Page 36 of Dead to Me

Her hair was wrapped in a silk scarf, her face was bare, and she held two cups of coffee.

“You sleep like the dead.”

I took the coffee from her.

“I’ve had practice.”

Her smile disappeared.

I took a sip of coffee.

“That was a joke.”

“You have a terrible sense of humor.”

“You used to think I was funny.”

“That was before you started making prison jokes.”

I looked at her over the rim of my cup.

“That was before I went to prison.”

China looked away, and I caught that flicker of guilt. I’d spent hours wondering what to do about it. I could confront her, make her confess, or demand an apology. But none of that mattered to me now. An apology wouldn’t give me back six years. Tears wouldn’t bring back my career. Even if China cried a river, she was still going to die.

“Hair starts at nine,” she said.

“I know.”

“You need to be in my suite by eight thirty.”

“Okay.”

“The photographer is coming early.”

“I know.”

China frowned.

“You don’t have to keep saying it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I am annoying you.”

I smiled.

“You have been annoying me since we shared a uterus.”

She laughed, and so did I. I hadn’t expected that. China was still herself. She was still the girl who used to steal my clothes and put them back before I even noticed.

She was still the sister who slept in my bed during thunderstorms until we were fourteen.

She was still the person who knew that I hated pulp in orange juice and that I always ate the edges of brownies first.

She was my first best friend. She was also the reason a prison guard had watched me shower. Both things were true. One of them mattered more.

China walked toward the window and pulled open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room.