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Eight
Furies Don’t Like Buses
I untied my poni, pony tail, this time trying not to get the bumps on top.
I grabbed my backpack and shoved my clothes, books, pencils, notepads, and anything I would need on this journey. I wore my bronze cuchillo on a strap under my arm and shoved my Yankees gorra, cap in my back pocket.
That was the easy part. The hard part, was saying goodbye to my family. I turned around to face my siblings who all had tears in their eyes.
My five año old half-sister, Darla tugged on my shirt. “ Annabeth, are tu going bye-bye?”...
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