The Great Gatsby

　　Maria is still not talking to me. 

　　On Tuesday, I endured it, hoping her mood swing would pass but she didn’t say a word to me. Even now, as we are strolling to our lockers, she’s quiet. Too quiet and unlike herself. I poke her, she raises a perfectly tweezed brow at me but keeps mute. My shoulders deflate, I clasp my hands and muster my best puppy eyes. In reply, she slams her locker door and sashays out of my sight. 

　　Nice one, Maria, best friend ever.

　　I don’t understand why I’m getting punished for something that’s none of my fault. The beef she has with Daniel has nothing to do with me. I didn’t know about him talking to Olivia until he mentioned it. Speak of the devil, Daniel blocks my path right as I am about to race off in the direction Maria headed. Resting one hand on my locker, the other shoved inside the pocket of his trouser, he grins at me.

　　“I need your help,” he says when I don’t return his smile.