Chapter 7: Ricky

I hate my life more than ever. It’s officially reached a level of misery I didn’t think was physically possible. Dad cheated on Mom, blew up our family, and moved in with his new girlfriend without looking back. We moved here for a "fresh start," but so far, the only thing that’s started is my downfall. My band replaced me with some hack, the girl of my dreams thinks I’m a creep, and I’m stuck in a house that smells like moving boxes and despair. I almost feel bad for all the times I tormented Georgie over the years. Almost.

"Hey, Rodrick, can I—"

"It’s Ricky now. And no," I groaned, cutting him off before he could even finish the sentence. I brushed past him into my room and collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling completely defeated.

"But you didn't even let me finish—"

"No."

"Can't you just—"

"No. Never. Forget it. Whatever the question is, the answer is a hard pass."

"You had a really bad day, didn't you?" Georgie asked. He actually sounded sincere, which made me feel even more pathetic. I don't need sympathy from a middle schooler.

"What do you want, loser?" I asked, sitting up and bracing myself for whatever annoying favor he was about to ask.

"Could I borrow twenty bucks?"

"What for? You planning on buying a soul?"

"For pizza," he said, ignoring the jab. "Mom said I could invite a friend over tonight since it’s been a rough week."

"How do you have a new friend already? We’ve been here for five minutes. Don't you miss that kid—what was his name? The one who looked like a human marshmallow?"

"Fred," Georgie corrected. "And actually, Ricky, I’m in eighth grade now. I’m not a little kid anymore. I can make friends. Besides, I do miss him, but I don’t have to stay sad forever. My mom and his mom already talked, and he’s coming to visit for the summer. He’s staying with us for two weeks."

"Good for you," I muttered, falling back against my pillows.

Georgie, the literal dork of the family, managed to secure a social life in this crappy town before I did. How is that even possible? What planet am I on where the eighth grader has a better handle on his life than the senior? I felt a sudden, sharp sting of jealousy, which was a brand-new low for me.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you," Georgie said, turning to head toward the door.

"Look, I'm not really mad at you, wimp," I sighed, rubbing my face.

He stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. "Then what’s the problem? Did the move finally break you?"

"This girl, Roxie, at school... she hates me. Like, 'restraining order' hates me."

"Who's that?"

"Only the prettiest girl in the entire school. She’s got this sass that’s actually terrifying, and she shut me down before I could even get a full sentence out."

Georgie, the literal dork of the family, managed to secure a social life in this crappy town before I did. How is that even possible? What planet am I on where the eighth grader has a better handle on his life than the senior? I felt a sudden, sharp sting of jealousy, which was a brand-new low for me.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you," Georgie said, turning to head toward the door.

"Look, I'm not really mad at you, wimp," I sighed, rubbing my face.

"I hate to break it to you, and I really do," Georgie huffed, walking back over and sitting on the edge of my bed. "But if she’s too shallow to see how cool you are, then she’s not worth the stress. You’re literally a rockstar, Ricky. Well, you were. You will be again."

"You actually think I'm cool?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. I wasn't used to him being this... human.

Georgie gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I mean, for an older brother, you’re alright. You have the van and the eyeliner. That counts for something."

"I guess you're not as wimpy or dorky as I thought," I admitted. "Eighth grade might actually be doing something for your brain."

"Wanna hang out with me and Zack when the pizza gets here? We’re gonna play video games."

"Not in a million years," I chuckled, but the edge was gone from my voice. I reached for my wallet, pulled out two twenties, and handed them over. "Here. Take forty. The extra twenty is for the tip for whoever delivers the pizza. Don't be a cheapskate."