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fiction

Leslie Jill Patterson

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At work on campus, the woman stepped onto an elevator occupied by two coeds, who stared. They had lifeguard tans, Juicy Couture shorts, pedicures the color of the ocean, and thick, sun-bleached hair that made the woman want to cry. Backpacks were strapped across their shoulders, and both girls held iPhones.
   The woman had a black eye. In her peripheral vision, she saw the girl with candy-pink lip gloss elbow her friend. “Guess what happened to her,” Candyland whispered, nodding in the . . .
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Able Muse Write Prize for Fiction, 2017 ▪ Winner

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