I’d found empty bottles of laxatives in our shared bathroom, smelled the dried puke in the toilet, and a couple of times, I’d woken up to find her exercising in the middle of the night. Maybe she felt as if she had to compete with Robbie. Once, she made a six-foot papier-mâché dragon that won a state competition. She excelled at almost everything creative, or it seemed that way. My brother could spit out statistics because he was the family genius. Portside wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either-maybe around twenty thousand people lived in this suburb outside of Merridell. My family had just moved to Portside, Oregon, from Schilling, Arizona, because of my dad’s promotion, so the whole picnic had been new faces, new names, and that feeling of being the newbie on the scene. I’d been lying in bed next to this girl I’d been introduced to twelve hours earlier at a company picnic. The first time I snuck into Ryan Jensen’s bed was an accident.
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