CHANNILLO

Chapter Thirteen (1)
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Restraining from flashing his car lights, he looked me up and down when I climbed into the passenger’s side seat. His lips twitched up on one side. With a derisive snort, Jackson asked, “What are you - six feet?”

“Five eleven.”

People balked at my height, and my doctor kept saying I had another inch or two in me. While I stood a good three inches taller than the next tall girl in the school - a senior without risk of further growth, I never minded being tall. I cared about being tall and big. Buffer than most guys. Sometimes, I took pride in it. Beating them in deadlift contests or anything gym class related, but outside of athletics, the big caused me more trouble than the height. Clothes existed for tall girls. Clothes existed for athletic girls, big girls - but musc...

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