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“You’re Naomi, right?” She knocked on the stall door.
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me, but I was too scared to speak.
“Come out.” Her voice was different than I expected, not mocking, just… tired. “I’ve got something better than crying.”
I wiped my face with toilet paper, the cheap kind that fell apart. “I’m fine.”
A thud against the door. “Trust me.”
My fingers trembled as I unlocked it to peek outside.
Blake sat cross-legged on the floor, her designer jeans collecting bathroom dirt. She pulled a joint and a lighter from her bag.
“You smoke?” I asked.
“Sometimes.” She patted the space next to her, then her temple. “When everything gets too loud in here.”
I sat beside her, our shoulders touching. “Won’t we get caught?”
“Please.” She lit it up, the flame dancing in her green eyes. “Nobody checks the third-floor bathroom during lunch. That’s why you’re here, too. Isn’t it?” She took a drag, then offered it to me. “Besides, what’s the worst they can do? Call our parents?”
My throat tightened. “I’ve never…”
“Here.” She demonstrated. “Just inhale slowly. Hold it. Then let go.”
She offered it to me again, and I took it.
The smoke burned my lungs. “It’s disgusting.” I coughed, eyes watering.
“There you go.” Blake grinned, but it wasn’t mean. “First time’s always rough.”
“That’s what she said.”
Her laugh echoed off the tiles. “Holy shit, she makes jokes! And here I thought you were just another stuck-up rich bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Touché.” She took another hit. “So, Jason Parker, huh?”
My smile faded. “You heard?”
“Everyone heard.” She passed the joint back. “He’s an ass and a cheater.”
“He’s not wrong though.”
“About what? That you’re not pretty enough?” She scoffed. “Please that guy wouldn’t know what pretty is if it looked him right into his eyes. All that guy cares about is sex.”
“Easy for you to say.” Even with smeared eyeliner and yesterday’s clothes, she was beautiful.
“Easy?” Her eyes narrowed. “You think because I look a certain way, my life is perfect?”
“No, I?—”
“Let me tell you something.” She stabbed out the smoked joint on the tile. “My parents adopted me because I looked like their dead daughter. Do you know what that’s like? To be someone’s replacement?”
I stared at my hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She pulled out another joint. “Just don’t assume shit about people. We’re all fucked up in our own ways. Some of us just hide it better than others.”

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