“Can you imagine?” says another, her eyes wide. “Where does his mom sleep?”
“I knew he wasn’t rich, but I didn’t realize he was, like,poor.”
Beside me I can feel Leo bristle. This is exactly why Teddy never has anyone but us over. And why it’s so strange to see dozens of our classmates crammed into every available inch of space tonight. On the couch, five girls are wedged together so closely it’s hard to imagine how they’ll ever get up, and the hallway that leads to Teddy’s room is clogged by the better part of the basketball team. As we stand there, one of them comes barreling past us—his cup held high, the liquid sloshing onto his shirt—shouting, “Dude! Dude! Dude!” over and over as he elbows his way toward the kitchen.
“Dude,”Leo says in a voice that makes me laugh, because it doesn’t matter what season it is, whether it’s soccer or basketball or baseball—we always feel slightly out of place among Teddy’s teammates. Sometimes it’s like he has two separate lives: the one where he spends Friday nights hitting game-winning shots in front of the whole school and the one where he spends Saturday nights watching stupid movies with me and Leo. We always go to his games and cheer him on and show up at the parties afterward because he’s our best friend. But I like it better when it’s just us.
“There he is,” Leo says, and I close my eyes for a second, keenly aware of the card in my bag, a secret still lit with possibility, like something about to bloom.
It’s only Teddy,I remind myself, but then I spin around and there he is with that enormous grin of his, lifting a hand to motion us over.
The thing about Teddy McAvoy is that there’s nothing particularly exceptional about him. If I had to describe him, it would be difficult to find something defining enough to pin him down. He’s average height: a few inches taller than me and a few inches shorter than Leo. And he has ordinary brown hair that’s cut in a completely ordinary way. His ears are normal-sized, and his eyes are plain brown, and his nose is unremarkable. But somehow, taken as a whole, he’s beautiful.
“Hey,” he says, his face lighting up as we squeeze past the girls who have positioned themselves at the edge of the kitchen. “You’re late.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but before I can he sweeps me into one of his bear hugs, my feet parting ways with the sticky linoleum floor, my heart flying up into my throat. When he sets me down, I blink at him.
“Aren’t you gonna wish me a happy birthday?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows, and something about his teasing tone makes me snap back.
“Stop fishing,” I say with a grin. “I’ve already said it a million times today.”
“Yeah, but that was at school. Not at my party.”
“Well then, happy birthday,” I say, rolling my eyes. “About time you caught up.”
Without warning he loops an arm around my neck, putting me into a friendly headlock. “Just because you’ve been eighteen for ages now—”
“Weeks,” I correct, trying to squirm away from him.
“—doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re so much older and wiser than me.”
“It’s not acting,” I say, laughing now, and he lets me go.
“It’s tough being the youngest,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Especially when I’m obviously so much more mature than you guys—”
“Obviously,” I say, shaking my head.
Leo reaches for a handful of M&M’s from a bowl on the counter. “So I thought this was gonna be at Marty’s tonight.”
“His parents’ flight got canceled because of the snow,” Teddy says, “and there were no other options. So I figured we might as well move it here.”
He flashes a smile, but there’s an effort behind it. Even six years later, he’s still embarrassed by the run-down building, the single bedroom, the absence of his father.
“So,” he says, clapping his hands. “Since neither of you greeted me with balloons this morning—which was a real letdown, by the way—and there wasn’t any confetti when I opened my locker, Iknowyou must’ve brought me something tonight.”
“You make it sound like our presence isn’t enough,” Leo teases him.
“Really, what do I get?” Teddy asks, looking betweenus. “Actually, wait. Let me guess. Leo probably made me something computer-y—”
“That’s not a word.”
“Maybe a cartoon about the adventures of Teddy McAvoy? Or a pixelated portrait? Or a website of my very own?”
“Sure,” Leo says, nodding. “You can find it at www.TeddyIsAnIdiot.com.”
“And Al,” Teddy says, turning to me, “I bet you went out and bought something really amazing, then promptly gave it away to someone who needs it more.”
“You know,” Leo says with a grin, “shewasat the soup kitchen earlier tonight.”
