“I’m sorry. You scared me. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Her arms pinwheel, the too-long sleeves of the hoodie flopping around. I hold up a hand. “I’m okay.” She takes it as a sign that I want her assistance, shoves a sleeve up, and wraps her small hand around mine. The contact isn’t unwelcome, but the jolt it sends through me is foreign. It happened the first time, too. Maybe she’s a staticky person. I let her help pull me to my feet. She tips her chin up. “I’m really sorry.” “Where’d you learn how to do that?” I straighten my shirt and run a hand through my hair, trying to be cool about the
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