For a moment I forget my doubts. I let it ring, and the girls all around me seem to hear it. They smile at me—beautiful smiles, smiles so radiant that my cheeks hurt trying to reflect them—and they take my hands in their sticky grips, and they pull me forward. It’s like we’re all reaching together, our arms woven into a single appendage that stretches into my future without hesitation, with only hunger. Our grip opens, and together we scoop up a crescent of the dark honeycomb. It’s heavy—no, dense. Like it has its own gravity, but we work together to lift it up, so high the sun pours into it
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