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Blah Blah Blah This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By Katryna S., San Pablo, CA

     When my mom speaks, it’s not my fault that all I hear is “blah blah blah.”

Because that is what she’s saying.

“I’m going out,” I say, and she looks at me in a sad way, shaking her head in confusion; I don’t think she understands me. I wonder why I bother announcing these things.

I slide across the floorboards of the entryway onto the porch. Rod is already waiting for me. I push aside the oleander-white sneakers on the shoe rack for the black, moth-eaten ones hidden behind them. Their soles are

so thin I can feel the texture of the ground. There’s a hole near the back. For some reason, this seems to bother Rod more than me. Once, I tried wearing the new white sneakers, but he stopped me, “You’ve always worn the other ones,” he said.

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