This Train Is Being Held, page 28
“No.” I wanna say something else. But Yaz, with that sharp lizard tongue of hers, is staring at me hard. My upper lip itches. I scrub at it. I need a nap.
Yaz mouths something at me, pointing to her dimples. “Oh . . . And, uh, thanks.”
I hang up.
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Ismée Williams, This Train Is Being Held
