“No, sorry.” She rolls her eyes and sits down on the opposite bench, tapping her acrylic nails against her knee. I stare at the glossy black goodness in envy and avoid looking at my own because I know they’re jagged and full of dirt. But I do notice that her pink lanyard has no words written on it. It makes me feel real special to be singled out like this, I’ll tell you that much. Only seconds later, someone comes stomping into the room, but I hear their voice first. “T-Touch me again and I’ll b-break your arm, c-cub.” “Yeah, yeah, dynamite. Get in there.” A male voice, no doubt one of the
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