Ted Saves the World

by Bryan Cohen

  Chapter 4

  "You awake?"

  Dhiraj chuckled when he read Natalie's text.

  "It's Sunday, you know I get up at 6:30," he replied.

  Dhiraj assumed that regular teenagers slept until noon on the weekend, and he would never consider himself regular or average. He was a teenage entrepreneur. Dhiraj had spent the last few hours working on his passive income websites, checking his investments and reading the latest on internet marketing. His goal was to have enough money to pay for college by the end of his junior year of high school. He planned to save up for a prospective Masters in Business Administration by the time he left 12th grade. The front page of his website said it all: it featured a high-resolution image of him sitting with his feet up at a desk and a cigar hanging out of his mouth.

  The next text Dhiraj received wasn't nearly as humorous as the first.

  "I broke things off with Ted."

  Last year, when Natalie told Dhiraj she was going to ask Ted out, it was the most nervous he'd ever seen her, and he'd even seen her throw up before a state playoff field hockey game.

  "What if he says no?" she'd asked.

  "Then you're not allowed to beat him up."

  Natalie punched Dhiraj in the shoulder. He had a bruise in that spot for the next three days.

  "I'm serious," she said.

  "Ted likes you. I think you two would be great together."

  "And it's not going to be too weird? Hanging out with two people in a relationship?"

  "No weirder than usual."

  Natalie punched his other shoulder. That one didn't form a bruise, but it ached just the same. Ted said yes to Natalie's request and the three of them went out to celebrate at Page's. Dhiraj felt good about bringing two people together when he saw how happy the two of them looked. Less than a year later, he felt less triumphant seeing them break up at the very same location.

  Dhiraj signed out of his accounts and called Natalie. As much as he loved the efficiency of doing two things at once, this situation called for his full attention.

  "How did he take it?" Dhiraj asked.

  He'd known it was coming – even though Natalie hadn't told him outright, all the hints were there. The two of them were going on fewer dates, they didn't laugh nearly as often and their public displays of affection were down to a minimum. As much as Dhiraj appreciated that last point, he wanted his friends to be happy.

  "He apologized. He joked. He went to the bathroom for a while," Natalie said.

  Dhiraj stifled a laugh. Ted wasn't much for confrontation. He remembered his best friend running away from a collision at the plate during a 7th grade baseball game. The coach wouldn't let him play catcher anymore, even though it went against Dhiraj's moneyball statistical analysis. Dhiraj was much more successful as the business manager of the girl's field hockey team. He helped the team, Natalie included, raise enough money to go to a tournament in England, airfare and all. She didn't talk to guys that much back in middle school, but after the life-changing trip, she brought Dhiraj into her small circle of friends.

  "Did he cry?" Dhiraj asked.

  "He almost cried. I nearly cried."

  Dhiraj couldn't imagine Natalie crying. He didn't believe Ted when he'd said a mere movie could bring tears to her eyes.

  "It's alright, Natalie. Now we can go back to just being friends like before."

  The relationship had cut into Dhiraj's minimal social time. They used to hang out at least three or four times a week. Natalie and Ted's dates took that down to one or two, and Dhiraj felt like a third wheel during at least half of those encounters. It was worth it when the two of them were happy, but it was starting to get annoying now that they were on the downswing.

  "I don't know, Dhiraj. Maybe it'll never get back to normal."

  "On TV sitcoms, the main characters always stay friends after dating," he said.

  "That's because they're under contract."

  Dhiraj wondered if Natalie was right. Would he have to hang out with them separately for the rest of high school? Would he have to choose between the two of them? He would never do that. The people he loved were like the stocks Warren Buffet bought: they were for keeps.

  "Do you want me to check in on him?" Dhiraj asked.

  "Could you?"

  Dhiraj logged into one of his many social media accounts. It was one he kept personal and away from his many business dealings. He sent Ted a message.

  "Hey buddy, I heard the news. Are you doing, OK? Do you need an ice cream?"

  Ever since Dhiraj had met Ted as a part of the township baseball team, he'd noticed that Ted was inclined toward mild depression. An ice cream tended to turn that frown upside down. Dhiraj remembered their first conversation on the bench.

  Dhiraj had just struck out for the third consecutive time in one game, and several of his teammates mimicked his off-kilter swinging. He was about to cry when he heard Ted's voice above the rest.

  "Hey, Dhiraj, come over here."

  Dhiraj hesitated, assuming his teammate would join in the mockery. He sat down anyway.

  "You'll get 'em next time," Ted said. "I wish this was more like a video game."

  "Me, too," Dhiraj said.

  "I struck out, too," Ted said. "Hopefully that means you're in good company."

  Dhiraj looked over at the other kids who were still pretending to swing wildly at bad pitches.

  "It certainly could be worse," Dhiraj said.

  During their time on the bench that season, Dhiraj taught Ted the secrets of money. Soon enough, Dhiraj invited Ted over to see his portfolio, which was valued at around $2,000 at the time. Ted was curious. While most kids their age told Dhiraj to shut up about money, Ted always listened to his ramblings. Now that he'd nearly built up enough for a college education, other students and teachers were a lot more interested in what Dhiraj had to say. He'd never forget that Ted was willing to listen when nobody else would.

  "I sent him a message, Nat," Dhiraj said. "Knowing him, I'll hear back in about 30 seconds."

  Ted always kept his phone close at hand. He answered phone calls in one ring and most text messages before the "delivered" tag even showed up. Dhiraj was surprised by the lack of an immediate response.

  "Maybe he's in the can," he said. "So, how's Jennifer?"

  Natalie groaned.

  "Ugh, can't you go a day without talking about her?"

  Dhiraj had eyes for one woman and one woman alone. Jennifer Norris wasn't considered a knockout by most, but Dhiraj refused to rate any girl higher, even when it came to celebrities. Truth be told, he became the financial manager of the girl's field hockey team to get closer to her. She always seemed to be dating someone whenever he got the courage to ask her out. Despite his numerous fiscal goals, Dhiraj placed scoring a date with Jennifer at the top of his priority list.

  "Would you rather I talk about Ted, Jennifer or money?" Dhiraj asked. "Because those are the three options here."

  "If you dated her, you and her dad couldn't be buddy-buddy anymore."

  Jennifer's dad was the town sheriff. Dhiraj always sought him out during town meetings. The sheriff was so happy that Dhiraj funded the entire field hockey trip to England that he took him on as an honorary deputy. They'd been on several ride-alongs in the past year alone.

  "We'd still be close. He'd just start calling me son instead of deputy."

  Natalie laughed at that. Dhiraj knew that distraction was the best medicine during a time like this. Natalie had employed the same technique when his mother passed away in ninth grade.

  "Any word from Ted?"

  Dhiraj glanced up at the message. There was no reply. There wasn't even a "seen" tag.

  "Nothing yet. He must be really upset. Do you think he'd have a breakdown in the middle of Page's?"

  "Dhiraj! Don't say that."

  "I'm going to check."

  Natalie growled at him as he loaded up his Twitter feed. He searched for Page's. He was surprised to see a similar message come up several times in
the last five minutes.

  "Hmm," Dhiraj said.

  "What is it?" Natalie asked.

  "There's nothing about a breakdown, but several people said that Page's is closed."

  "It's not. I was there 20 minutes ago."

  "One says, 'Page's closed on a Sunday? Lame.' That's from two minutes ago."

  "It was packed, Dhiraj. Something strange is going on."

  Dhiraj tried to think of the possibilities. There were the positive ones, like Page's running out of food, and there were the negative ones, like Ted freaking out and getting the place shut down. Dhiraj hoped for the former.

  "I'm sure it's fine," he said. "Ted just dropped his phone somewhere and Page's is having a private event. I'll call Ted's house."

  "Alright. Thanks, Dhiraj."

  Dhiraj hung up and dialed the Finley residence, but nobody picked up there, either. He ended the call before the answering machine could kick in. Dhiraj looked back up at his feed and tried to put the pieces together.

  "Where are you, Ted Finley? And wherever you are, are you having a breakdown?"