The wrong angle Trina: "Hey," I say, though I don't really know them. The boyed-up basketball girl barely moves. The others, her girls, step aside. It's okay if they don't speak. I know how it is. They can't all be Trina. Dominique: Some stupid little flit cuts right in between us and is like, "Hey." Like she don't see I'm here and all the space around me is mines. I slam my fist into my other hand because...
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