“Can I borrow a pencil?” Dusty asked. “Do you need me to buy you some pencils?” I asked. He asked me to borrow one every time we had English or history together—so basically every day. “But then I couldn’t borrow yours,” he said with a wink. I sighed and pulled a pencil out of my pouch and handed it to him. “You better give that back,” I said. “I just got those.” I loved this new pack of mechanical pencils, and I had color-coordinated them to my notebooks for each class. “Cross my heart,” Dusty said, dragging his pointer finger over his chest to draw an invisible X. “Can I have a piece of
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