"Good job!" she says to me as she looks through my grad pictures that have finally arrived. It's such an odd thing to say, because I didn't do anything except smile.

Is that why she's saying 'good job'? Because I've acted the part of a perfect child long enough to be snapped up by a camera. And now there's proof that she can pass around, gloating about how I'm the perfect child of a perfect upbringing, while I sit alone in my room wondering when the next hurricane will come.


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