OCDaniel by Wesley King Page A

dark look. “Offensive foul,” he said.
    â€œOnly the defender can call it,” Taj said, looking at me. “You want to call it?”
    He was looking at me with these pitying, mocking eyes that did not make my chin feel better.
    â€œNo,” I muttered.
    Max scowled and looked at me, eyeing the dripping blood. “You better go to the office,” he said. “That looks pretty nasty.”
    I nodded and started inside, holding my shirt to my mouth. I was almost there when Raya caught my arm. She looked concerned.
    â€œAre you all right?” she asked. “That was dirty.”
    â€œFine,” I said through my shirt. “Bad luck.”
    â€œSports are bad luck for you,” she said, frowning at the blood pooling on my shirt. “Come on. I’ll take you to the office in case you pass out from blood loss or something.”
    She grabbed my free arm and pulled me inside. I grinned under my shirt.
    Maybe being a hero was about more than winning the game.
    Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â 
    Ms. Redler, the secretary, let Raya sit in the office while she put a Band-Aid over my chin. It was just a cut, and she didn’t think I needed stitches. Ms. Redler was plump with a shock of red hair and the most soothing voice I had ever heard. I wasn’t sure how she worked with Principal Frost every day, but she certainly had the patience.
    â€œAll better?” she asked, checking to make sure the Band-Aid was secure.
    â€œMuch,” I replied. “Thanks, Ms. Redler.”
    She clucked. “Be careful out there! You boys and your sports. Gives me gray hairs.”
    She sent me on my way, and Raya smiled and stood up as I walked out.
    â€œLook at you,” she said. “Now you’re battle-hardened.”
    I nodded. “You should see the other guy.”
    We headed out into the hallway. I tried not to stare. She was wearing lip gloss today, and I could actually smell that it was cappuccino flavored. It made her dark lips glisten in the ugly phosphorous hall lights, and I suddenly really wanted a cappuccino. She glanced at me, and I quickly turned straight ahead again.
    â€œYou should probably take up a new hobby,” she said.
    â€œBut I’m so good at sports. It would be a shame.”
    She snorted. “True. What else do you like to do? Writing, I know. Maybe you can write more.”
    â€œI’m not very good.”
    â€œI doubt that. What do you usually write about?”
    I shrugged, hoping to change the conversation. “Anything. I’m writing a book. It’s nothing.”
    â€œA book? What’s it about?”
    â€œIt’s . . . about a kid who accidentally wipes out the human race. He’s left alone on the planet, and he has to try to find a way to bring everyone back.”
    She looked at me. “So it’s about loneliness.”
    â€œYeah,” I murmured. “I guess.”
    â€œI write sometimes.”
    I looked at her in surprise. “You do?”
    â€œYeah. Poetry. Stupid stuff. I could show it to you sometime, if you promise not to laugh.”
    â€œDeal.” I tried to think back to what Steve had said. Compliments. “I like your outfit, by the way.”
    She looked down at herself—ripped jeans and an overlarge white sweater that hung down over her right shoulder. “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t take you for a fashion guy.”
    â€œBecause I’m wearing clothes from Walmart?”
    She laughed. “Because you’re a guy. I happen to think you dress nice.”
    â€œMy mom does my shopping.” Did I just say that?
    She laughed even harder. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that. Well, tell her I say ‘well done.’ ”
    I was pretty sure my feet weren’t even touching the floor anymore. I was stepping on cracks like it was my job. All I could focus on were brown eyes and cappuccinos and that smile