“I made a bet with Jamal and got a few bucks.”

Her eyebrows shot up, clearly intrigued. “What kind of bet?”

I scratched my jaw, grabbing her Coke and taking a long sip before she could stop me. “Made him laugh during prayer.”

Beverly’s jaw dropped in disbelief, her eyes wide. “Blake!”

I fought to keep a straight face. “In my defense, it was his idea. I told him it was a bad idea, but he just smirked and said, ‘I never laugh during prayer. Impossible.’” I shrugged. “Turns out he was wrong. He felt so guilty he immediately started the prayer over. It was the most dramatic redemption arc I’ve ever seen. He prayed twice as long just to make up for it. Then he handed me twenty bucks and told me to never speak of it again.”

Beverly slapped a hand over her mouth. “You’re the worst.”

“But I’m twenty bucks richer.”

Her lips twitched, a hint of a smile threatening to break through. She wanted to stay mad, but I noticed the way her shoulders loosened, how her fingers curled around the movie case as if it held more weight than just a film.

“Whatever,” she muttered, but there was no bite to her words now. She grabbed the remote and switched the TV to the VCR input. Then she flopped back onto her bed, pulling the blanket over her lap as the movie started.

She looked drained. The kind of tired that didn’t just come from cramps, or school, or even what happened today. It was deeper than that. The kind of tired I knew I’d helped cause.

Guilt settled in my chest like a weight. I had no idea how to fix this. So I did the only thing I could think of.

“Move over,” I offered, settling in beside her and leaning back against the headboard. The opening credits rolled as I stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She didn’t protest. She didn’t tell me to leave. She didn’t ignore me the way I had ignored her.

The first few minutes were quiet, save for the hum of the movie. Cher strutted onto the screen, tossing her hair like it was a weapon.

Beverly shifted, a groan escaping her as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Ugh, this sucks.”

“Cramps?”

She shot me a look that could’ve burned a hole through me.

I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. Reaching for the comb on her nightstand, I said softly, “C’mere.”

“Why?” she asked, wary.

I tugged at the end of her hair. “Just sit up.”