Mama was always pointing out that of the millions of genes that made them all human, only seven or eight told their skin what color to be. A minuscule number, she said. A very small difference.
So that was what Minni chose to believe, even though somewhere deep inside her brain, in a little drawer she rarely let herself open, lived the concern that the difference she'd been assured didn't matter actually mattered a lot.
She squeezed her sister's hand and made an early birthday wish: May nothing ever, ever come between Keira and me. Nothing—big or small.
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