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ke 'Alice'?"
"Very much."
"Somewhere over there is a book about the author and the real
Alice. Even has some pictures he took."
I turn and scan the titles again. I glance in the mirror and see
him watching me.
"You're watching me just like you did when I was skating."
"I'm sorry. You're very pretty and I like to watch pretty girls."
Something lurches in my stomach. He thinks I'm pretty? Me? A
skinny, clumsy, gawky, no-tits, worthless Chinese laundry kid?
And for the first time in my life, I have been told I'm pretty by
someone not in my family.
I feel myself reddening.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare or say anything. I'm going to
get some more juice..." He quickly walks out of the room and I realize
that he means it -- he really means it. He doesn't want to make me
uncomfortable in any way and he's just made it easy for me to deal with
the potential embarrassment of having to ask him not to
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