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| Image from www.sharedhope.org |
"Front door opening," announced the electronic voice as I entered the kitchen where *Shayla was busily preparing Valentine's candy for an upcoming banquet. I walked past the cubbies where girls hang their coats and studied her face for a moment.
"Do you like school?" I asked.
What else do you ask a sixteen-year-old who's spent most of her existence earning her keep from a pimp's bed?
