Her nose crinkles. “Some girls.”
She’s wearing baggy sweatpants, so I don’t see how those girls can even see the shape of her body, but then I remember her middle school has a uniform like ours.
“And your friend doesn’t stand up for you?”
She finally takes the dishrag from my hand and dries her fingers before burrowing them in the too-long sleeves of her hoodie. “I never asked him to.”
“You shouldn’t have to ask a friend to stand up for you.” Sensing this conversation is making her uneasy, I change the topic.
“How do you like Skittles?”
“Skittles?”
“I mean Lynn.” I never call her Skittles out loud, so it’s weird that it popped out. “That’s what Steffi calls her.”
“Because she likes the candy?” Nev asks.
“No, because of her hair color. You’ll see. She changes it once a year to something insane. Last winter, it was Granny Smith green.”
“No way.” Nev’s openmouthed stare turns into a full-on grin.
“Look at that. The kitchen is immaculate,” Mom says, reappearing in slinky gray pajamas that look more like a pantsuit than PJs. “How about we watch—”
“Please notWhen Harry Met Sally,” I say, walking toward the couch.
Nev takes the armchair.
“What’s wrong withWhen Harry Met Sally?” Mom asks.
“It’s old. And we’ve seen it, like, a trillion times.”
“Maybe Nev hasn’t seen it.”
“I’ve seen it,” she says. “It’s one of Dad’s favorites.”
“See… someone with good taste,” Mom says.
“Then spare us and watch it with him.” I snap my mouth shut. I can’t believe I just suggested that.
Mom’s cheeks turn a little pink. “That wasn’t even the movie I was going to suggest.”
We bicker about which movie to watch for the next fifteen minutes. Finally we all agree onDumplin’. It strangely mirrors what Mom and I are going through, except the roles are reversed. Does Mom see the parallel?
After the end credits roll to one of Dolly Parton’s tunes, I don’t feel very tired, but I set a good example for Nev and head to my room. I text with Rae for a little while and then shoot off an apologetic message to Laney.
Just as I click off my bedside light, I hear snuffling. I assume it’s not Mom considering her bedroom’s on the other side of the house. I stare at my dark ceiling. Maybe Nev has a cold…
I hear it again, and this time it’s louder.
I cross the narrow hallway to the guest bedroom and knuckle the door. “Nev?”
An almost inaudibleyesreaches me.
I push open the door. “Are you okay?” I ask, which is stupid, because people who snuffle are obviously not okay. They’re either sick or sad.
Nev digs the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Yes,” she murmurs, eyes and cheeks shiny with tears.Sad.
I walk over to her and sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”
