Pg. 3
Now we were crouched whispering in the shadow of some scraggy fir trees in the front garden of the history teacher's house. We had branches jabbing at us, needles in our hair and down the backs of our collars. But no matter how much we shuffled and hunkered, the shadow wasn't quite big enough. we were still wearing our dark funeral clothes, and that helped the problem was Kenny, who kept squirming, shoving bits of me and Sim out into the glare of the streetlights. all it would take was one eagle eye to look our way and we'd be seen for sure.
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