From J8:
The skinny, pushy biddy, Miriam, returned with her tea and a small cup of yogurt topped with slick-looking blueberries. She gave him just the tip of a simpering smile.
It was like the kick-off to every team sport he'd ever had to endure in school. The captains not choosing him. Even his friends avoiding his eyes. That pitying school-teacher smile.
He'd spent years growing out of that, he thought, as Miriam began to speak: years teaching himself to embrace brighter, tighter shirts and British-looking jeans. Years of taking two deep breaths and speaking "whoa" into his chest before walking into the room. "Whoa," he muttered, waiting for Miriam to dive in.
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