“I crashed his car,” Amari says, not looking at me, as we match the last corners. She lets go of the sheet and I lay it on the table to finish folding.
“They were in Europe for like three weeks and when they got back, they threw some stupid dinner party at the house. Instead of spending time with me, my mom handed me a couple hundred dollars and basically told me to get lost. I gave the money to my friend to get us drinks and pills, and we gotverylost in another world. Next thing I know, I was in the back of a police car in cuffs and my stepdad’s new Maserati was wrapped around a telephone pole.”
“Amari, I—umm—wow,” I say, unable to find the right words to respond to everything I just heard.
She looks away and starts folding a pillowcase.
“I’m sorry that happened. Just so you know, I’m not judging you,” I reassure her.
“I would get it if you were. I don’t even know why I told you all of that,” she says, her eyes vulnerable for the first time.
“Because you wanted to get it off your chest, and I wanted to hear it.”
Amari puts the folded pillowcase down and leans on thetable. She’s looking at me like she’s trying to find the lie. “Me crashing my stepdad’s car because I was high and drunk doesn’t bother you?” she asks.
“I mean, I’m here because I ended my night in a police car too. Who am I to judge?”
A big part of me really means that. There are a lot of rich kids who make mistakes like hers but don’t usually deserve sympathy. Amari’s different. I know what it feels like to be misunderstood.
“Yeah, but you said you didn’t do anything. I did,” she says.
“Are you sorry?” I ask.
She takes a moment before she responds. I’m nervous for her answer, though I don’t know if it will change how I feel. “Yeah. They’re assholes, but now my mom is really embarrassed, and my dad barely talks to me. So, I guess I’m sorry that I made things worse.”
“Then that’s it. All is forgiven,” I say.
“Thanks, your holiness.” Amari laughs and makes the sign of the cross.
“You’re going to hell!” I shriek. I quickly cover my mouth when I realize how loud I was.
We turn back to the laundry, our eyes locking as we barely hold in our laughter.
15
“The girls are here!” my mom yells from downstairs.
I push my bathroom door closed so no one stumbles in before I finish this heated conversation with Amari. Ever since I promised to meet up with her, she’s been pestering me about when. I feel bad putting her off. I keep imagining her all alone in that big fancy house, and I wonder if her parents are still giving her the silent treatment. But seeing her is proving more difficult than I thought, now that I’m in the mix of things here. My phone buzzes with another DM.
Amari:
This is really messed up. You said we’d try another day a week ago and now you’re ignoring me. You promised.
Me:
I’m not ignoring you. I just don’t know when I can. It’s not that easy with my mom.
Amari:
Your mom or your new friends?
Wait, do your new friends even know the truth about you?
Me:
Amari, stop. I’m trying.
Amari:
