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SEVEN: Polaroids on a String

BACK WHEN EVERYTHING was slightly off the status of okay,

“Shit! I got foundation on my shirt, man!” a heavily blushed and contoured Isa Marie whined.

“Oh, girl…” Christie Claricel tried rubbing the brown liquid but it further smudged the suffragette white uniform they both donned.

“One chance for a great juniors yearbook and I effin’ ruined it.”

“Turn that frown upside down, girl, here I’ve got an idea.”

Quickly, Christie grabbed Isa’s arm and ran through the red forest of metal lockers in the corridor up to the dingy restroom at the end of the hallway. She propped herself up on her knee, trying to catch her breath.

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