The Butterfly ClueseBook
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I feel oddly comfortable here, among my own kind--the weird and the forgotten, the invisible and ignored. At school, I'm the girl who eats plain grape jelly sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil, alone on the front lawn, or in the library when it gets too cold outside. I'm the girl who can't enter or exit the bus, school, class, without tapping and banana-ing, the girl who doesn't raise her hand when she knows the answer because if she did, she'd have to put it back against her desk and raise it again and repeat. Three times, or six, or nine--depending on a whole host of other factors she could not control--how many words were in the question, how any other people had raised their hands, how many times the person in front of me had scratched the top of her head. I'm the girl who cannot shower after gym class because she'd have to do that, too, at least three times and, by the time she finished, the school day would have ended.
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