“Why do you hate Miss Braelyn?” I grind my molars as we circle back to this topic. Again. After blowing out a string of silent expletives, I manage to force out, “I don’t.” “Yes, you do.” “What’s the point of asking if you’re certain?” Little fists park on his hips. “Because I want to know why.” “It doesn’t matter how I feel.” “Does so.” If there was a brick wall nearby, I’d bash my head against it. There’s no wonder where he gets this stubborn streak from. “And why’s that?” “I want you to marry her. My teacher says two people get married when they’re in love. How do I get you to love Miss
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