“It’s okay,” I said, looking away from the bed in the center of my bedroom. “The first rule of sleepovers is that everyone at the sleepover has to sleep in the same bed.”
Once my mom had closed the door behind her to leave the two of us alone in my bedroom, Dmitri had been picking at the frayed ends of his sweatshirt drawstrings. When I told Mom that I wanted Dmitri to stay over longer so we could keep playing, she misunderstood and instead ushered us into my one-bed bedroom and told us that we could play in the morning. Sharing a bed didn’t mean anything out of the ordinary for me, but recently Dmitri’s face had been so pink. I couldn’t be certain if it was the same for him. He stood staring at my bed with his pink faced dipped down and his fingers pulling aimlessly at the threads of his sweatshirt strings like he always did when he was being dumb and thinking more than was good for him. I hated when he got like this.