
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
subject: RE: hey
No, I can’t deep-fry anything because I’m not at work. I’m up to doing homework, which probably isn’t what you have in mind by “something awesome.”
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
subject: RE: hey
you should call me, it’s easier than email! 323-555-3764
The second I click on send I leap away from my computer and my phone and I pace the circumference of my room like it’s a geometry theorem I have to prove with my feet.
But then my phone rings.
“Hello?” I say in my best casual voice.
“Hi, Riley,” Ted says.
“Hi,” I say.
We’re waiting-for-a-funeral-to-start silent. Without the tears.
“Are you busy?” I ask.
“I called you,” he says.
“I know, but I told you to!”
“Not at gunpoint or anything.”
“I think you knew if you didn’t call I would shoot you,” I say, which I’m not sure is funny or supercreepy. “I mean, I know where you live.”
Okay, that was not even debatable; it was just flat-out creepy. Ted, I’m sorry! Ted, I’d never stalk you and shoot you; that’s the weirdest.
Luckily he laughs. “Yeah, I knew all of that. It’s why I called. I was terrified.”
“Do you want to go to the Nadia + Friends show tomorrow night?” I’m sure he’s never heard of them, but he’s actually a great concertgoer, and not just because of the kissing after.
“I can’t. I have work,” he says. “I guess you’re going.”
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “My parents let me go out a lot this week so I might have run out of super-late nights.”
“Yeah, my mom gets like that, too,” Ted says. “I get it, but it’s annoying.”
My phone beeps, and I pull it back from my ear to see who’s calling. It’s Reid, almost like he knows. I very firmly with tons of conviction press ignore, as though Reid could feel the snub through his phone line. I picture him feeling it and reacting in a big, over-the-top manner, and it’s awesome. Wait, no, it isn’t awesome. What a jerk thing to think.
“How’s your world history homework going?” he asks.
“I’m going to do it soon,” I say. “You’re probably finished already.”
Wait, did that sound like an insult? It isn’t an insult. He’s just so responsible! Who knew that quality could be so dreamy on a guy? (Not me.)
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s too great, but I finished it. You’ll probably be more creative with yours.”
I had no idea guys could make you feel swoony with talk of homework.
“I guess I should let you go,” he says. “You have homework, and I’m probably going to watch Blind
Love.”
“Oh my god! That show’s my favorite. It’s so amazingly bad.”
“I know,” he says with sexy conviction. Well, it probably isn’t supposed to sound sexy, but I like strong emotions from Ted. Ted, we’ve come so far from that first day in my car! “See you soon, Riley.”
* * *
I spend Saturday morning cleaning the garage with Dad in part because I don’t want to be some kind of family-shunning stereotypical snotty teenager. Also because despite that I went out almost every day or night this week, I’m still hoping to see Nadia+Friends tonight. If I’m being a great daughter before band practice, it can only help my cause.
In addition to sweeping the garage floor, I am also keeping a close listen for the boop of my text message alert. Ted, you have my number now! Ted, tell me work was canceled and ask me to do something amazing tonight like see Nadia+Friends! With a clean garage, how could the United Front say no?
When I get to practice, Lucy hands each of us lyrics. Reid writes most of our lyrics, but Lucy contributes as well. Then we all work out melodies and rhythms and everything else together.
“Is it cool if we try something with this?” she asks. “I was hoping we could work on it today.”
“Sure,” Nathan says. “Also I have news.”
I feel kind of bad for Lucy with her carefully printed lyrics because suddenly attention is off of her and on Nathan.
“I talked to the Smell’s owner,” he says. “He liked our demo tracks and said we can open for Murphy-Gomez next month.”
A silence washes over us that is the loudest quiet ever. My ears are buzzing with a low hum, but it’s almost like maybe they’re exploding.
“Are you serious?” Reid finally asks.
“Of course I’m serious,” Nathan says.
And then the silence is a long-distant memory, and I can’t even tell who’s screaming loudest. I do know I am jumping up and down the most and that it looks like Reid might cry and that Lucy is already over losing her moment in the spotlight.
