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Summary
"Aren't you sick of having a body, Travis?"
The voice came ringing back, tinny and unnatural but so human he could taste it. "What?"
"I hated it. There wasn't a single day that I didn't hate it."
"Bullshit," he spat out. He thought of Jackie at Doomcoming, slender and tall in her green dress, the way it clung to her like she had command over it.
She giggled. "Travis thinks pretty girls don't hate themselves."
