Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)(28)

“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.

“Riley!” Reid runs directly at me, like a train off its tracks. We collide and smack foreheads and both fall to the gym floor. I literally see stars. Reid makes dramatic moany sounds.

“What the hell!” I shout into the heavens. The gym’s rafters, at least. “Why are the floors so slippery?”

“They just waxed the floor,” Reid says. “For basketball preseason.”

We continue to lie there, next to each other, somehow both still conscious after the head-smacking and the meet-gym-flooring.

“I have news,” I say.

“So do I,” Reid says.

“You first!”

“Jane has a boyfriend,” Reid says. “He goes to Marshall High, and his mom works for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”

“Crap, Reid, I’m sorry.”

We lie there silently for a bit. It’s surprisingly not entirely uncomfortable.

“What was your news?” Reid asks.

Of course mere moments ago, when I was still vertical, I was bursting to share everything with Reid. Right now, though, it feels like I’m kicking him while he’s—literally—down.

“Want to go get waffles?” I ask instead.

“Ri, I almost always want to go get waffles.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE



Reid’s List of Where It Went Wrong


Make sure a girl doesn’t have a boyfriend.

Don’t fall in love with someone unless you’re sure that person loves you back.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


I make it through waffles with Reid without making his bad night even worse by letting him know that maybe Ted and I are happening. Post-waffle, I let myself into the house without worrying if I’m smiling too much or radiating happy Ted thoughts. Mom and Dad are both up, watching a spy movie, but they hit pause when I come through the door. A secret agent is frozen on-screen, mid-secret.

“How was your show?” Dad asks. “Since we didn’t get to see it ourselves.”

The United Front had mentioned coming to our show, but this was my night to be a Rock Star in my school. It didn’t feel like a rock star move to invite your parents to a school dance.

“Really good. We even got an encore, like a totally legit encore.” I sit down with them, even though I’m barely calm enough to sit still. “Someone taped it, so you guys can watch it later, if you want.”

“Of course we want,” Mom says.

“This is just a general question, like a poll. If someone gets completely rejected, how soon can his friend tell him she finally kissed the guy she super likes?” I ask.

“At least twenty-four hours,” Dad says very quickly.

Mom cocks her head at that. “Honesty’s an important component of friendship. But if someone’s feelings need to be spared, I’m not sure there’s a set time limit.” The United Front is merely almost united for once. “Did something happen tonight—”

“I’m just asking for a friend.” I make a face because no one ever believes that. “I should go to bed.”

“Okay,” the United Front choruses happily.

In my room I approach my computer with proper respect.