Free Crash Test Love by Ted Michael Page A

work.”
    (Note to self: Secure invitation to Henry’s house next weekend after work.)
    “I don’t think any girl from school has ever been over to his house,” Jyl ian says, “wel , except for—”
    “I’m get ing a stress headache,” London says, massaging her temples. “I need to go home and lie down.” I drop Jyl ian o rst, then Jessica. Young Love’s Too Young to Fight It is in the CD player.
    “So,” London says as I pul up to her house. The way the light from the street l s the car gives her an ethereal look, as if she’s slightly more than human. I am both excited and terri ed by the prospect of her friendship.
    “So.”
    “I can’t believe Henry asked you over.”
    “I know. Me either.”
    “It’s a real y big deal, you know.”
    “Is it?”
    “Yes,” she says. The way her voice resonates makes me feel like nothing in the world is more important than my going over to Henry’s house next weekend. I start to get nervous.
    “Good, I guess.”
    London gives me a smile as though it were a present. “You real y might get him to go out with you, Garret . Kudos.” I think this is supposed to be a compliment, but it makes me uneasy. “Did you think that I wouldn’t be able to?”
    “Just make sure you get him to take you to Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen,” London says. “Nobody likes a failure.” Then she kisses me once on each cheek. “And be careful. Thanks for the ride.”
    I want to ask why I should be careful but, before I can, she’s gone.
    I avoid my parents and head straight to my room. They’re curled up on the sofa in our den watching TV. If I say hel o, they’l want me to hang out with them, and I’m not in the mood. I don’t feel like being the third wheel with a loving couple, even if that couple is my parents. Actual y, even more so because they’re my parents. Gross.
    My room is in various stages of unpacked. There are stil boxes ful of books and trinkets and pictures. Some—not al —of my clothes are folded away. The only thing perfectly in place is my CD col ection, which I’ve arranged and sorted alphabetical y. While most people buy their music on iTunes (or download it il egal y), I like having something to hold in my hand. I also have a bunch of vocal selections I can sort of play on the guitar; mostly, I read through the lyrics of my favorite songs the way some people ip through magazines.
    I take out my cel phone and dial Amy back in Chicago. With the time di erence, she should just be get ing home from school. It goes straight to voice mail. I leave this message: “Hey, stranger. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. What gives? I hope school is fun, but not too fun, and that you miss me every day and cry yourself to sleep at night because you can’t live without me. You bet er have a kick-ass reason for not get ing back to me, okay? Cal me.”
    When I hang up I think, That was pathetic, but that’s the thing about best friends—you’re al owed to sound pathetic because they love you unconditional y. Or at least, they’re supposed to.
    I check my e-mail (one from my English teacher about our Hamlet assignment and one advertising penile enlargement surgery) and watch an episode of 30 Rock on Hulu. Then my thoughts turn to Ben and “The Day We Fel Apart” (Kel y Clarkson, 2009). I real y did think that I would hear from him by now. That he would miss me enough to cal . How could I have been so wrong?
    When I close my eyes, I see him. Ben. Lying on my bed. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are sleepy and his lips are opened slightly. His shirt is crumpled on the oor and his chest seems like this enormous wal of muscle and esh; I rest my head there and let my hands travel across his stomach. It’s the end of June. School is over for the year and my parents are away for the weekend; they have speci cal y asked me not to have any guests over, but Ben is not a guest (even though I am sure they would disagree). Ben is my boyfriend. Ben is “My