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Up High in the Trees

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Overview

This is an exquisite debut novel about a family in turmoil, told in the startling, deeply affecting voice of a nine-year-old, autistic boy. Following the sudden death of Sebby’s mother, his father takes Sebby to live in the family’s summerhouse, hoping it will give them both time and space to recover. But Sebby’s father deteriorates in this new isolation, leaving Sebby struggling to understand his mother’s death alone, dreaming and even reliving moments of her life. He ultimately reaches out to a favorite teacher...

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2008 Trade paperback New. No dust jacket as issued. Trade paperback (US). Glued binding. 328 p. Audience: General/trade. Death/Dying; Family; Fiction; Grief; Literary; Loss ... (Psychology); Mentally Challenged Read more Show Less

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Up High in the Trees: A Novel

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Overview

This is an exquisite debut novel about a family in turmoil, told in the startling, deeply affecting voice of a nine-year-old, autistic boy. Following the sudden death of Sebby’s mother, his father takes Sebby to live in the family’s summerhouse, hoping it will give them both time and space to recover. But Sebby’s father deteriorates in this new isolation, leaving Sebby struggling to understand his mother’s death alone, dreaming and even reliving moments of her life. He ultimately reaches out to a favorite teacher back home and to two nearby children who force him out of the void of the past and help him to exist in the present. In spare and gorgeous prose buoyed by the life force of its small, fearless narrator, Up High in the Trees introduces an astonishingly fresh and powerful literary voice.

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers
Brinkman's debut is an astonishing first-person narrative that reveals a family struggling to regain its footing after the sudden death of its matriarch. The tragedy blooms slowly through the eyes of a precocious narrator, nine-year-old Sebby Lane. An unusual and sensitive child, Sebby knows more of what is swirling around him than the adults in his life are willing to admit. Challenged by an autistic-like condition, he is able to render -- in the simplest of terms -- the complexities of emotion that stymie the adults around him. As his father retreats into self-imposed exile at the family's summerhouse and his older siblings break away from the family, Sebby is left alone to fathom his grief and navigate his way back to the world of the whole.

Up High in the Trees is not a novel that proceeds with a linear progression, but this is one of its strengths. Rather, it is like the journey of a fallen leaf that becomes caught in the current of a powerful river: tossed and turned by troubled waters, sometimes becalmed in a rare eddy of solitude, but always in danger of submersion. Like a floating leaf, Sebby's natural buoyancy is a flare of hope for an end to his journey of grief, and a new beginning. (Fall 2007 Selection)
Ron Charles
No one could blame you for turning away from Kiara Brinkman's haunting first novel. The muffled pain of Up High in the Trees will trigger your reflex for emotional protection but, if you can bear it, the treasures here are exquisite. I can't remember when I ever felt so torn between recoiling from a story and wishing I could somehow cross into its pages and comfort a character.
— The Washington Post
Publishers Weekly

The Asperger's afflicted narrator of Brinkman's sincere, sober debut struggles to cope with his pregnant mother's recent death after she was hit by a car. Already keenly sensitive to emotional and sensory stimuli, Sebby Lane finds his mother's loss almost unbearable; he acts out at school, biting a girl on the shoulder. Sebby's father, Stephen, is nearly unable to function, and, in an attempt to help both Sebby and himself, takes Sebby to the family summer home, hoping that a change of scenery will ease their mourning. Once there, however, Stephen slips ever deeper into his misery. Sebby, however, reaches out, writing letters to his teacher and befriending two unpleasant neighbor children. Though the narrative direction is muzzy and the conclusion is saccharine with forced uplift, the cast is portrayed with keen sympathy and sensitivity-no easy task with a young, on-the-spectrum narrator. Told in brief poetic vignettes, the novel moves quickly and episodically, like a series of snapshots from the camera of Sebby's unique mind. (July)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Kirkus Reviews
A nine-year-old tries to cope with his mother's death. Sebby Lane and his mother shared tendencies that made their family both love and worry about them. Sensitive, impulsive and sometimes shut down, the two understood each other without language or even thought. When Sebby was a toddler, his mother would wake him in the dead of night, strap him into his stroller and take him for a run. Sebby loved the sound of her bare feet slapping against the road. She occasionally ran naked, her skin alabaster in the moonlight. Now she is dead-hit by a car during a solo late-night run-and everyone in the family-Sebby's professor father, sister Cass, a high-school senior, and brother Leo, a sophomore-is emotionally derailed. Cass takes on the responsibility of running the household, since their increasingly remote father lets everything slide. Leo spends more time in the library. And Sebby, who narrates, barely holds on. School, which was never easy for Sebby, becomes unbearable. His father decides to take Sebby away to their summer house, even though it's November, leaving Cass and Leo behind to fend for themselves. In their isolation, the father and son sleepwalk through their days and nights in a stunned pantomime of a life. Sometimes the father finds Sebby hiding underneath the kitchen table. Another time Sebby finds his father underneath his bed. Who can save whom becomes the urgent through-line of this spare, elegiac novel. According to publicity materials, the author intended to sympathetically showcase Asperger's Syndrome, but since readers only meet Sebby after his mother dies-and since all the other family members grieve in their own idiosyncratic ways-that aspect of the novel pales. Whatdoes come through strong and clear, however, is the author's impressive ability to connect with and portray the myopic grief of a bereft child. A promising debut. Agent: Alice Tasman/Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780802143709
  • Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
  • Publication date: 6/10/2008
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 336
  • Product dimensions: 5.40 (w) x 8.20 (h) x 1.10 (d)

Read an Excerpt

UP HIGH IN THE TREES

A Novel
By Kiara Brinkman

Grove Press

Copyright © 2007 Kiara Brinkman
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8021-1847-9


Chapter One

ACCIDENTS

* * *

Here it is in my head, right in the place where I keep feeling it and knowing it. Dad knocks on my head like my head is a door. He knocks softly because Dad has big, soft hands. He says my name, Sebby.

Sebby, he says, earth to Sebby.

I come back then, but the things I know stay stuck where they are and I keep knowing them. Dad picks me up and lifts me high so I can reach into the leaves of our tree. Dad tries to hold me up for a long time. His face turns red and a deep sound comes out of his throat, because I'm getting bigger and Dad isn't so strong. He puts me down.

What is it? Dad asks.

I shrug my shoulders to say, Dad, I don't know, so he'll think that it's all gone now. But it's here in my head, in the dark place where you hold things and carry them around.

* * *

One thing I know is that I'm going to live for a very, very long time.

* * *

Mother liked to run in the middle of the night.

She'd wake me up and ask if I wanted to go with her. I nodded, yes. My eyes were sticky.I had to blink a lot to make them stay open.

I held Mother's hand and we walked to the garage. She put me in my old blue stroller that smelled dirty and cold, like how the garage smelled. I was too big, but I could still fit.

Mother pushed me in fast circles around the block. The houses were dark and quiet. Nothing was moving except for us and we were going so fast.

It rained one time and we stopped under a tree.

The rain dripped off the leaves in big, slow drops.

Are you okay? Mother asked.

I nodded, yes. The rain made my stroller smell dirtier and older. Mother took off her T-shirt and her shorts. Mother was soft white like the glass on a frosty white lightbulb. The rain made her shine.

It feels nice, Mother said. She pushed my stroller and we went fast.

I liked how her feet sounded-tap, tap, tap-clean on the wet sidewalk.

* * *

I need to sleep, because my head hurts in the dark spots behind my eyes.

Sebastian, Teacher says.

I can hear Teacher's feet click-walking closer to me. Click, click, click, closer. She puts her hand on my arm.

Are you okay, Sebastian? Teacher asks.

Behind me, Ryan pinches my back.

Ouch, I say.

The kids are laughing. Katya looks at me. She is my friend.

You're okay, Teacher tells me.

I close my eyes and Teacher lets me sleep.

The bell's ringing wakes me up. It's the end of the day and everyone's lined up at the door. They push each other outside and run. I stand up to go.

Wait, Teacher says and makes her mouth smile.

She folds a piece of paper and tells me it's a note to give to Dad. I take it from her.

Okay, bye, I say and leave.

I walk until I'm outside of school and then stop to unfold the paper. The note says:

Dear Mr. Lane,

I'm worried that Sebastian may not be getting a full night of sleep at home. Recently, he's been dozing off in class. I've also noticed him squinting and rubbing his eyes-maybe he needs glasses? As you know, I am so pleased to have Sebastian in my class-I just want to ensure that he's getting as much as possible out of his school day. Please call me so we can discuss this. Thank you, Judy Lambert

I don't want Dad to read the note, so I rip it up and then I let go. The pieces blow all around. They sound like leaves on the sidewalk.

* * *

A long time ago, Mother let her papers go in the rainstorm. I followed her outside.

She said, Go back in, you'll get yourself sick again.

I went in and watched her from the window. She ripped up her papers and let them fly in the wind. When she came back inside, her face was so white and her eyes were staring off far away, not seeing anything.

All your poems, Dad said to her.

Mother said, Sebby, I'm lonely, come sit with me.

So I sat with her and hid my face in her hair. I wanted to bite her because she smelled so good.

The rain stopped and we went out to look. Little wet papers were stuck onto the house. Dad said to help, so I helped Dad peel them off. We found one with a whole word that didn't get washed off by the rain and Dad said to put it in my pocket, because it was for me.

What does it say? I asked.

Dad said the word said baby.

* * *

I want to be home now. The ripped-up note from Teacher is flying all around me. I run away from the note.

At home, the door is unlocked.

Sebby, that you? my brother's voice asks from the kitchen.

It's me, I say. My forehead is sweating. The inside air feels cold on my face. I go to the kitchen and there's Leo, eating pickles.

What'd you do, run all the way home? he asks.

I don't say anything. Leo tells me he has to go to the library.

Do you want to come with? he asks. Leo's in eleventh grade and he's in smart classes at his school because he reads so much. He can read a whole book with chapters in two hours. I like to watch his eyes moving back and forth, back and forth over the pages.

I can't tell him about the note from Teacher. The note is a secret. Now I know it was not right to rip it up because Ms. Lambert is a good teacher to me. She lets me go outside and breathe the air by myself when I need to. I like it when she comes close to look at my work and her brown-black hair touches the top of my desk and her smell is like the Chap Stick she puts on her lips.

I follow Leo to the library. I walk behind him so I can step in the same places he steps. Leo doesn't like it when I do this. He stops still all of a sudden and makes me bump into his back.

Cut it out, he says.

The library has so many books you can smell the sour smell of the pages getting old. Leo takes out all his folders and his pencil pouch. He puts up his arms and reaches as high as he can because that makes him feel ready to work. The ceiling is far away and Leo's happy because there's space for stretching and thinking. I tap him on the shoulder.

Not now, Sebby, he says, I have to study for my chemistry test.

I slide down off my chair and go under the table where it's dark. My eyes are hurting. There's too much time and I want to fall asleep, so I close my eyes, but I can't sleep, because I have a question in my head. The air is quiet. I open my eyes and watch my brother's foot tapping.

Then I crawl back up onto my chair and sit next to him. He doesn't look at me, so I write down my question in big letters at the top of one of his papers and I push it in front of him.

Who told you that? he asks me.

I don't say anything.

You don't look like a girl, he says, you need a haircut is all.

Okay, I say. I stand up and push in my chair.

Where are you going? he asks.

I shrug.

Just don't hide from me again, he says.

Okay, I say.

* * *

I liked to sit in the cabinet under the sink.

Dad said, I don't understand why you hide under there.

I hugged my knees tight to make myself smaller.

If you sit under there like that for too long, you'll stop growing, Dad said.

Stop it, Mother told him.

They got mad at each other then and I held very still.

Under the sink was the dirty smell, like cooked carrots. It's true that carrots grow down instead of up. I thought of growing down into the ground, deeper and deeper, and I knew then that the whole inside of the earth smelled like dirty carrots.

If he wants to hide, Mother said, let him hide.

Dad said, It's not normal. Dad's voice was loud and mean.

Why are you so worried about what's normal? Mother asked. Her voice was louder now, too.

Louise, Dad said and he put up both of his hands, like two stop signs.

You're not worried about him, she yelled, you're worried about what's normal.

Just tell me why you're so mad, will you? Dad asked.

I can't, Mother said. I'm leaving, she said and then she left.

* * *

Downstairs in the library, the books reach all the way to the ceiling. You have to climb up a ladder to touch the highest ones. I don't like how there are so many books. I don't know which one to pick out and read so I don't read any of them. I put my face up close to the pages and they smell peppery, like how the wood floor smells at home.

I walk until I find the right spot. At the very top, one shelf has a long empty space. I climb up the ladder to the empty space and make myself fit. I have to lie on my side because when I lie on my back, it feels like I'm going to fall off.

Leo said not to hide.

In the quiet you can tell when you are doing something wrong, because the quiet gets more quiet. I try to hold very still. I think about how nobody's seeing me and nobody's hearing me and then I can pretend to be not here at all. But the shelf is hard and I can feel my body against the shelf and I know I am here.

Leo said not to hide, so I climb down the ladder.

To make the time go by, I look at all the reading posters on the wall. President George Bush reading, and Bill and Ted, from the movie Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, both reading and trying to make their faces look smart. My favorite is the one with the kittens climbing around on a pile of books. You can tell the kitten poster is old because it has yellow, turned-up corners and rips fixed with tape.

Upstairs, I go stand by Leo. He looks at me and nods, but doesn't say anything because he's in the middle of thinking about something. If he talks, then he loses what he's thinking about and gets mad. I crawl under the table and watch his foot tap. I press my ear against the floor and I can feel the tapping in the back of my head.

Why's he asleep down there? says my sister's voice. She sometimes comes with the car to give us a ride home.

I'm not asleep, I say with my eyes closed.

Why're you lying on your back like a dead man? she asks me. Why's he lying like that? she asks Leo. It's creepy, she says.

I open my eyes and Leo is bent over, looking down at me.

Why didn't you tell him to stop doing that? she asks him.

I'm not doing anything, I say.

Leo laughs at me. My sister stares hard at his face and then walks away.

Cass, Leo calls in a voice that's half-loud and half whisper, because the rule in the library is that you have to be quiet.

Cass keeps walking away.

Cass, he calls. He says her name again and that makes it sound funny, like it's someone else's name and not a name I know.

I say her name in my head, Cass, Cass, Cass.

Mother named my sister after Mama Cass because Mama Cass had such a sweet voice it could lift you right up off the floor and carry you away. That's what Mother said. Mother showed me a picture of Mama Cass singing alone on a dark stage. In the picture Mama Cass is wearing a long red dress that looks big and lull like a red balloon.

I crawl out from under the table and watch Leo put all his papers into different colored folders. Then he puts the folders and books into his red backpack, and that makes his backpack so full, it's hard to zip closed.

We go to the parking lot, but Cass and the green car are gone.

Shit, Leo says.

The way home has a big hill. Leo starts walking fast because he's so mad that he can walk fast even with his heavy backpack. I try to walk fast too, but I'm tired now. I hold on to Leo's coat and practice walking with my eyes closed.

Stop pulling on me, Leo says when we get to the hill, so I let go.

I can still walk with my eyes closed. I listen to Leo's steps on the sidewalk and I copy them.

Our feet make a crunching sound when we get to our gravelly driveway. I open my eyes. Leo kicks up the gravel rocks. He looks tall and angry now and his breathing is fast.

Just go in and leave me alone, Leo says. He throws his backpack against the house and the house makes no sound.

I wait for a sound, but the house is like a giant pillow. Damn you, Leo screams at the house. He goes and picks up his backpack where it landed in Mother's garden.

* * *

We had fat, ripe tomatoes. There's a picture in Dad's office of Leo and Cass sitting on a yellow chair, holding Mother's tomatoes. It's like the really old pictures with nobody smiling. The tomatoes are big and round like empty faces.

Dad said I used to eat Mother's tomatoes just like they were apples. He said it made Mother happy to watch me eat.

Dad said, You know, it was hard to make Mother happy.

I didn't know that.

When I was little, I practiced drawing different kinds of faces.

Mother sang a song for me:

This is happy This is sad This is scared This is mad.

She made her face match the words.

* * *

Leo's mad at the house. He doesn't want to go inside, so I walk to the door by myself. Dad's music is there on the front porch. I can hear his voice singing. Dad gets loud when he sings. I open the door and all the music inside jumps out. It sounds like this: Goodbye to Rosie. I know how the Rosie in the song looks. She's blue like how the ghost lady looks on the cover of one of Mother's records. Dad says the blue lady is Joni Mitchell. We don't listen to her record, though, because her voice gives Dad the goose bumps.

Dad's sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing the speakers, so he can't see me. I reach out and touch the back of his neck with one finger. He turns around fast.

Jesus Christ, Sebby, don't do that, Dad says. He grabs my hands and rubs them between his hands. Your hands are freezing, he says.

Cass comes and turns down the music.

Where's Leo? she asks me.

Outside, I say.

What's going on? Dad asks.

Nothing, Cass says.

Dad looks at me and I don't say anything.

Let him stay outside, Cass says.

Dad goes to the door.

Just leave him alone, Cass shouts.

But Dad goes out. He closes the door slowly so it doesn't make any noise.

We're going to eat, Cass says to me.

She takes my hand and pulls me into the kitchen. The table is already set with the brown place mats that have orange and yellow and red leaves on them. Cass pushes down hard on my shoulders to make me sit.

Here, she says.

Cass puts a plateful of steaming spaghetti down on my place mat. I lean forward and let the steam make my face sweaty wet.

Stop it, Cass says. She sits down next to me and uses my knife and fork to cut up the spaghetti.

Dad treats everyone like a baby, Cass says and leans back in her chair. I hear the front door open and then close. There are steps, but Leo and Dad don't come to the kitchen to eat. I look down at my spaghetti because I don't want to see Cass.

Eat, Cass tells me.

It's too hot, I say.

Cass takes a bite of my spaghetti with her fork.

It's fine, she says.

I try a bite.

See, Cass says, it's fine.

She takes another bite and then it's my turn again. We keep taking turns.

How was school? Cass asks.

Long, I tell her.

Cass doesn't have to go to school anymore because she finished twelfth grade and had a graduation. I'm in third, so that means I have nine more grades.

Cass takes another bite and then says, Stop. Stop eating, she says, it doesn't taste right. She gets up and carries the plate over to the sink, then dumps off all the spaghetti.

I stand up and watch her.

Go take a bath, she says.

I don't move. I don't want to take a bath.

I'm tired, I say.

Cass turns off the water. She doesn't look at me.

Whatever, she says, then go to sleep.

I go upstairs and sit down on the top step. If I go to sleep now, then morning will come and I'll have to go back to school. I don't want to go to school, I'll say, and Cass will say there's nowhere else for me to go. In my head, the song says, Goodbye to Rosie. I look at the white wall until it makes my eyes go blurry. There are bright spots where Mother touched that haven't been touched by anybody else. You have to look for a long time before you can see a bright spot. Then the spot glows and that's how you know where Mother still is. The spot glows and it's like the spot is glowing inside of you, because it makes you warm inside your chest and that feels good. You want to touch the spot, but you can't because then it will be gone. What's wrong is that everybody always goes around touching everything and Cass is always cleaning and that erases the spots.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from UP HIGH IN THE TREES by Kiara Brinkman Copyright © 2007 by Kiara Brinkman. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 34 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(21)

4 Star

(4)

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(6)

2 Star

(3)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 34 Customer Reviews
  • Posted November 27, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Not what I was expecting, but worth reading

    A very interesting look at the grieving process from an eight year old boy's eyes. Very moving and disturbing.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2008

    Really very good...

    Sebby Lane tells a beautifully poignant and heart-rending story in Up High in the Trees by Kiara Brinkman. The characters are very real, and you find yourself cheering for Sebby from page one. It was captivating and seemed super-realistic to me. I would recommend it to anyone.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 8, 2007

    A reviewer

    I was originally drawn to this book by the cover. And then, the synopsis made me want to read page one and on and on. The story is beautiful and simple. The thoughts of this boy are so real and his relationship to his mother is a connection beyond earthful boundaries. Prosaic but the language is light. Really Amazing.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 23, 2007

    An Amazing Story

    Just like the 'Curious Incident of the Dog at Night' the narrator here has autism and sees the world in a different manner. Thrust into a confused family in the midst of a serious loss, this young boy's simple, honest depiction of his family and his own pain and path to acceptance is engaging, touching and beautifully written.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 31, 2014

    Um

    Hi

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 7, 2014

    Talia

    She hummed walking with him

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 24, 2014

    Talia

    "Why wouldn't it be?" She smiled and ran off hiding behind a tree

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 2, 2014

    Mario Does a cartwheel

    Mario
    Does a cartwheel

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 7, 2014

    Justin

    Held her hand and started walking

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 16, 2014

    Talia

    "Hey"

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 28, 2014

    Mike

    Justins here

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 8, 2013

    Rylen

    ((Okay.))
    He lets her take the ball and sits down, yawning.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 11, 2013

    Brittnay

    *puts her bag down and she does the dplits and stretches her legs*

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 8, 2013

    Violet

    Gtg! Bbl! She steals the ball from him again and races across the court and shoots a three pointer.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 6, 2013

    Andrew

    Does some push-ups

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 4, 2013

    Brady

    He quickly changed and walked through

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 3, 2013

    Bjorn

    Gtg

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 17, 2013

    Carson

    HERE

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 15, 2013

    A.j

    One

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 15, 2013

    Sabrina

    Kk

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