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My arm pits are smelly. I stink between my hips, like fish at the front, and faeces at the back. I have no friends. Nobody likes me. Everyone thinks I...m a smelly loser. I get bullied and mocked by the bitchy popular valley-girls, they gossip and giggle about me, about how I stink, about my lame clothes, about how much of a dweeb and a loser I am, and when they see me in the hall they chant 'Smelly-boy, smelly-boy, Jonothon's a smelly-boy!' over and over and over. I still try to suck up to them. Dominique's eyes lit up when I reminded her of Paul's visit. At that moment, it took all my willpower not to say something. But it wasn't the first time. Since the night he visited, each time I mentioned Paul's name she became coy and withdrawn. Though she appeared to be trying to hide it, she was eager to see him again and it made me feel uncomfortable. Last week I called him and we talked it over. I'd been pretty unsure about the scene Paul came up with, even though it sounded like fun. I let. More

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