|I’m pleased you're dressed nicely. We arrive at church. “Oh, doesn’t he look smart today!” they say. You duck your head, grimacing at me behind their backs. I grin back. You do look smart in your black and white checked shirt, buttoned up to the collar in exactly the same way as the boys - five years older than you- in my maths class. I can see the crease on your jeans where Mum turned them down yesterday ("You're getting so tall, darling!"). Your dark brown Lego Hairô tops off the look, conditioned only with Herbal Essences and combed to perfection. Awww, go on: I'll admit it. I'm proud you're my brother.
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