Once, Anna walked in on me when I was at the bathroom. "Hey," I said. "Check this out." I dribbled some Jean Naté on the floor, her initials. Then I torched them. I figured she'd run screaming like a tattletale, but instead she sat right down on the edge of the bathtub. She reached for the bottle of Jean Naté, made some loopy design on the tiles, and told me to do it again.
Anna is the only proof I have that I was born into this family, instead of dropped off on the doorstep by some Bonnie and Clyde couple that ran off into the night. On the surface, we're polar opposites. Under the skin, though, we're the same: people think they know what they're getting, and they're always wrong. - My sister's keeper
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