A Little Friendly Advice. Siobhan Vivian
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— 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