"You can go to your high school reunion," my mom says. Her hair has gotten very long, and it frames her aged, but still-beautiful face in long, white-ish blonde strands, and her eyes are sharp in her mobile features. "I think, though, you will find that to be an error," she finishes, carefully enunciating her thought (which is where I get it, I guess).
"The people who ignored you will still ignore you," she continues, "and the cliques will just go on... clique-ing."
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