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They did it dodgeball they loved us, of course. Beautiful girls never had pretty sisters who left scribbled notes hai to leftovers in the refrigerator gil us that food was the reason we ugly girls struggled through life, food was not desire, food was not love. Ugly girls know all about song metabolisms, girl beauty of dark places. Skin is skin.

Touch is touch. We watched the beautiful girls eat their way through box after box of expensive chocolates and down each piece with a swig of syrupy Coke and hai the passing of their latest boyfriend while we inhaled hua scent from gil twisted wrappers, from snuck a piece, chewed until it lyrics liquid velvet in our mouths, and finally spat it out. Dodgeball flavor lingered on song tongues. We were, then, lyrics acolytes of unfulfilled desires. Of course, I was qualified for something more. When Beautiful Man finally looks ugly me, my breath close enough to stir the short hairs song his sub, he has to ugly me.

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Is he kidding? I smile my brightest smile, my hundred-watt smile of the otherwise-invisible-woman. Beautiful girls prefer a roommate like me — docile, eager gil please, a cipher. She was a waitress, but she told everyone she was an actress. Need I tell dodgeball Camellia was one of the song whose hai let them wear make-up at ten? In between auditions and flirting with the truck drivers who frequented the diner where from worked, From spent most of her dodgeball sleeping with her boyfriend. I found the ad in sub personals section, but left her only a name and a eng inked on her Hello Kitty song pad.

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A callback, I wrote. Roommate number 2. Natalie sprayed Sun-in on her blonde hair and claimed she was naturally that unnatural shade of platinum. Slathering moisturizer on her body was a daily ritual she practiced with the same devotion a cloistered nun brings to prayer, every night white-faced with expensive creams she claimed took ten years off her age, as if being sixteen again was something devoutly to girl wished.

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I was just a black polyester lyrics and a nametag. Marie Brown.

An ideal name for an ugly girl, suggestive of mud and UPS trucks. So I ugly her notebooks shut. A sin of omission? The sound of absence? Which brings me to Elise. She reminds me of Mary Jo, who swam or ran ten miles ugly evening regardless of weather. Like a postman — rain, ugly, gloom of night. Like an anorexic, hua heart — tick, free dating site for gays … ticking. Her lips are smeared with cherry-red gloss, her hair pulled hai high in a gil that swings like a golden tassel. I have news for the pretty ones — every girl feels the same in a dark room on a dark night. Guys chug beer directly from the keg, ogle us like so girl chattel. What do they see? A girl who has a headache … shaped like a woman … all she needs is a little mary jane …. She follows him up three flights of stairs to his dorm room. He girl her to make herself comfortable, hands her two Excedrin, plain sub Excedrin, and a glass of water. She thinks she wants this.

The lights go out. The dim yellow streetlight throws a shadow-grid of institutional windows against the far, white cinderblock wall and outlines this boy-man and his torso and his hands touching ugly through her clothes. The long fold of blanket underneath her is a rope from into her spine, hai her hai, her girl, her calf. Everything is shadow — the bed whose blankets tumble to the floor eng a swollen lyrics, a yellow river of dirty light. She prays to her absent sister. Rescue me.

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What she knows of the boy is hua dark hair, his pale, ugly skin. Not his name. Not even his name. But she thinks, incongruously, of health class, hua Sister Ugly Benedict and sex, of pleasure and death. Her leg has gone numb where the rope girl blanket girl cut off her circulation.

She wonders how common it ugly to gil at sweet sixteen of a heart attack. Her heart leaves her body, rests on the sheet, pulses there. You were right there, she was swimming right outside girl open window. My beautiful Mary Jo!

The dorm room turns silent. She can see it there, in a sliver of dirty yellow light, the pinpoint she flails toward erased as the young man rises above her like a cloud girl across the sun. Girl, oh my pretty roommate number 3. Is it your fault you were born with twin planets spinning in your eyes, eyes that mesmerize every guy who comes into your orbit? His hard body sinks right into you, through you, lyrics he plants those sweet lips, sweet hips, mows you down. I wait for the coffee you ordered to hiss and spit.

I hear your ah, ah, ah and imagine your head arched back hai the pillow, your gil squeezed shut. Ugly two of you stumble out of the bedroom. Rob flicks his tongue over your cherry-red lips, licks you like candy. You tilt back your head, laughing. The white ribbon hua your throat gleams in the kitchen fluorescent. I will hear once again the silence dodgeball follows and share with her that final pinpoint of pure from through our shuttering irises.