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Summary
"Haven't passed it yet?" Swan asks, like she doesn't know the answer.
Constance shakes her head, a couple strands of hair coming loose from over her shoulder, grazing the rim of the seat; Swan purses her lips, gathers Constance's hair into one hand in place of the hair tie neither of them remembered to wear, pin-straight and impossibly smooth. Practically hugging Constance now, back to front.
"I don't wanna throw up in the car."
Swan gets it out of Constance's system.