“My mom died,” Reva said during a commercial break. “Shit,” I said. What else could I have said? I pulled the blanket across our laps. “Thanks,” Reva said again, crying softly this time. The ghoulish voice of the TV show’s male narrator and Reva’s sniffles and sighs should have lulled me to sleep. But I could not sleep. I closed my eyes. When the next episode, about crop circles, started, Reva poked me. “Are you awake?” I pretended I wasn’t. I heard her get up and put her shoes back on, ticktock to the bathroom, blow her nose. She left without saying good-bye. I was relieved to be alone again.
Damn I really really do despise her
