“When are we going to be done here?” I ask my mom.
“Soon,” she answers, “okay?” she asks.
She means ‘are you okay?”
I smile at her. “yeah,” I say sleepily, my head is starting to hurt more and more.
She turns and looks at me. “You sure?” her eyes scan my face, “you look like you’re starting to not feel good.”
“Fine,” I lie.
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