Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)

by Amy Spalding

  “Not that we’ve put any requirements on it, but do you realize you’ve never mentioned anything to do with Milo—”

  “Don’t say his name aloud.”

  “Whatever. You’ve never mentioned anything to do with him in the Passenger Manifest.”

  “Obviously I have,” I say. “Meeting him at Amoeba, remember? And our first date or whatever at the Atwater farmers’ market, and my ID, and—”

  “You know what I mean,” Reid says, and I don’t. “Have you even kissed him?”

  “OF COURSE I HAVE,” I say. “A lot!”

  “Really,” he says instead of asks.

  “Have I actually not mentioned it?” I think about this for a moment, as those kisses creep into my brain. “I guess I haven’t. Ugh. Reid. It’s not good.”

  “See?” Reid waves his arms around, and I think it’s supposed to look triumphant. “This is what I’m worried about.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with him,” I say. “We just don’t have the right chemistry or something. I’m sure it’s different for you and Madison.”

  “But you said I’d just know. Does Mi—does he Just Know?”

  I think of how Milo always grins before he kisses me. It’s not his smooth cool rock-and-roll grin; it’s something purer and sweeter in those moments. “Fine. I guess he doesn’t.” I start backing into my classroom to get away from the conversation as well as thoughts of pure and sweet Milo. “But you guys aren’t the same, and this is not an emergency. Okay?”

  “We’re talking more about this later.” He waves his finger at me like he’s a sassy mom.

  “I’m sure we will.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Tips for Guys on Making Out with Girls (WHICH REID IS FORCING ME TO WRITE), by Riley

  Fresh, minty breath is good.

  Don’t use too much pressure, you are not vacuuming her mouth.

  Biting can be sexy but also it can just be crazy painful, so use your teeth thoughtfully.

  Don’t slobber. She shouldn’t have to wipe off her face afterward.

  Your tongue’s not a probe.

  Lip balm isn’t for girls only, so use it.

  Do the thing where you make your lips soft but also powerful in a good way.

  Don’t be all specific-body-parts-focused. Touch her hair and face and shoulders, too.

  If you want stuff done, you’d better be willing to do stuff.

  Just FYI, we know when you’re accidentally touching our boobs and when you’re "accidentally" touching our boobs.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  I pick Ted up at six after school on Friday. He emerges from his apartment complex in a button-down shirt and jeans and his usual Chucks. It’s nicer than what he wore today, just like my outfit—a bright stripey shirt, my best jean skirt, tights, and my black boots—is way nicer than anything I normally wear to school.

  “Hi, Riley,” he says as he gets into my car. Hopefully it’s not strange I’m playing the CD he made for me. “Do you want to get dinner? There’s this cool place in Sunset Junction, Flore. It’s vegan but it’s good, I mean, I’m not a vegan, and I like it.”

  “No, Flore is great,” I say. “Do you think a vegan could work at Hot Dog on a Stick or would that be ethically compromised?”

  “Probably it’d be ethically compromised.” He laughs. “Hey, um, I’m glad you could go tonight.”

  “I’m really glad you asked me,” I say. I crank up the Superchunk song that’s playing on the CD, and by the time we get to Flore, I am full of smiles and laughter and a bunch of other probably annoying things. Being around Ted does this to me.

  We talk the whole time, about how Mr. Heckart and Mrs. Bullard clearly are having an affair, how it seems possible that Wild Flag will never put out another record, but at least they’ve given the world one nearly flawless one (well, I lead that conversation, but Ted seems super-interested), how for some reason the courtyard at the school always smells like doughnuts but we have never witnessed a doughnut in the vicinity.

  All of a sudden we realize it’s nearly eight, and Ted pays the bill despite my protests. Since I can tell he’s trying to be a gentleman, it’s sort of sweet. We race outside and I speed down Sunset like a champion race-car driver, though champion race-car drivers don’t have to keep circling different blocks in search of parking. Finally I wedge my car into a spot, and Ted and I run inside.

  The first opener, I’m Listening, is already playing, so we run right into the crowd. Their set is loud and fast, and we don’t stop jumping up and down until between songs. We chug a bunch of water afterward and fight our way back to the front for Fawnskin. The club has filled up by the time their set is over, so Ted and I stay firmly planted where we are in anticipation of Past the Heartbreakers.

  “Thanks for getting these tickets,” I tell him.

  “I really wanted to go,” he says, “with you.”

  It is the perfect moment to kiss him, but then Past the Heartbreakers take the stage. So I scream along with the whole crowd and get swept away in the noise and rhythm and heat. Ted may not have a lot of music cred, but it doesn’t matter. At a show he’s perfect.

  After the second encore ends, we walk out of the hot, muggy club and into the crisp night. I’m afraid Ted’s phone will beep or his mom will pull up or Reid will appear in a poof of smoke and sparks with his latest emergency, and I’m not ready for any of tonight to be over.

  “Do you have to go home?” I ask him.

  “No,” he says. “I mean, not now. Not not ever.”

  I lace my fingers through his, and he pulls me in. I think about waiting for him to make the next move, but for Ted I think the pulling-me-in is the next move. So I kiss him, even though we’re on the sidewalk in public. Ted’s lips move against mine. It’s soft, slow kissing that gives off white noise in my brain that shuts everything else out. Ted tastes like lemon drops.

  “Let’s go to my car,” I say, not because I care about anyone else’s sensibilities who has to watch us, but because I want all of this to just be for Ted and me. But once we get in my car, we get distracted picking out music for the drive back and forget to start kissing again.

  I love how Ted is trying so hard with music.

  We end up back at my house because I have no working knowledge of wherever people park their cars to make out. But when I lean over the center console to head back into Kissing Ted Land, the motion detector light on the front porch goes off. Now we’re both so bright.

  “Do you want to see my practice space?” I ask. It’s a twofold thing, where I do want to show Ted my drums, but also I have this private guesthouse, and it’s the perfect place to make out with someone. Kissing Ted Callahan is one thing, and it’s a dramatic and amazing and mystical thing on its own. Making out with him is going to be something else entirely.

  He follows me into the backyard where I get fumbly with the keys before I manage to let us in. Technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to have people in here alone late at night, but the United Front has never specifically said so, so I’m not breaking any rules. Technically.

  There is no time for the drums now that we’re here, though, and I don’t even know who kisses who first, and I stop keeping track of anything along those lines.

  Ted is kissing me with urgency, with his hands holding my face, skimming around my waist, tracing lines down my back. It’s like there’s no more oxygen, and all I can breathe now is Ted and him me. Our teeth keep getting mixed up with each other’s lips, and I am kind of shocked at myself, how I could devour Ted Callahan. I’m sure I was good at stuff before, but I am great at stuff with Ted.

  We keep finding new spaces to lean against while kissing, like there aren’t enough places to contain this to. Ted pushes me against the wall, I’m leaning him into the door, we’re maybe not leaning on anything but each other because it’s like the world will end if we can’t line up every inch of ourselves with one another. Finally I’m tired of these balancing acts and pull Ted to the floor with me, a
nd it is a first, this thing where I’m lying down and kissing a guy who is next to me, and then under me, and then over me. Who knew that a guy who could start out so timid would end up kissing you with this intensity like he’d been thinking about it for as long as you have.

  “Do you want to stop?” I ask, because I feel like I’m supposed to check in with him at some point.

  “No,” he says automatically.

  It is the best no I’ve ever heard.

  “Unless you do. Do you?” He’s already sitting up. “We can stop.”

  “We can’t,” I say, because it is the best line I can think of, and also because the feelings that buzzed through me all the times I dreamed of this happening are so much stronger now that it actually is.

  I get up and shimmy out of my jacket before throwing my iPod into its dock (not that the silence was bad). Ted takes off his hoodie, too, and then it’s like the barriers have given way for clothes needing to stay on. My shirt off, Ted’s shirt off, Ted’s pants off, my skirt and tights off, pow. Ted is like all the boys in dumb books about teenagers and can’t figure out how to get my bra off, but I’m well versed in that, so we’re fine.

  Ted starts laughing, which, despite how much I love Ted’s laugh, is not exactly what I want to hear when I am PG-13 naked. “What are you wearing?”

  It is obvious I did not think this night would turn into This Night, because I am wearing Day of the Week underwear printed with cartoon frogs, and also, they’re not even the right day. They are Tuesday.

  “What do frogs even have to do with Tuesdays?” he asks.

  “Frogs love Tuesdays, duh,” I say, and we crack up.

  “Do you want to stop?” he asks. I feel like exclaiming to the heavens, “Ted clearly wants to do me right now!” but I don’t because it’ll be way better if instead of talking about it, it just happens.

  And.

  It.

  Just.

  Happens.

  In movies, there’s always soft lighting and cuddling right after, but we are on the floor of a dark, unfurnished guesthouse. Also, I think we’re both surprised about what just went on. I’m surprised, at least, and in the moonlight Ted’s eyes look very wide.

  “You should go home,” I say. “I mean, because it’s late. Not because I want you to—”

  “Yeah, curfew, exactly,” Ted says.

  “Ted,” I say.

  “Riley,” he says, like we’re doing a bit.

  “That was, like, a new thing.” IT IS THE WEIRDEST WAY TO REFER TO SEX EVER.

  “Yeah,” he says. “For me, too.”

  I want to tell him so much, like that I’m so glad it was with him and that for him it was with me, and that there’s so much about him that’s cute, and that I had condoms in my purse because I got them free at a booth I walked by at a health fair, not because I was out on the prowl for dudes.

  Actually, I guess I’ve been out on the prowl for dudes for a while. It’s just that Ted is one specific dude who matters.

  But I don’t say any of that because in my brain it’s scattered enough. If I try to verbalize it, who knows the torrential downpour of words that might rain from my mouth. And I don’t want to ruin this super-perfect nice moment. Also he must know! Well, not specifically the health fair part, but the rest.

  We get dressed and walk outside, and I drive him home and park where there is no motion detector light, so we spend a few minutes in the car kissing. It’s soft and slow again, which is funny that we could end up back here after what just happened.

  I’m glad we can.

  “See you Monday,” Ted says. “I’m working tomorrow. But you can come by if you want.”

  “I’ll totally come by,” I say, and not just because Ted in his uniform is a glorious vision. “See you then.”

  “See you, Riley.”

  On my way home I crank the CD in my stereo and sing along, even though after screaming at the concert I shouldn’t have much of a voice left. I am a girl who’s had sex. This changes everything. At home I even look in the mirror because a thing like this should be apparent. I even stare myself down like a master supervillain in one of Mom and Dad’s beloved spy movies.

  But, no, I look exactly the same. So if it’s not this huge life-changing, course-altering event, what the heck does that mean about installing a wall of silence between Lucy and me?

  I don’t want to think about any of that. I am going to enjoy every single last awesome bit of tonight.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  The Madison Thing, Continued, by Reid

  Madison calls me after school and says her dad and stepmom are going to be out, so I should come over. I know this is a very good sign. It’s such a good sign, I bring, to be polite, precautions. If you’re wondering why I had precautions handy, it’s thanks to the health fair.

  So I get there and I was kinda hoping Madison would give me some really clear sign, like opening the door wearing something like underwear, but she’s wearing the same thing she wore to school. Also she ordered Thai food, which doesn’t seem like she’s planning an evening of romance. Though I will say the Thai’s from Bulan and it’s really good.

  So Madison says she heard something about me, and I start sweating and shaking but I’m trying to act like I’m not, and I have no idea what she could have heard but I doubt there are any really solid pro-Reid Goodwin rumors. And apparently what she heard--and I have no idea from who--is that I am really good at Scrabble.

  How is there a rumor that I am really good at Scrabble? Where did that start? I can’t stop trying to figure it out, and I’m waiting for her to kick me out because it’s probably not a very attractive quality in a guy. But she says she’s secretly awesome at Scrabble and plans to kick my ass.

  I do my best to use romantic or sexy words, but the best I can manage is getting O, R, and A when there’s an L to play off of, but it seems tacky and gross so I don’t. I try to analyze Madison’s plays for any kind of subliminal messages, but it’s just a bunch of random smart Scrabble moves that make words like qi and jammy, so I’m getting nothing there.

  The game takes a really long time and Madison actually is a secret Scrabble wizard, and she doesn’t completely demolish me but she does end up beating me, and at that point I’m kind of exhausted but I’m still trying to think of a good move to make, like, on her, not the game--by now the game’s over. She just says we should go up to her room, and I am really glad I brought precautions, but then the front door opens and her parents walk in, and Madison’s just all, “See ya, Reid,” and waves good-bye to me.

  So I still haven’t had sex and also I am no longer the best at Scrabble at Edendale High. Tonight was a big loss.

  (Okay I might be being dramatic. Madison did end up walking me to my car and we kissed for at least eight minutes.)

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  At practice the next day I try to walk in like I always do, but part of me wants to swagger, and part of me doesn’t even want to look at Lucy or Reid. Or, I guess, Nathan either.

  “Can we start with ‘Can’t Talk’ again?” Lucy asks. “I’d really like it to be ready for the Smell.”

  “Totally,” I say. “Reid, are you tuned? Can we go?”

  “Ri, it’s a delicate process,” he says.

  I turn to roll my eyes at Lucy, but she looks away. Yikes.

  No, my post-doing-it-with-Ted-Callahan mood is not to be ruined. I count off with my sticks, and we launch into “Can’t Talk.” We play it over and over until it’s shaping up, and we work awhile on an Andrew Mothereffing Jackson cover and run through “Tease,” “Garage,” “Holly Trueheart,” “Across the Room,” and “Tone Deaf.” I’m hoping to have all this newfound sexually charged drumming or rhythm power, but I’m exactly the same, even though I am Riley Jean Crowe-Ellerman, Virgin No More.

  “Can you guys practice awhile later today?” Nathan asks. “We could get even more done if we keep going, and we’ll be in better shape for our show.”

  He’s right, but if
I leave now, I still have time to see Ted before going home to have dinner with the United Front. “Um, maybe this is enough for today?”

  Wait, what am I doing?

  “No, never mind, you’re right, Nathan, of course, as always,” I say, which is bitchier than anything I am actually thinking. “Sorry, I just—let’s keep going.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something?” Nathan asks.

  “No, god, sorry, I’m having a weird day. Can we keep playing?”

  Everyone looks back at me like I’m a circus freak, but we do keep going. By the time we finish, Nathan suggests we walk to Best Fish Taco, but I feel panicky about time, so after carrying my drums out to my car I wave good-bye and drive off.

  At this point I should probably just go straight home, but I head to the Galleria and run into the food court. Ted is watching a bunch of corn dogs fry in intense concentration, but I walk right up and wave.

  “Hi, Ted.”

  “Hi, Riley,” he says with a grin. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I laugh and watch as his face turns red. Oh my god, he’s the cutest. “I’m sure you’re superbusy, but I wanted to say hi.”

  Oh my god, we have now said hi or hey, like, twenty-seven times each.

  “How was practice?” he asks.

  “Really good. We’re trying to play everything a ton so we’re ready for the Smell. How’s work?”

  “Busy.” He gestures to the bubbling frying foods. “I can’t take a break for a while. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s totally okay. Just, I have this thing I have to do with my parents, is all, so I can’t hang around too long.”

  “It’s fine,” Ted says. “I’ll call you when I get off. I have to go home because it’ll be late, and I was out late last night, but—”

  “Yes, call me.” I don’t know how to say good-bye, because I really want to kiss him and of course I can’t. So I wave, and he waves back, and then I go home, where I’ll try to act enthused about dinner, even though really I’ll just be counting down until Ted’s off work and can call me.