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Thursday, June 24,2010


By Krista Diamond
When Juniper Ross was in seventh grade, she tore out her own stitches. She was down at the swimming hole on Piscasset Street crouched at the edge of the cold, still river. The dull ache of smooth round rocks pressed into her bare feet. Up on the road, a cluster of high school girls stood giggling in bright colored bikinis as their boyfriends climbed to the top of the bridge and jumped off one at a time, their bodies taking flight like smooth adolescent birds.
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