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I marched toward Stillman, who was at the far free-throw line, standing with the ball on his hip. "What exactly is your problem?" I said, looking directly into his black eyes.
"Just you," Stillman replied, an irritating smirk forming at one corner of his mouth. "I thought you were supposed to be a basketball player, not one of the funny boys of the drama department.
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YAAAY! FINN AND JAKE ARE GONNA BE IN THE STORY! STEVE DIED! NO!
Pads in and lines a nest with moss.