But that didn’t mean I was going to let her handle things alone.

When I got home, I headed straight to her room without bothering to knock. She could stay mad at me for all I cared, but I wasn’t leaving her by herself today.

I found Beverly curled up under her blankets, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie and a can of Coke resting on her lap. She must have been in serious pain; Mom only bought that ice cream twice a year because it was expensive, and Beverly rarely ever touched it unless she was feeling absolutely miserable.

She barely acknowledged me when I barged in. Her attention was fixed on the ice cream, spoon prodding at the melting mess in a way that suggested she didn’t know if she wanted to eat it or just let it dissolve into nothing.

The dim glow of the TV flickered across her face. The curtains were drawn tightly, blocking out the weak winter daylight and leaving the room bathed in the soft, flickering glow of her lava lamp. Her walls were plastered with posters—faces of her favorite celebrities, each image meticulously cut from magazines and taped up by her. Brad Pitt, Kurt Cobain, and a few models whose names I didn’t even know all glared down from every direction.

The rest of the room was no better. Clothes were scattered across the floor in a way that could have been mistaken for a battlefield. A pink bra hung on the knob of her drawer, one strap hanging limp like it had been discarded carelessly after an exhausting day.

I refocused on Beverly, watching as her fingers hovered over the tub of ice cream, her eyes glued to the TV. Friends was on, the laughter track swelling up as Monica shouted something about organizing the apartment.

Beverly’s lips twitched in what could have been the start of a smile, but it quickly faded as she poked the spoon into the melting chocolate fudge.

I dropped a plastic case onto her bed. “Got you a movie.”

Beverly glanced down at it, eyes widening slightly when she saw the VHS Tape’s cover. Clueless.

She had been talking about it for weeks, ever since Tiffany mentioned it and declared it a must-watch.

Beverly’s head snapped up. “Where did you get this?”

“I stopped by the video store on the way back.”

Her eyes lit up for a second before she masked it with suspicion. “Why?”

“Because you won’t shut up about it.”

“Since when do you listen to what I say?”

“Since always.”

She stared at me for a long moment, as if she was trying to decide if this was some kind of trap. Then, without a word, she grabbed the movie, slid out of bed, and popped it into the VCR.

“Where’d you get the money?” she asked skeptically.