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he door of
my special room. "Lights out." The living room was still dark. How long?
The clock said it had been less than an hour. I poured another splash of
the brandy, gulped it, felt the heat of it in my belly, then poured
another.
Why had I indulged the Alternate? I shook my head, a bit foggy. I'd
taken the replay a few times, savoring the kittenish little-girl
uncertainty and fear. Of course, I'd tried several of the Cimarron chips
-- liked a few of them a bit too much, if you know what I mean -- but
only used my own four times. And this was the first time I'd chosen the
Alternate.
"Well, it happens," I told the windows.
"No, it didn't happen," my reflection replied.
"If only..."
What would have changed? For the next two years, I'd been uneasy
and shy near him, resolved to prove myself to someone. Him? Me? Both? A
year later, I'd enrolled in Performing Arts High School. By then, of
course, I'd really started to fill out, to become -- What had he said in
the Alternate? Yes, what
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