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Einan

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Matteo liked taking the dirt path home; the one that slithered away from the tram stop into the trees and then onto a meadow, through which a stream ran. Often, he’d drop his backpack here, using it as a pillow while he looked into the sky, mostly dotted with stringy wisps of cloud.

Today Matteo was feeling mad. He had failed yet another Math test, which would probably mean, at this point, that he’d have to repeat the 12th grade. One could’ve sworn there was steam billowing out of his ears. He removed his shoes to wade across the stream when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hi,” it said innocently. Matteo felt he could crush the voice into pieces.

“What?” he replied moodily, placing his foot into the stream. His entire body shivered at the cold.

He hadn’t even bothered to turn around.

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