“I used to go to a different school in the city,” she replied, voice small now. I followed her gaze to where she was clasping her hands together so tightly the skin was turning white. “But when I moved to Sacred Heart, they put me in juniors.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m not slow,” she hurried to add, digging her fingernails into her hand. “I swear I’m not…” “I know you’re not, okay?” I replied, reaching down to peel her hands apart. “And who cares if you’re the oldest in your class?” She didn’t seem to realize that she was scratching herself, but I noticed. “You’re younger than most of
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