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September 27, 2007
I cupped Battleship onto my shoulder and followed mother into the family room. I sat on the sofa, Battleship slipped to my side, and I felt the wool prickle my legs as my shorts hitched up. I didnít feel any older. I wore the same clothes as always. Dad still ignored me, his paper up over his face while he read. He still ate eggs with ketchup. Mom still bustled in the kitchen pretending she knew how to cook. Battleship walked over my legs, dropped to the floor and went from view. Hungry, I thought, Heís getting food. How wrong.