Paul didn’t help me get off the train.
I never thought I would care or even notice that a boy didn’t try and help me jump down from a not-quite-stopped-yet train when I could get down just as well myself. That sort of thing just wasn’t done in my time and was even considered rude. But I’d gotten so used to Paul holding my hand and helping me in and out of places that when he jumped off without lending me a hand, I felt a little empty inside.
I jumped down on my own, landing not very gracefully on the ground. I could see the station a little ways off in the distance, where the train was...
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