Rina had been my friend since fourth grade, which in middle school years is basically surviving a war together.
She didn’t start with pity.
Bless her forever for that.
She just said, “You want me to throw mashed potatoes at anyone specific?”
I almost smiled.
“Maybe later.”
She leaned in.
“My mom saw the post. She said the comments were disgusting.”
“Which comments?”
“All of them.”
That helped more than it should have.
Because some days you don’t need hope.
You just need one witness who agrees the bad thing was bad.
Then she added, “My aunt also donated.”
I sighed.
“That’s… nice, I guess.”
“It is nice,” she said. “And it’s also terrible. Both can be true.”
