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The pink-haired girl who'd called me by my nickname dumped an armful of picture books onto my bed, then started lining them up. She was trying to choose one to read aloud.

"Um, Ali? I'm already twelve. You really don't need to read to me..."

I knew she was doing it to be nice, because I was physically weak and couldn't go outside. I appreciated the thought, of course, but...

"This one, then!"

Yeah, she wasn't listening. She never did.

Instead of her u ...

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