![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The girls are at Kiera’s because her parents believe in “freedom of expression,” and they can climb trees and catch frogs and lie on the living room floor with the cushions pulled off the couch, watching cartoons and eating sugary cereal from metal mixing bowls for hours. Strange eyes, Ava’s mother always says with the same pinched grimace usually reserved for pulling plugs of their hair from the bathtub drain. Her mouth is a slim, straight line, but her eyes are wide, green-yellow, unblinking. How she holds her hand steady-as if used to slicing herself open-while sunlight falls into the kitchen window and fills her curls with glow. “Pink is the color for girls,” Kiera says, so she and Ava cut their palms and let their blood drip into a shallow bowl filled with milk, watching the color spread slowly on the surface, small red flowers blooming. ![]()
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