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be passed around later as proof that I was exactly who they said I was.
“Are you recording me?” I asked.
Brooke widened her eyes with theatrical innocence.
“No. Why would I do that?”
“Brooke,” my father warned.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m just texting.”
It was a bad lie.
Sloppy enough that I knew they were feeling the strain of their own plan.
My mother’s voice continue reading …
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