Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)

Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys) by Amy Spalding




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To my friend Todd Martens





Sound is the love between me and you.

—Wild Flag, “Romance”





TWO MONTHS AGO


“This summer is a failure.”

“Reid, get a grip,” I say.

“It’s emblematic,” he says, and I don’t roll my eyes because Reid says things like emblematic all the time. He’s a writer, but also he’s just Like That. “This is the summer before our junior year, and it isn’t going how I wanted.”

“It’s one sold-out show,” I say.

We didn’t buy tickets to see Welcome to the Marina in advance because even our bandmates, Lucy and Nathan, said their record wasn’t very good, and Pitchfork said they were even worse live. But as soon as we drove up to the Center for the Arts Eagle Rock and saw the line wrapping around the entrance and stairs, we realized we should have just ponied up the extra money for the Ticketmaster fees and bought tickets in advance. “What should we do now? Pastrami and shakes at the Oinkster?”

“I’m too disappointed for a pastrami sandwich,” Reid says. “Let’s just go back to the garage and see if Lucy and Nathan want to practice more.”

This seems like a good solution, even though I’d really been hoping for one of the Oinkster’s ube shakes. Today’s had been one of those band practices where, if not for Reid and I having plans, we could have played all night.

I love being in a band with people who care about it as much as I do.

We shout-sing along with Andrew Mothereffing Jackson’s latest album on the drive back and pull up to Lucy’s house less than an hour after we left it. Nathan’s car is still there, so we made the right call.

“You guys were wrong,” I say as Reid opens the door to the garage. “That show is completely sold out.”

A Crocodiles song is blaring from the stereo, but somehow the room still seems completely silent because no one is talking. I see it like a horror movie, all quick flashes of skin and slo-mo devastation. Nathan is on Lucy, or maybe Lucy is on Nathan, but regardless of who is on whom, it’s Lucy and Nathan. Lucyandnathan.

Now everything’s in fast-forward instead. Lucy and Nathan are fully dressed and talking at exactly the same time, but Reid and I might as well be turned into stone.

“We wanted to tell you guys,” I hear Nathan say.

“We were going to tell you,” I hear Lucy say.

“Nothing changes about the band.”

“Yes. Everything will be exactly the same.”

Reid and I manage to break our stone spell at the same moment. I know if I wanted to, I could speak again. But all we do is back out of the garage together and get into Reid’s car without another word.





CHAPTER ONE



We, the undersigned, agree to document our journeys in search of true love and/or sex. No detail is too small, too humiliating, too stupid.

We will also provide one another with advice on how to capture the attention of the opposite gender. No line items should be taken as criticism, merely assistance and guidance to complete our ultimate goal.

Signed:



Riley Jean Crowe-Ellerman Reid Daniel Goodwin





CHAPTER TWO


Ted Callahan is walking to my car.

I am trying to act normal. Like a normal person. Pick up one foot, put it down, repeat with the other foot. Do not look like a robot while doing so. Do not tip over. Do not, under any circumstances, let out any joyous squeals. Do not grab Ted’s face and scream, “Dear god, you are here and you are real and you are beautiful and you are about to get into my car.”

“Thanks,” Ted says.

I’ve been in love with him for at least five months, but he doesn’t talk to me often. His words are blue sky, cutting through the clouds of our previously uncommunicative ways.

“It’s no problem. I drive this way anyway.” It’s scary how fast this flies out of me. Stop talking, Riley. “And I never mind driving. I love driving. Ever since I got my license, it’s all, if I can get in the car and go, I totally will.”

Why did I say that? It isn’t even true! I neither love nor hate driving.

Ted nods politely as I unlock the doors to my car. It’s as he’s about to sit down that I realize something horrifying—way worse than my stream-of-consciousness ode to the open road—is about to occur. When I dropped off Ashley at school this morning, she left behind her copy of… Gill Talk.

On the front passenger seat.

Faceup.

The cover features a pale mermaid with flowing blond locks. Instead of the traditional shell bra, she’s wearing a gold shirt that looks like it was purchased at Forever 21, and instead of scales, she appears to possess sequins.