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…” Paloma said, and readjusted the flower in her hair. She wasn’t sure what else to say. No boy had ever just come out and said he wanted to get to know her before. “So what grade are you in?” “Seventh grade,” he said quickly. “Junior high. How about you?” “Me too.” He stopped a waiter, grabbed two cups of punch, and handed one to Paloma. She sipped the frosty white drink, liking it immediately. “What is this yummy stuff?” She chugged the punch. “Guanábana. You like it?” “Like it? I want to grow up and marry it. What kind of fruit is it? And why don’t they sell gua-nah-ba-nah in Kansas? It’s so good.” Tavo chuckled at her exaggerated pronunciation. “So … you like Coyoacán so far?” Paloma wrinkled her eyebrows. “I like the punch.” “That’s it?” Tavo frowned. Paloma bit down on her bottom lip. She hoped she hadn’t offended him. “Sorry, it’s just my first day here and so far—I’m super bored. I don’t speak
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Angela Cervantes (Me, Frida, and the Secret of the Peacock Ring (Scholastic Gold))