“Can you come over?” I asked. A half hour later my doorbell rang. Becca was standing on the porch, hunched over. “Hi,” she said, out of breath. “Becca—did you run here?” She stepped inside, chest heaving. “Y-Yeah. It sounded urgent. Didn’t have a ride. You good?” I stared at her: hair sticking to her forehead, bent over like she was about to pass out, mouth hanging open as she tried to catch her breath. This girl had literally run across town to my house. She looked like she needed an ambulance, yet the only thing she seemed to be worrying about was me. I hugged her, wrapped her into my chest
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