Moisture laden air pasted Belamie’s bangs against herforehead. Her light cotton tank top cringed against dampglistening skin, an occasional faint breeze shifting wisps of longlight brown hair across her shoulders. With a firm grip on theturned up handlebars, Belamie effortlessly steered the stolen bike.
Placing her left hand behind her she twisted around, checking onher best friend peddling methodically behind.Sari seemed as if she just stepped down from pages of aglamour magazine, even eloquently supporting a heavy whiteplaster cast, resulting from bunion surgery in late April. Thehospital casing surrounded her in certain fame, enveloping aroundher as a fairytale. Every inch of plaster from toes to kneecapsshared heartfelt wishes, funny drawings to make her laugh andphone numbers by the dozen.
Belamie’s homespun “girl-next-door” cuteness, as…
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