I felt guilty because I hadn't called her. "Yeah. Right here."
"Page sixty-one," she said. "Jeannette died."
"You're kidding." She sounded annoyed.
I tried to remember, wanted to share girlfriend gossip.
"Our freshman dance teacher," she said
She said, "You don't know who she is, do you? Didn't college mean anything to you?"
I searched for an answer, but found only blurred images, faint voices.
She said, "Well . . . I've got to run. Bye."
"How's your mom?"
"Still a pain. See you . . . sometime. Bye."
Our last words stung long after I snapped my phone shut.