I Hate This Song But I Hope You Call Me

All the boys in Mrs. Lewis’ class has a crush on Katniss Everdeen.

Except her name’s not Katniss, even though everyone started calling her that. Her name’s Riley. And she only wore her hair in a single braid down her back that one day in November, the day before Thanksgiving break started, and never again. And unlike Katniss, Riley is Filipino, which is oddly spelled as such even though the country she’s from is spelled with a Ph. Mrs. Shelley at the library helped me look that one up. And Riley doesn’t know how to use a bow and arrow. I overheard her say that to Luke when he asked before he invited her to the end of the year dance. She said, “no”.

Everyone’s required to go to the dance since they’re letting us skip fourth period, Riley replied matter-of-factly. Instead of getting mad, Luke blushed and walked away with a smile on his face, as if he didn’t understand or care that he was rejected. 

That’s the type of girl Riley is. One who isn’t afraid to say no. One who says things like required, which isn’t something typical thirteen year olds say.

But, clearly, she isn’t typical. 

Riley pushes her locker closed softly and passes by me without a second glance. 

And, clearly, I am. Typical. 

“Earth to Lana.” A hand waves in front of my face. “Is anyone there?”

I shake my head, neck straining past Oscar’s big head to get one last glance at Riley’s retreating back. 

Her best friends, Ruth and Brittany, loop their arms through hers, and no one says a thing that the three of them take up the whole hallway walking side by side. 

“This is just sad,” Oscar sighs. “We’ve come to the end of middle school with your crush not even knowing your name. Not even knowing you exist.” 

“That’s not true.”

When Riley transferred to Howard Middle School last year, she sat at the only lunch table that was nearly empty, which happened to be mine and Oscar’s table. She took out her lunch box and ate rice with some kind of brown looking thing from a rectangular container with a fork and a spoon. And then she took out a book which she read while eating. I made a mental note to borrow Divergent from the library that day. That smells good, I thought I whispered. But she glanced at me for a moment with a small smile that made my stomach do funny things. I was excited to see what she would bring the next day, and I promised myself the night before that I’d comment about it out loud this time. But, of course, Riley already made friends with the cool girls and sat with them instead. 

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Oh and don’t tell me about that time.”

That time was when I heard Riley crying hysterically in the bathroom stall next to mine. We aren’t allowed to have cellphones but I overheard her on the phone with her mom. 

It’s okay, my mom said it’s normal for our age, I muttered.

I passed her a pad under the stall, which she didn’t take from my hand until what seemed like an eternity. When we finally emerged from our stalls, I took off my sweatshirt and passed it to her, trying to cover the childish Donald Duck design on it. 

To wrap around your waist. 

Before she left, she touched my elbow. Thank you, truly. 

I stayed in that bathroom until the next bell rang, vowing to never wash my arm again. 

“I swear, there was chemistry,” I say.

“There was chemistry,” Oscar touches the back of his hand on his forehead pretending to faint. 

We arrive at the gym where teachers stand around with rulers ready to measure how far apart kids of the opposite sex are while dancing. Mr. Jones is at the front with a big boombox and a handwritten sign that says “Accepting Song Requests.” Right now, he’s playing Call Me Maybe, which honestly is so overplayed on the radio that it makes me want to bang my head against the wall. 

“There she is,” Oscar gestures to the girls standing next to the snack table.

I take out my iPod and scroll through the list of songs. It’s my sister’s old one and she has okay taste in music. But, my neck threatens to break from  the way I keep my head down to pretend I don’t see Luke and his minions swarm Riley and her friends. The earbuds only work a little bit in drowning out Carly Rae Jepsen and their laughter. 

Not for the first time in my life, I wish it could be  as easy for me to flirt with girls as it is for Luke. I wish it was as easy for me to even talk to them for that matter. 

Trying to blink away the sudden sting in my eyes, I don’t notice Oscar whispering loudly in my ear. 

“She’s co… She’s here,” he says, staring back at Riley standing in front of me. 

I’m about to ask Oscar to pinch me but he runs away, taking away the small bit of confidence I had left with him. 

“I still have your sweatshirt by the way,” Riley starts.

“Oh, that’s okay. You can keep that. I’ve had it since I was little.”

“All the more reason to give it back then. For sentimental reasons.”

I nod, making a mental note to add sentimental to my summer vocabulary list. 

“I hate this song,” Riley groans. 

“Me too,” I squeak out. And when she doesn’t turn away in horror, I hold out an earbud, “Want to listen to this instead?”

She moves closer to me, even though the cord is long enough. So close that I can smell raspberries in her hair. I try not to make it obvious that I’m inhaling as much of it as I can.

“What’s this?” Riley bops her head subtly. 

“The Lumineers. It’s good right?”

I don’t say that I just learned of the band today. Or that it’s my sister’s music. 

“It’s good,” Riley nods. 

I hold my breath when the song is over, preparing for the thrill and loneliness that will overcome me once she leaves. But she doesn’t leave. She waits until the next song comes on, and again moves her head from side to side. 

We look at each other from time to time, smiling with teeth and all. At what, who knows? Who cares? 

We’re in a stinky old gym and everyone around us is sweating, dancing to the Cha Cha Slide. And I know I’m only thirteen, but I swear I know what I’m talking about. This is love and no one can tell me otherwise.