Riley
“You’re still not well.”
“It’s just hanging on a bit.”
“I haven’t seen you eat in days, Riley.”
“It’s this damn virus.”
“Have you been to a doctor?”
I look at him sideways.
“You should,” Ray tells me, sitting on my bed and biting into his sandwich.
“Don’t you have a life?”
“I like being here.”
“To torment me.”
“If you like…”
I try to smile but my stomach protests and suggests that maybe it would be better to defer.
“Aren’t you drinking, either?”
“I’m sick.”
“Er…”
“What?”
“Are you sure it’s the flu?”
“Oh, come on, Ray!”
He raises his hands and doesn’t push it.
“And no news?”
I glare at him.
“You know I follow the team.”
“So?”
“He’s missed three games. They haven’t called him up.”
“That means nothing.”
“He’s their best player, in every sense.”
“Ray.”
“It’s true, he always plays from the first minute.”
“Maybe he got hurt.”
