“Want to watch a movie?” I close my algebra book and grab the remote.
“Yeah, I can stay ’til nine.”
He scoots closer, pulling the crocheted blanket my grandma made from the back of the couch. It’s ugly as hell (navy blue with pink flowers) but she died, so my mom can’t get rid of it. He doesn’t mind, I guess, because he spreads it over our laps.
When I lean back, his arm is around me. I wonder what Gram would say if she could see us. If it would bother her that her roses are keeping us warm.
Cynthia Hamill 