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24

Wiley exited the salon with her hair in a French braid, a mild concession to her mother’s quest for a new look. Of all the good luck, a merchant was selling guitars across the street. Brightly enameled and oddly shaped, they drew her like cotton candy to a child. Picking up a hot pink and red model, she tuned it by ear.

“Oh, you play?” Portae said curiously, seeming relieved. Maybe she thought she was about to hear some ladylike ditties she could show off to her friends at teatime.

Wiley grinned wickedly, played a few warm up chords, surged into a couple of hard rock riffs, and opened with Van Halen.

Rhapsody’s eyes got big. She looked left, then right, paling as she real

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