The Life of Riley
an excerpt

I hate melodrama. That’s probably melodramatic of me to say, right? Ironic? I really do, though, which makes it hard to go to this stupid high school. This is the center of melodrama in the universe. Don’t believe me?

It’s two minutes before French class is supposed to start. It’s the second week of school, although we were only here two days last week. Why did they make us come back for two days? Anyway, Tricia Robinson is surrounded by a mob. I guess the newness of her cast hasn’t worn off yet, even though it’s 7th period. From what I can gather, and I refuse to ask, is that she was in a car accident the day before school started, so she missed school on Thursday. She has a big, gaudy neck brace. The rumor mill went crazy because Tricia is really popular. There was a rumor that she was dead, and another that said she was paralyzed from the waist down. People seem morbidly disappointed that Tricia only has a broken foot and a sprained neck.

Finally, Mrs. Bonaventure calls attendance and the class settles down. All through the period, I catch kids sneaking looks over their shoulders at Tricia. It’s hard to be subtle about it because we sit all the way in the back of the classroom.

We have five free minutes before the end of class, but we have to stay in our seats. Maybe Mrs. Bonaventure is taking pity on Tricia by keeping the other kids off of her. Tricia turns to me and fixes me with a stare like she’s daring me to say something.

“You’re Riley, right?” she asks, and I can’t help but get my hopes up a little. No one talks to me here. I’ve been in this school for three full days and I have not one single friend.

“Yeah,” I answer, trying to sound casual. My heart is in my throat. If Tricia Robinson wants to be my friend, I’ll be popular.

“You’re like the only person in this entire school who hasn’t asked me about my accident,” she says.

I shrug. “It’s not really any of my business.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“And, plus, I figure if you want to talk about it, you’ll bring it up,” I add quickly.

Tricia smiles. Her eyes are buggy and her nose is too big for her face. I wonder how she got so popular. “I wish everyone thought like you,” she answers. Before I can respond, the bell rings and she’s swarmed with kids trying to carry her books and to help her to class. I’m lost in the shuffle. I slowly pack up my books and wait for the crowd to dissipate into the hallway.