“You’re not moving fast enough,” Devon says. “It’s all in the hands.” “You’ve never complained about the speed of my movements before,” I tease. “Or how I use my hands.” I grin as Devon’s face burns furiously red. “Wes, people can hear you,” he whispers. “Oh.” I glance up at our surroundings, as though I’m surprised to find other people there. Millie has ducked out for a moment, but there are two other people in the class—a couple I’m assuming—and they’re definitely sneaking covert looks at Devon and me as they attempt to mould their clay. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so cryptic. I was
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