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Annamarie

Annamarie’s brother tends to appear out of nowhere.

“Jesus, Kurt!” she says, and scrambles back over the top of the picnic table, away from Remy. Squirrels flee.

“Are you guys making out?” asks Kurt, dangling upside-down from the tree.

“Does it look like we’re making out?”

Kurt inverse-shrugs.

“That’s a neat trick, kid,” says Remy. “Why don’t you buy yourself an ice cream for it?” He flips Annamarie’s quarter.

Kurt catches it. “Ice cream costs, like, four bucks.”

“Then go do it for fifteen other people.”

Kurt makes an obscene gesture, though probably not the one you’re thinking of.

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