“Oh, my God! Maybe you and Teddy can finally consummate your marriage tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
She smiles. “You know. A little thing called fourth-grade Halloween, when Teddy was James Bond and you were Princess Diana, marching together in the school parade. Everyone thought you were husband and wife.”
We both giggle. It feels really good. “Holy crap. I forgot about that.”
“Not at all surprising, considering you have a terribly memory.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyhow, I totally predict that you will make out with Teddy tonight.” She crosses her arms and nods her head once, like a genie. “It’ll be great. You’ll kiss all your troubles away.”
“Eww!” I say, and stick my tongue out. There’s something a little daytime-talk-show about trying not to obsess about your deadbeat dad by randomly hooking up with some guy. Plus, it’s not like I have a million other guys I’ve kissed in my lifetime. There hasn’t even been one. And I don’t know if I want my first to be tainted with his memory.
“What do you mean eww?” Beth pokes a finger at my chest. “Ruby, I’m starting to think that you might have a phobia about hooking up. Like a fear of getting close to a guy or something. Because of your parents.”
I actually contemplate her words for a few seconds. But then I notice how Beth’s face is super stony and serious. Too serious. “You’re so full of it.”
She rocks back with laughter. “Then prove me wrong!”
Kissing Teddy might be a good way to take my mind off things. And I don’t get many chances to prove Beth wrong about anything. So I flash a crooked grin and decide to seize this particular opportunity by the lips.
This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
Admittedly, the idea of distracting myself with a random hookup left me feeling unusually warm and malleable for the rest of Friday. I abandoned all my standard reservations and let Beth take charge of getting me make-out ready. She swept some lilac eye shadow across my lids and pinned back some of my waves with a sparkly barrette. I borrowed Maria’s vintage rhinestone earrings and Katherine’s wide leather belt. And I even let Beth snip open the collar of my too-old and too-tight Akron Public Library Read-A-Thon T-shirt. Even though I hadn’t actually seen Teddy in about four years, I conjured up enough adorable memories of him to get by on for the afternoon, picturing the cute boy who used to take the class hermit crabs home every summer.
The Teddy of tonight, however, is not so much adorable as he is enormous. He’s linebacker-huge, with matching tribal bicep tattoos. His neck is easily as thick as my waist, Darwin-mandated to support his big head. Dark rings of perspiration bleed out along the seams of his lime-green polo shirt, a snug extra-extra-large. Droplets twinkle on the sides of his forehead, and when his nervous habit of running his hands through his brown military buzz cut kicks in, sprays of sweat halo his head. There’s only one familiar detail — Teddy’s still as smiley as ever, especially since his teeth, now freed from the braces of his youth, are perfectly straight and white.
He’s being nice and all, but there’s no chemistry. Still, I’m trying to remain positive. I’m trying to keep kissing on my mind.
Beth and I have our backs pressed up against the wood panels of Teddy’s basement wall. He’s standing in front of us, stocky legs spread in an upside-down V, rocking his weight from side to side. I wonder if he knows what’s going on, that Beth is baiting him to be my very first kiss.
I’m not talking much, but that’s fine because Beth dominates the conversation, OhMyGod!ing so loud and shrill that Teddy’s attention can’t wander away from us for long. She’s retelling the fourth-grade Halloween-parade story. Teddy’s mumbling “Yeah, yeah,” to be courteous, though his blank stare reveals he has no idea what she’s going on about. I don’t think Beth picks that up. She’s far too busy playing matchmaker, and keeps talking and laughing like the story is the funniest thing ever, a mutual joke among very old and very good friends, a rehearsal of the toast she’ll make at our wedding.
In the Budweiser mirror hanging behind us I catch Teddy searching for escape. I suddenly don’t feel good.
The muggy room is wall-to-wall with Akron private school elite — boys from Fisher Prep and girls from its sister school, Lambert Academy. For kids who complain about wearing uniforms, everyone’s dressed remarkably alike on their off night. Like extras from a television show in California, their clothing is cottony and fitted, in pastel colors that enhance frightening shades of tan for October in Ohio. Girls do their best languid MySpace poses all over each other for flashing camera phones held at arm’s length, while the boys pretend not to get boners watching them. It’s all totally gross.
Ten o’clock must be too late an arrival for a party with parent-provided liquor, because the crowd is supertrashed. Anyhow, I’m not drinking. Just the smell of beer is making my almost-recovered stomach tempt hangover relapse.
Across the room, some meathead wearing a supertight tank top and an upside-down visor screams about a tapped keg, the ultimate in prep-school party fouls. “I guess I should check that out,” Teddy says before quickly ditching us. A cloud of musty cologne lingers in his wake.
“Let’s find the girls,” I urge Beth. We’d scattered upon entering the party — Maria to make a call, Katherine to get some beer. Beth’s number one priority was to get me some face time with Teddy and let the sparks fly. Only they’re not flying at all.
Beth hands me her tube of vanilla lip gloss while she adjusts the bobby pins holding her hair off her face. “Teddy’s not bad. A little sweaty, but not bad at all. You —” and she knocks me in the shoulder “— should be talking more! You’ve got to show Teddy you’re interested!”
Her dedication to this hookup is my own fault. Beth’s happy when I’m happy, and I was definitely happy tonight, tittering over our game plan in the backseat of the Volvo. But now I’m not sure I want my first kiss to be with Teddy, or anybody else here.
My nostrils burn with the scent of a musky hunting lodge, signaling that Teddy’s taking another lap around the room. He trots from partygoer to partygoer, delivering beer, laughing hard at stale jokes, leaping into outstretched arms, and lending his voice to the endless choruses of Holy Shit Dude.
“Seriously, let’s mingle a bit,” I plead, tugging on Beth’s sleeve.
She shakes me off, kind of rough. “Relax, will you?”
I cross one leg in front of the other to keep them both from shaking. This is stupid and embarrassing. It’s not like Teddy’s even into me. But if Beth wants to pretend like this is going to work out all happy-ending style, far be it from me to ruin her fantasy.
My attention wanders until I spot Mr. Baker jogging down the basement stairs, head nodding to the beat of the music. No one seems the slightest bit alarmed as he snakes his way through the crowd and checks that the two kegs are in perfect working order. He must have heard the ruckus from upstairs.
If it wasn’t for his big bald head or his Santa-ish gut, you might mistake Mr. Baker for one of the kids. He’s got on a tight white polo shirt and jeans that are conspicuously distressed. They are not Dad Jeans that have faded over time from raking leaves in the yard, oiling up a bicycle chain, or painting a bathroom ceiling. He bought his jeans with Teddy — the very same pair, down to the tiny black skull stitched on the back left pocket. They were probably $200. Each.
Teddy spots his dad and turns bright red. He screams, “Get back upstairs! It’s all under control, bro.”
Mr. Baker throws up his hands and quickly retreats. He might’ve even said chill, but I really can’t hear over the music. Thank God.
“Eww. Did you see that?”
Beth cocks a loaded eyebrow. “How am I supposed to get you kissed with that awful frown you’ve got plastered on your face?” She twists her body and picks a brown fuzzy off the side of her creamy white sweater. “Don’t sabotage this for yourself, Ruby.”
My mouth drops open, but before I can defend myself, Teddy walks
by us again, cradling four red plastic cups filled to the brim with frothy beer. Beth grabs his arm and pulls him toward us, sending a tidal wave sloshing onto my sneakers. The wetness seeps through to my socks.
“Sorry,” Teddy says, but does not slow down, thereby avoiding Beth’s trap. He stops a few feet in front of us, distributes the beers, and slides a hand up the short tennis skirt of a girl with twinkling braces, after she loops her arm casually around his shoulders.
I guess he figures it’s time to bring Beth up to speed, that he and I were never going to happen. And I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that we’re finally all on the same page.
Unfortunately, Beth doesn’t see it quite the same way. “Honestly, Ruby.” Her fingers lock into mine and we take off across the crowded room. “Do you even know how to flirt?”
“Yes,” I say, dragging my feet. But really, no. But really, it doesn’t even matter.
The basement is outfitted with a huge tiki bar, a few arcade games, and vintage corporate signs from Firestone (which, I hate to admit, are actually quite cool). Tiny speakers are nestled in every corner, and hardly one bad song gets played the whole way through before someone commandeers the iPod and click-wheels onto an even worse one. There’s a huge flat-screen TV with about five different video game systems lined up on top of the entertainment unit. Glossy posters of waxy bikini girls with sandy crotches are framed and lit like paintings in a museum. The whole basement is officially dubbed a “Dude’s Paradise” by a custom-made sizzling blue neon sign. I wonder if it looked like this before Teddy’s mom ran away with the dentist. I wonder if that happened before or after his braces came off.
We pass by Katherine, waiting her turn behind three guys at the arcade basketball game, silently chugging from a red cup. She looks really pretty — her blond hair is half up and she has on a tight little black V-neck and jeans. Maria’s leaning against the leg of a tall boy draped spread-eagle on the corner of the pool table. I don’t want to disturb her flirting, but Beth taps her shoulder and Maria happily breaks away. Only then do I notice the boy has severe acne.
“I can’t believe I ever made out with that guy. I asked him what the last CD he bought or downloaded was, and he said he doesn’t listen to anything but what’s on the radio. Could you be any more boring?” I can’t help but think she’s comparing him to Davey, but I’m not going to call her out on it. Maria shakes her head, erasing the memory of the bad-skinned boy from her mind like an Etch-a-Sketch. “How’re things going with Teddy?”
“Not great,” Beth barks before I even get a chance to answer.
The best thing I can do is ignore Beth when she gets pissy. She acted the same way whenever I skated faster than her at the ice rink, or the time I wouldn’t ride the log flume with her at Cedar Point because I didn’t want to get my clothes wet. So I just smile back at Maria and say, “He’s got a girlfriend.”
Katherine walks over. “This party sucks,” she says in an obnoxiously loud voice, causing a few dirty looks to be sent in our direction. I can’t help but laugh, and Maria giggles too.
Beth says, “You guys suck,” but in a far less jokey way.
Maria and I don’t say anything. Katherine is totally unfazed by Beth’s attitude. She smiles big and toothy and takes off for the back door. “I’ll be outside smoking.”
Beth shoves her hands in her back pockets. “Whatever then. I’m not going to force you guys to be here and have fun,” she says in a fake-agreeable way to hide her disappointment. “I’m going to pee, drink a beer, and then we’ll go.”
“I’ll stay if you want to stay,” I concede quietly, but Beth disappears into the crowd like she doesn’t hear me.
Maria must see that I’m a little upset because she tries to tickle me into smiling. While I kind of appreciate the effort, it doesn’t work.
“It’s not like I purposefully tried to blow it,” I say. “Teddy has a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t think Teddy’s your type, either.”
“Exactly.” I shake my head, and Maria and I both laugh a little bit.
Maria puckers her lips and blows something off my face — an eyelash, I guess. “It’s a little crazy how concerned Beth can be, but remember, it’s all coming from a good place.” She fishes out a gold angel-wing charm necklace from the depths of her cleavage and lays it back on top of her bleach-spattered red tank top. “She just wants you to be happy.”
I turn away from her and gaze off across the room. A pack of jocks have dragged an AeroBed into the middle of the room and turned it into some sort of wrestling trampoline. “Check out those guys,” I say. “They just want to find an excuse to touch each other.” The thought briefly crosses my mind to take a picture of them, even though they aren’t my friends and the sight isn’t terribly pretty. But I unzip my bag and pull out my Polaroid anyway.
“Oh my God, you are so going to be the next Diane Arbus!”
It’s easy to forget that Maria is totally smart, aside from totally hot. I have no idea who Diane Arbus is, but now I’m convinced that this is going to make a hilarious picture. And messing around with my camera seems as good a distraction as a hookup. Beth had told me not to bring it, because my book bag didn’t really go with my outfit. Now I’m glad I did.
I weave through the raucous crowd toward the heaving boy pile. I hold the camera up to my face and frame the shot, just as one boy wraps his legs around another’s torso in what can only be described as a pretzel hold. Another guy comes up from behind and tips the guys on top of him. They are all grunting and sweating, in total testosterone heaven.
“Whoa! That’s a really cool camera!”
A boy in an itchy-looking, moth-bitten green sweater and navy Dickies steps in front of my shot, totally ruining it. It’s not particularly hot in the basement, but his cheeks are crisp and red. They give the impression of being freshly slapped. His wrinkly grin does little to convince me he didn’t deserve it.
“Take my picture,” he says, resting his chin on his fist in a cheesy Sears-portrait pose.
“What?” I take a big step back. “No.”
Unfortunately, he is not deterred. In fact, his smile widens. “Well … then I’ll take your picture.” And he actually tries to grab the camera right out of my hands.
There’s no way that’s going to happen. So I aim and pull the trigger, just so he’ll back off. Before I can say, “That’ll be five dollars, jerk.” He yanks the picture right out of the camera. Then he drags a squiggly line through the milky film with his finger.
“You tell me to take your picture and then you ruin it?” I’m beyond pissed off.
“Watch,” he says and hands me the square. “We used to do this at art camp.”
His face begins to develop, but the line he’s drawn on the film doesn’t. Instead, it forms the ghostly colorless outline of a bird. The shape frames his head perfectly. I look up and see the very same bird, on a yellow button the size of a quarter, pinned to the center of his plain navy-blue baseball cap. “Pretty cool, right?”
I notice now that this boy is cute. He’s got a couple of light freckles that look like a dusting of cinnamon on the bridge of his nose. And even though he has plain old brown eyes, they look more sparkly than other ones I’ve seen.
I try to muster up some game, so I flick the button. “This is like your trademark or something?” Beth wasn’t kidding. I am so bad at flirting.
“Not exactly. I have this button maker and, well, I like to make buttons.” He looks down at his gray New Balances and rubs the shaggy fringe of dirty-blond hair creeping out from the band of his cap, because I guess he knows that hobby sounds sort of weird. “I made a bunch of these baby chick ones for my little cousins last Easter.”
His hand dives into his back pocket and surfaces with another tiny button. He hands this one to me. It’s white and says HELLO in green teacher-perfect script.
“Hello,” he says.
“How many of these have you given out tonight?” I ask. I can f
eel myself blushing.
“Two.” He grins. “I like to make friends.”
“Sorry, but I can’t really see you having many friends here.” I don’t feel like I’m going out on a limb. The other guys from Fisher Prep have congealed into tidy groups of similarities, like weight class or bad haircut. This boy doesn’t fit the scene. And that definitely works in his favor.
“You’re right,” he tells me. Then he pulls me toward the back door.
“Wait. My friends are leaving.” I try to pull free, but he’s holding my hand too tight. My feet feel light and clumsy, and I bobble behind him like a balloon full of week-old helium.
“C’mon! We’ll wait for them outside. Besides, I want you to meet someone.”
The night is dark and dense in Teddy’s manicured backyard. We waft through a cloud of smokers that congregate near the back door. One of them is Katherine. I beam my smile in her direction. She watches me through her long final drag, flicks the butt away, and goes back inside looking very unhappy. I guess she really does want to get out of here. I realize I’m squeezing this boy’s hand in a hot, very sweaty vise grip. I let my hand slip free, but he catches my pinkie and links it with his.
I follow this boy down a slate path that leads toward Teddy’s pool house. Automatic floodlights click on and guide our way. The sounds of bad music grow fainter with every step. I actually relax a little.
In the corner, Teddy’s golden retriever lies near his doghouse, his silver chain linked to a twisted, carved topiary. When he was a puppy, Teddy would parade him hourly around our block. Now the dog is ancient, its sandy coat flecked with white hair. Nevertheless, the dog is happy to have some company. He struggles to his feet to greet us, but ultimately opts to sit and wait instead. His wagging tail sweeps aside fallen leaves from a triangle of grass.
The boy pats the dog on the head and draws me closer. He pushes back some fur. Another white HELLO button is pinned to the dog’s collar.