Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)(12)

“He did donate a lot of money for those computers,” Garrick says. “But this will be better. My parents are out, so we should be able to get a lot of studying done.”

“Rock on,” I say, walking inside and glancing around the front room, which is the kind of eclectic that doesn’t happen naturally. Mismatched artwork and photographs and posters decorate the walls, a purple throw rug covers most of the hardwood floor, and none of the furniture matches. Garrick’s dad is a TV director, so I assume the chaos is strictly on purpose. Fancy creative people love chaos. It’s weird someone could love chaos and also breed to produce Garrick, geneticist in training, but probably no more so than my academic parents ending up with me.

Garrick and I settle in the living room with our books, him on the couch and me on the floor. I am way more interested in the as-promised fresh chocolate chip cookies Garrick’s mom left for us than studying, but I manage both.

“What is the name of NaClO?” he asks me.

“Mffffwww,” I say, because my mouth is stuffed full of hot, melty, salty-sweet chocolate chip action. I wonder why more songs aren’t written, monuments aren’t built, wars aren’t fought over chocolate chip cookies.

“Wrong,” he says. “It’s sodium hypochlorite.”

“It’s really weird you knew what I said,” I say, and he laughs.

“I know. But I did. Okay, diamond is composed of what bonds?”

Of course I’d already reached for another cookie, so: “Mmmvvnt?”


“Perfect, yeah, covalent.”

I pump my fist like I just scored a home run or some other sports thing. “These are basically the best cookies I’ve ever had.”

“They’re pretty great,” he says. “Oh, you probably want to turn music on, right? I can turn some music on.”

“Yeah, I study way better with music,” I say, even though I’m scared about the kind of tunes a future geneticist rocks out to. So I toss him my iPod, and he hooks it up to the stereo and plays an Allo Darlin’ album, and maybe it’s just because it’s one of the first alphabetically, but, still, good selection.

“Your turn,” he says. “Quiz me.”

I swipe his flash cards even though this seems pointless. Garrick knows everything there is to know about science, and he proves that point right by… well, knowing everything I ask him. It’s so predictable that when I ask “If you have two-point-five moles of oxygen, you need how many moles of hydrogen for complete combustion?” and he answers “Five” and I tell him “Nope! Try again, contestant!” it’s clear I’m just being stupid and of course he’s right.

“You’re going to do fine,” I tell him.

“You’ll do good, too,” he says, less enthusiastically, but I think he means it. “So, are you going to the fall formal?”

“Reid’s trying to see if we can play at the dance,” I say. “Are you?”

“I was seeing if you wanted to go,” he says.

Oh, oh, oh, WHAT!

“No!” I say. I kind of shout it, actually. I sound like a Grade A jerk. “I just mean—I can’t. I’ll either play or I won’t go. I don’t like school functions.”

“Except Yearbook.”

“Except Yearbook, yeah. That’s just because I know I have to have some extracurriculars to get into a decent college.” I shrug because I would rather dwell on Yearbook and college than this weird possibility that DID GARRICK JUST ASK ME OUT?

I look over at him and try to evaluate him as a new person, as if I didn’t know he liked DNA and molecules and got excited about his mom’s cookies. Okay, to be fair, I was pretty excited about his mom’s cookies, too. And Garrick is no Ted Callahan (who is?), but he isn’t reprehensible. His dark blond hair is shaggy in front, which I approve of, and he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which is boring but isn’t a sin, either. (To be fair, most of the time Ted Callahan wears jeans and T-shirts, too, though his are always faded in this perfect vintage manner.) Garrick’s body is kind of shaped like that of a Lego man—rectangular torso and stick legs—but that’s nothing awful.

Wait, what is going on? Why am I evaluating Garrick like a dude and not a lab partner, and did he actually just ask me out?

“Extracurriculars are a smart idea,” he says.

The subject seems firmly changed, and I am firmly okay with that. The flash cards come back out, but I am now juggling thoughts about the potential ask-out, about shaggy hair, about being alone on a Saturday night with a boy who isn’t Reid.

Which is how I end up joining Garrick on the couch. I make a face like it’s weird that I’m there, and he laughs, and I touch his hair, SINCE IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE GOTTEN TO TOUCH TED’S, and I guess it is very much a foregone conclusion we are going to kiss, but what I am not expecting at all is that Garrick is actually a crazy good kisser. Perfect amount of pressure, moisture, lips he clearly uses balm on, good breath, good use of tongue. Check, check, check, perfect kissing report card, Garrick.

What is happening?!

“I’m going to have some Nerds.” I reach for candy while I regret my choice of words because I am TOTALLY HAVING A NERD, AREN’T I. Wait, is Garrick even a nerd? Is it that he just likes science and doesn’t seem to have much of a social life? I am a freaking rock star and I was free on a Saturday, too. Seriously, the world is upside-down and outside-in.