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elt like a cruel joke in my hands, a g
loe and Brooke' s smiles, and the sterile white o
ace, and Brooke running-not to me, bleeding on their celebration of sterilizing me, willing all my assets to
with the future in my hand, I
Stanford dream was confetti falling int
�" and Brooke' s "So proud of you, Alex." I deleted them wit
about my rejection of Stanford, Google, and Ap
e" followed me. Then they walked in: Chloe, B
om, painting herself as the victim, accusing me
o knew the truth, chose the lie. They w
. This time, I knew the rules
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