Thomas Flair: hidden
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“Mom, please! I don’t want to go.”
“You don’t have a choice. You are going. I want you to get away from your video games and soccer ball,” my mom said while preparing dinner.
“But the activities are never any fun anymore. There aren’t any guys my age. And the girls won’t leave me alone.”
“Stop whining. You’re going. Whether you like it or not.” She finished chopping a carrot and scraped it into a pot.
I groaned then slipped off the stool and started walking upstairs.
“Oh!” my mom called after me. “And you’re taking Sparrow. I need you to watch her while I’m at work.”
I sighed, knowing I had no choice.
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