“
Creepelyn,” Layla called. “Open up, weirdo. You can’t get out of this one.” Creepelyn? What the fuck? “Oh my god, you’re so mean,” Veronica snickered. “You can’t, like, call autistic people creepy. It’s ableist or whatever.” Layla scoffed. “Oh, please. She’s all, like, ‘I’m so neurospicy, UwU.’ No one cares, and anyway, she’s probably self-diagnosed like half the internet and uses that as an excuse for her extreme creepiness.” “I haven’t noticed her being creepy…” “Shut up,” Layla hissed, slapping the door again. I expected Evelyn to ignore them, so I was surprised as hell when the door swung open. Layla pushed into the room while Veronica lingered right outside. I’d seen enough. No one talked about Evelyn that way, and Layla sure as hell didn’t get to push her around like that. Veronica squeaked when I appeared from my secret spot, her hands flying up in a defensive gesture. “Hi, Ivan. I was just—” I jerked my head to the side. “Get the fuck out of here.
”
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