Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)(50)

“Riley, it’s okay,” he says, but there’s a note of something in his voice that makes me put my hand on his arm like he needs steadying. “He died three years ago.”


“Oh,” I say. It is all I know to say to him. It must have happened right before high school, because we didn’t go to middle school together, and I hate that I didn’t know this fact about Ted Callahan, and I hate that I don’t have more to say to him now.

“Yeah,” he says.

And I somehow know it’s all he can say, too. I give him a hug, and he leans into it really snug. It’s nice to feel like you’re exactly enough for what someone needs.

“Anyway, I know trains are kind of dorky, but I still like them.”

I should tell him I like that he’s a dork, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment, so I say nothing instead. “Do you want to go to the Unacknowledged Parrot show on Friday? I think you’d like them. I can send you some MP3s.”

“I have work,” he says, “but I think I’ll get off in time. I can meet you there if that’s okay.”

“It’s totally okay, yeah.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I take it out, I see that it’s Milo calling. Bad timing, Milo!

“Are you okay?” Ted asks.

I realize I am wearing the expression of a reaction shot in a movie about diseases. “Fine, sure, yes, sorry.”

“Let’s go watch TV.” He takes my hand and gets me out of his trains room. After a couple more episodes of Blind Love, Ted’s mom calls and lets him know she’s running late. Obviously, we head back to his room to do it again.

It’s late by then, and I figure Mom and Dad are annoyed with me, but I text and say I’m studying with a friend from Yearbook—only partially a lie—and we order a pizza. I could sit with Ted watching dumb TV and eating delicious cheesy pizza and messing around forever, but after the pizza’s gone, I kiss him good night and go home.

I dig around in my purse for the Passenger Manifest while I’m checking my email in my room—awesome, Ted has sent me a YouTube clip of the hot-tub fall—and can’t find it. After a couple of viewings of the clip, I turn my full attention to my purse and, still, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Crap,” I say aloud. A cold sweat appears on the back of my neck, like the time I came down with the flu out of nowhere. I dump out the contents of my bag, and while I locate my missing lip balm, there is no notebook.

Oh, it’s probably just that Reid took it without asking. Yes! He’s gotten very comfortable with the contents of my bag. I grab my phone from the pile of discarded purse stuff and call him.

“Yo,” he says.

“STOP DOING THAT. So you have the Passenger Manifest, right?”

“Uh, no.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m positive.”

“Reid,” I say. My heart is pounding in every single part of my body, and not in the good, sexy way. My mouth tastes like foil. “It’s gone.”

“You’re sure?” he asks in a calm voice. “Did you check your purse?”

“OF COURSE I CHECKED MY PURSE,” I say. “WHY WOULDN’T I CHECK MY PURSE.”

“Okay, okay,” he says. “What about your backpack?”

“No. Good idea.” I unzip it and dump out its contents. There is no notebook, though I do find the granola bar I thought I lost last week. “Wait, check your backpack. Just to be safe.”

“Hang on.” There’s a long pause and then the sound of a bunch of stuff hitting the floor. “No. What about your locker?”

I let relief wash away all the heart-pounding and foil-tasting and faux-flu-having. “I’m sure it’s there.”

It’s never been anywhere but with Reid or in my bag, but right now I have to be sure it’s there.





CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE


I AM POSITIVE THE PASSENGER MANIFEST IS IN MY LOCKER.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR


The next morning Reid and I approach my locker with cool and calm attitudes, like this is CSI: Edendale High. I spin the dial to 23, then 17, and all the way around to 13. The lock clicks open just as it should.

The Passenger Manifest isn’t sitting on top, but I decide that means nothing. I hand each textbook to Reid like a pro. Before long, the locker is empty and Reid is holding a stack of books and folders that tower almost past his head.

The Passenger Manifest is nowhere to be found.

“It’s lost,” I say. “It’s officially lost, Reid.”

Reid’s face, at least what I can see of it, turns the palest shade of white, and the books spill out from his arms onto the floor in all directions. Ted rounds the corner and notices, which I’d normally love. But this is not the time for Ted’s help.

“Hi, Riley,” he says. “Hey,” he says to Reid.

“Ri.” Reid is in serious business mode. “We have a situation to deal with.”

Ted is scrambling around picking up my books and folders. I wish I could enjoy his being gentlemanly.

“Ri!”

“Sorry, yes, I know, Reid.” I take my stuff from Ted and give him a smile I hope explains it all except not because he cannot know what’s going on. “Hey, we have to deal with this Gold Diggers thing, so I’ll see you in history class.”