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Red Socks

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Casey Cooke clenched her fists over her knees as she awaited the nurse to come collect her. This is a crazy idea, she thought to herself and glanced up at the white clock on the wall. She could leave, she thought, she could leave right now, and no one would know that she ever even tried. She watched as orderlies walked through the halls in their blue uniforms and their laminated name-tags clipped onto their crisp, ironed shirts. Some glanced at her as they passed and for a split second, she thought they knew. They must know, how couldn’t they? It seemed as if everyone did. On the bus ride here, her walk back home, even in the food court at the mall. The girl he let go.

“Casey Cooke?”