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Betrayal of the Stomach

“Oh my God. Was that him?”
“Yeah.”
“You just bumped into him and all you said was ‘sorry’!”
“I know. I was trying to follow you. It took me, like, two minutes to register the fact.”
A pause. “He’s cute.”
“I know. My stomach went into rollercoaster mode.”
“Oh my God! You still like him!”
“Not particularly. He’s a jerk.”
“He’s not a jerk.”
“Oh, fine. My stomach’s the jerk.”
“That is so romantic!”
“No, it’s not. It’s stupid.”
“And you still like him!”
“I swear I’m over him.”
“Your heart bleeds for him.”
“Corny, much?” Sigh. “My heart is perfectly fine. My brain is even better. My stomach’s the one that hasn’t gotten the memo. It’s clearly grown a mind of its own.”
“So that’s why you’ve been eating so much.”
“Possibly.”
“Oh my God. He’s talking to someone.”
“Is he looking at me?”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me anything about him unless he is. You’re making me nervous.”
“He secretly pines for you. I just know it.”
“A girl can dream.”




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