did she look at us that first week and see past the glossed hair and shiny legs, our glittered brow bones and girl bravado? see past all that to everything beneath, all our miseries, the way we all hated ourselves but much more everyone else? could she see past all of that to something else, something quivering and real, something poised to be transformed, turned out, made? see that she could make us, stick her hands in our glitter-gritted insides and build us into magnificent teen gladiators?

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