Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)(46)

“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.