Free Reel Life Starring Us by Lisa Greenwald Page A

really good at giving messages, especially now that he never really leaves the house.
    Dina’s looking down as she walks past. I can’t tell if she’s trying to avoid me or not. I didn’t call her back, mostly because I didn’t really have much to say. The weekend had been so tough, even the excitement about Sasha Preston had worn off.
    She looks up for half a second and our eyes meet, and I casually wave, but no words come out of my mouth.
    She probably thinks I hate her. I may not like her, but I don’t think I hate her. At least, I don’t want her to think I hate her.
    I’ll talk to her at lunch. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll just casually tap her on the shoulder on the lunch line and say that my dad didn’t give me the message until really late last night and I wasn’t sure how late I could call her house. Yeah, that works. I’ll say that my dad is really bad with messages. She doesn’t need to know the truth. It’s not like she’s ever going to come over to my house. At least, I hope not.
    But when lunch rolls around, I see her walking around the cafeteria with the video camera again, and I’m too nervous about what my friends are going to say if go up and talk to her. So I don’t do anything.
    Maybe she forgot that I didn’t call her back—maybe it just slipped her mind. That could happen.
    But to make up for it, I get to the library a little early and get out all the yearbooks, even the ones behind Mr. Singer’s desk. And I get her a bag of Peanut M&M’s from the vending machine.
    The library helper hasn’t been here since last week. He must help out other places or something. Or maybe he’s finished with his community service requirement for the semester. I get all my community service hours picking up trash in the park around the corner from my house. You’d be surprised at how many people litter. It’s pretty shocking how much trash there is even after I’ve cleaned it all up just the day before.
    I don’t know why I’m going so out of my way to be nice to Dina. I guess it’s because I feel bad, or maybe I just feel like it’s one thing I can kind of control in my life. And I feel like it’s one good, positive thing that I can do. I don’t feel so bad lying to my friends if I’m nice to Dina. It’s a ridiculous theory, but it makes sense in my head. And the thing is, I don’t have to worry about Dina liking me—I know she does, so it’s one less thing to worry about.
    Wow. Since when did I become a psychoanalyst? That came out of nowhere.
    â€œHey,” I say to Dina as she’s walking in. I’m a little loudfor the library, but I want to get her attention. Luckily, Mr. Singer doesn’t say anything.
    â€œOh, hi. You’re early,” she says.
    â€œAnd I brought you Peanut M&M’s.” I hand her the bag and pat the chair next to me, motioning for her to sit down.
    â€œThanks so much,” she says.
    â€œDid you have a good weekend?” I ask her, and then regret it because now she’s going to bring up the fact that I didn’t call her back.
    She shrugs. “It was kind of boring. I had to go to my brother’s soccer game. You have a sister, right? Does she play in the league?”
    â€œYeah, she’s in fourth grade. I think she’s on the Super Stoppers this year.”
    â€œMy brother, too. I mean, about the fourth-grade thing. I have no idea what team he’s on. They all sound the same to me.”
    I roll my eyes. “Yeah, that soccer league stuff is nutso. The parents think they’re, like, training Olympians or something. My dad used to coach.” I pause. Why, why, why did I just bring up my dad? She’s going to ask me why he doesn’t coach anymore.
    Dina nods. “Did he get too fed up with the politics to continue? I feel like that happened all the time where I used to