Larry asks Sally if it was worth it, if it was worth the injustice and apathy and the constant risk of exclusion. She says yes, and even though she means it, she knows it’s not true. It's a hard-earned fact, but that doesn’t keep it from being contrary to reality. Larry balances a bowl on his head and his eyes dash between the object of his concentration and her stare, but of course he’s more concerned about the bowl at the moment. She asks him if he’s listening. He says he is, kind of. Then he lets the bowl slide into his palm, and that’s when she lunges at him, striking his lips ever so precisely with her own. It’s all over, the meaning is irrelevant, all that she knows in the back of her mind is that George will find out soon, and he’s not going to like it. But at the forefront of her mind is a beautiful boy with beautiful lips whose arms are tight around her. Music plays in the background, a piece neither of them have heard of, but one that will forever have its melodies ingrained in their minds. Larry isn’t the least bit concerned about these things. All that he has in his head is the rumination of the fact that he’s wanted to kiss this girl for as long as he can remember, and that hope is now fact. What will they do? How will it play out? Won’t they both die one day?
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