The Fly on the Wall

Emily wandered home feeling how she usually felt after social outings - like she was a fly on the wall. No one ever seemed to notice her, to pay her any kind attention but she was still there, listening to their conversations. Their stupid, ignorant, self-absorbed conversations. Marla Singer was right, people do just listen so that they know when it's their turn to speak . . . about themselves.

Not that she though she had anything of upmost importance or interest to articulate. Usually when she did think of something to say her brain told her to keep quiet and butt out, and an invisible zip would seal her lips.

Especially when Riley was around. After any encounters with Riley she felt like an utter moron. It wasn't that he was so smart than whenever he spoke intelligence oozed out of him, it wasn't like that at all. The trouble was that she wasn't sure what it was. Nothing she said - when she did unzip her lips - seemed to make her feel comfortable in his presence. It was just a constant feeling of uncomfortable moron-ness.