“You
can’t seriously like him,” Camille says.
“Well,
I do,” I say as I crumble a wad of paper towels in my fist. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Camille
sighs loudly. “Look, Emily. I didn’t want to tell you this, but while you
were in the other room with Mom, Brody… well, he hit on me. I told you that he used to like me in high
school, and… I guess he still does.”
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