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Over the last year, Malachi has changed from a boy to a young man. For seventeen, he looks twenty with a chiseled jaw, long lashes, and bright, diamond-like blue eyes. He has muscles that are starting to become noticeable through his clothes, and he loves to run. He once signed to me that it helps clear his head.Sometimes, we run together. We’ll listen to the same song—usually Taylor Swift if I choose, or Bad Omens if he does—then we’ll sit by the lake and watch the sunrise before we go home and get ready for school.All my friends want to kiss him. He’s the quiet, mysterious Malachi Vize that everyone wants a piece of. It sickens me—especially when they go into detail in the group chat about things I’d rather not read. He’s not popular—he’s the “silent weirdo,” yet they say things behind his back because they’re too scared to say anything to his face.
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