The next day feels uneventful, even though there’s a lot going on inside the house. The furniture guys arrive with our beds, and they spend nearly an hour putting together the bed frames. When they’re done, and the house is quiet besides the sound of Dad’s radio and Mom’s soft humming, I find ways to keep myself busy, since I’ve already unpacked everything.
I sit on my laptop—watching dance videos. Rewatching dance videos. There’s one dancer from Brooklyn who records her street performances and posts them online. I watch her videos for a solid hour before I feel my stomach start to get all twisted at the thought of my first day of school tomorrow. With a sigh, I type: North Avenburgh High into the search bar, which gives me a sense of deja vu. This isn’t the first time I’ve searched for more information about my new school. It’s basically a daily ritual at this point, and I’m left disappointed, every time, by the lack of information.
I scroll through the website, and it’s basically vacant—just like the last time I’d checked, but I’m still hopeful that maybe the website was under construction last time and maybe this time, I’ll be able to learn more about the place with nearly two thousand students—a stark contrast from my old school, which had a total of only seven hundred students. North Avenburgh High School is more than double the size, and yet—I can’t find anything aside from a generic website with the school’s pledge: Empowering every student to reach their full potential, and a collection of pictures of the school’s exterior. Based on the pictures, it has four floors. Long, tinted windows. Just like the houses in my neighborhood. There’s no information on the website about dance programs. Just basketball and football.
I close the webpage and go back to watching dance videos. The rest of the day passes quickly. Phoebe alls me at around nine in the evening, and I tell her about what the neighborhood is like and what I’ve been up to since the move, which has been pretty much nothing. Phoebe fires out question after question, and when I reach a point where I can no longer answer them because I’ve spent hours watching Liana Raylen—the New York dancer—live out her dream instead of exploring my new neighborhood, she responds with:
“There’s a lot you can do, Raine.” I hear her fingers tapping against the keys on her laptop. Leave it to Phoebe to take more interest in my new town than I have. “There’s a roller rink downtown, very retro. They don’t have long hours on the weekdays, but on the weekends, they’re open late. Oh, they have themed coffee shops…I’m seeing travel, fantasy, vintage arcade.”
I want to tell her that I have no one to go with, but she already knows that. She also knows that aside from dancing, one of my greatest passions is experiencing things that were before my time. Hence why the words retro and vintage keep spilling from her mouth as she searches far and wide for places in Avenburgh where I can feel at home.
I’m just listening to her chatter away about all the things I can see and do, while I hold my phone against my ear, staring up at the swirled patterns on my ceiling.
“I’ll go out, I promise…but I need to make it through my first day of school first. That’s all I’ve been thinking about.”
“It’ll be great,” Phoebe says, as if she secretly has the ability to see the future.
“But what if it won’t be great? What if…it’s a terrible place?”
There’s no one on this earth I’m more comfortable sharing my fears with than Phoebe. Sometimes I’ll think something, and it’ll just flow out of my mouth without me even thinking bout it. She’s practically the antithesis of pessimism, but still, she tries to understand my less than stellar thoughts.
“What if it’s an amazing place? What if all the teachers are nice, and everyone there ends up loving you?”
“That’s not real life. Real life isn’t a utopia.”
“Well, it’s better to think best case scenario, don’t you think?”
“I’d rather have realistic expectations, that’s all,” I say.
“Whatever you say, Raine…”
For a flash of a second, I think about telling Phoebe about Elliot. Maybe because despite all my fear and doubts about starting at North Avenburgh High School tomorrow, he’s one good thing that has happened to me since I’ve arrived here. I don’t want Phoebe to think I’ve just locked myself up in my room with my thoughts. She hates when I do that. I want her to known that I have gone out. That I have met someone new…even though I didn’t even get his number. She’d have plenty to say about it, but just when I’m about to open my mouth to tell her, I hear her mom calling her in the background.
“Hey, I gotta go. I’ll text you tomorrow. You’ll be fine. I can’t wait to hear about your positively fantastic first day. Love you!”
“Love you more,” I say, and then I hang up. Phoebe, the ball of positivity that I always need to balance out my dark side—I already miss her physical presence beyond words.
I get up off the floor, take a hower, change into my pink pajamas with fluffy white clouds, turn out the light, and then throw the covers over myself. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. I repeat the words in my head, but sleeping, especially at this hour, feels like an impossibility. It’s only ten o’clock. I usually don’t fall asleep until after midnight, but I figure the earlier I fall asleep, the better. I don’t want to risk feeling like a walking zombie tomorrow. I close my eyes, and I’m not sure how long it takes me, but eventually, I drift off into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, my alarm goes off at 5:30am. I quickly get out of bed and get dressed, spending time at my reflection in the mirror, trying to get my look right. I want to look nice. More than nice. I want to make an impression. I stare into my dark brown eyes.
“This will be an amazingly positively fantastic day,”I say to my tired reflection, but I’m having a hard time believing it. I can already feel the nerves creeping in. Goosebumps have raised along my arms, and it’s not because the house is cold or anything.
I change into my favorite blouse with flower patterns and a purple skirt. Not too short—it comes down below my fingertips. Once I’m done, I work on curling my hair. I take each lock of hair and twirl it carefully around the wand, as I continue to look into my reflection in the mirror. Even though I’m practically my mother’s twin, I share the same eye color with my dad. The kind of dark brown that looks almost black, but it is a beautiful golden hue in direct sunlight. I’m very much an eye person. Eyes are the first thing I notice about a person when I’m talking to them, and I figure maybe that’s what I’ll look at to keep my nerves down. Feeling anxious about walking into a classroom full of teenagers? Look at their eyes. Have to introduce yourself to the teacher? Look into their eyes. I make a promise to myself that I will focus only on positive thoughts and eyes, and when it’s nearing 7 o’clock, Mom and I rush out the door and head to the car.
North Avenburgh High School is a five-minute drive from my house. I could walk there, if I wanted to. Maybe I will—but today, and for the rest of the week, Mom insists on driving me. Even though we’re early—classes don’t start until thirty-five minutes after 7—he parking lot is lively, busy. Students are either getting dropped off by their parents or they’re parking their own cars and getting out. Mom pulls around toward the front, but we end up waiting in a line. It’s so different from my old school. I used to be early and we’d be able to zip right up to the front and I’d be able to get out with no problems. But here? There’s a whole line of cars that had the same ‘get there early’ idea, and now it feel like we’re stuck in a traffic jam. Two thousand students, I remind myself.
By the time we make it to the front of the line, I have about fifteen minutes to head to the front office, grab my schedule, find my locker, and head to my first class of the day. Mom tells me have a great day, and I get out of the car in a hurry, internally hoping, with everything in me, that I will. As I make my way to the front doors, I look up at the building. It looks even bigger in person than it had in the pictures. The place looms over me, foreboding with its dark colors.
The inside of the school has a lighter feel color-wise, but it’s crowded. So crowded that I nearly trip over someone’s shoes the moment I step foot into the main hallway. Thankfully, the front office is only a few steps away from the door. Before I can fully take in just how hectic this place is, I’m in a large room decorated with plants and flower pots.
It’s bright, beautiful—I almost want to smile as I walk past a gorgeous portrait on the wall with a girl holding paintbrush to an easel. In the bottom left corner, Passion is printed in elegant font. As I’m starting to sit in the chair adjacent to the portrait, I lock eyes with the woman at the front desk who is helping a student. She smiles slightly at me.
“What do you need, dear” she asks, five minutes later, when her line of students are clear. I stand up and walk up to the desk, trying to keep my posture straight, composed, so that I can come across as confident. The woman has fiery red hair and wears a pair of thick-rimmed brown glasses that kind of remind me of Dad’s. They make her look sophisticated, slightly intimidating. I clear my throat.
“My name is Raine Harilan…it’s my first day.”
“Oh, wonderful,” the woman says, her eyes lightening. “You’ll need your schedule, which I have…somewhere around here.” She starts looking around behind the desk, tossing papers to the side. As she’s looking, the office is continuing to fill with students, which has the palms of my hands sweating. I try to pretend it’s just me and the woman, in this big room, but I find it difficult. There’s so much noise.
“Found it!” the woman says after about a minute, but it feels like much longer than that. She places the paper on the desk and starts tracing her finger over the important information. “On the left of each class is the room number, and floor number. If you need any help finding your classes you can ask a hall monitor, but I’m sure anyone would be willing to help. I also have your locker information.” She places a lock on the desk and pushes it toward me. “Yours is on the first floor, which makes you a lucky duck.” She gives me an even wider smile. “Do you have any questions? Concerns? Anything?”
I smile back at her. “No, I think I have everything I need. Thank you.”
“Good luck, Raine,” the woman says with a head nod, and before I’ve even walked away from the desk, she’s already helping the next student. I hurry out of the office after that, making my way back into the crowded hallway. I find my locker easily, but there’s nothing I need to put into it because I don’t have any books…yet. All I have is my backpack, a few pencils. The basics. I figure I’ll be needing to use my locker later in the day and it’s better for me to know where it is now than end up having to search for it later.
I end up wandering around the third floor for a while before I decide to find a hall monitor who shows me to my first class. He makes a little bit of small talk—asking me where I’ve moved from, but when I tel him it doesn’t really feel like he’s listening, just going through the motions. When we reach my first period Algebra class, he wishes me good luck, just as the front office lady had. I tell him thank you and give a smile, hoping that I don’t look as nervous as I feel.
Without even thinking about it, I head straight for the back of the classroom, not wanting to be noticed, but the teacher calls me to his desk and hands me my textbook and the syllabus for the class. He doesn’t bother making small talk. I return to my desk.
As class starts and the teacher begins his lecture, I expect people to notice me. Not exactly because I want them to notice me, but it’s kind of an expectation I had. This is the first time I’ve ever been the “new girl” at a school and I’d always thought that people would rush up to me, asking me questions, but that’s not what happens. I settle into a rhythm, writing notes down in my journal, and no one says a word to me.
The bell rings and I head to my second period class. I’m early. Only the third or fourth student to arrive. There’s a girl sitting by the window, near the teacher’s desk. She has long, blonde hair and chestnut-colored skin. I expect myself to head for the back of the classroom again, but when I pass by her, I pause for moment before sitting in the seat directly beside her. A minute passes, then two. After the third minute, the girl places her hand on my desk.
“You’re new, right?” she asks, a radiant smile on her face. “I’m Mariana, by the way.” She flips her hair over her shoulder.
“I’m Raine,” I say back. “I just moved here from…” my mind blanks for a moment as I find myself thinking about the fact that this girl is so pretty. She has light freckles that sprinkle her cheeks, grey eyes, and she’s wearing a layer of lip gloss that shimmers beneath the classroom’s fluorescent lights, which only adds to her glowing aesthetic. She’s wearing a cute jean jumpsuit, and she’s just staring at me, expectantly, as I fumble this introduction.
“Sorry, I’m…totally out of it. I’m from Pennsylvania. Harler, Pennsylvania, if you’ve ever heard of it.”
“It sounds familiar,” she says. “I think I had to drive past there to get to Philadelphia once. Is it the place where the houses look like they belong in a Dr. Seuss movie?”
I smile at this observation. What an accurate representation of my hometown.
“Yes!” I say. “It doesn’t feel like a real place, half the time. I kind of grew up feeling like I was on a movie set.”
“Must’ve been really cool,” she says, tilting her head up. “What brings you to Avenburgh, or, as I like to call it The Place Between Heaven and Hell, but…mostly hell.” She must be able to read the uneasy expression on my fae because she pats her hand gently on my shoulder and says: “I’m kidding. It’s not that bad. You might like it here, but of course, I can’t make any promises.”
“All I really care about is whether the dance program is good…if they even have one here. I mean, I care about other stuff, too. But that’s like…my main focus.” I take a breath. “I moved because my father got a new job and we basically just left everything behind, for a fresh start, or whatever, so I have to find a new way to get my dance practice in.” I pause, not knowing if I’ve shared too much about my life already. My interest in dance…part of the reason for the move. I hardly even know this girl, and yet facts about my life are just rolling off my tongue. She’ll probably tell her friends, and then her friends might tell their friends, and on and on. I can just see it: ‘You hear about the new girl? She thinks she can dance!” I wish I could take back what I said and just give some vague answer, but it’s too late.
“Ohhhhh. You could join the Avenburgh Dance Crew!” The excitement that flashes in her eyes makes me feel a little better about the fact that I’ve shared this detail of my life with her. “They have auditions every other Wednesday. Their next one is this Wednesday, if you’re interested. The only requirement is that you have to be a student here, of course, and that you know the basics of dance. And by basics, I mean being able to at least move your body to a rhythm basic. How long have you been dancing?”
“Since I was four,”I say. “Long time.”
“You have to join the Dance Crew, then! They need someone like you…and between the two of us, they haven’t been doing too great in competitions in the last few years. The most talented dancer on the team is this girl named Linnie Parson, and she’s only been dancing since her freshman year. You’d kill it at the audition.”
I smile at Mariana. She hasn’t even seen me dance, yet her confidence in my ability is shining not just through her words, but through her eyes.
“So, what do you think, will you do it?”
“You said Wednesday, right? What time?”
“Five. I could come with you, if you’d like.”
“That would be great,” I say, with a smile.
“Perfect,” she says, and then she pulls a giant textbook out of her backpack and places it on her desk. “If you need a study partner, I’m open to that, too. Mr. Riley makes everything hard for no reason. I mean—last year I thought psychology was easy. But then on my first day with him, I swear my brain turned into complete mush. He was going on and on and on and I had no idea what he was talking about. I started to think that maybe it was because I wasn’t the brightest.” She chuckles under her breath. “But that wasn’t it. I’ve actually become an expert at teaching myself the material with this over-sized textbook and I can confidently go on a rant about Sigmund Freud if I ever need to.”
I like this girl so much already.
“We’ll be study partners, then.” I say, feeling more at ease now.
Mariana gives me a cheeky grin. “Awesome! Okay, so, considering you’re new and all, I’m sure you’re wondering about the dynamics of the school, and all that. Well let me sart off by telling you allll about—”
The bell rings and immediately Mr. Riley’s booming voice fills the classroom.
“No talking. Books out. Eyes should be facing me,” he says. “We’ll be starting on page 112 today.” He scans the room, making sure everyone is following his directions, and when he looks my way, he gestures for me to come up to the front of the class with his finger.
“We have a new student joining us this semester,” he announces, “Come on up here and tell us your name and a little bit about you.”
Oh no. I should have considered this would happen, but it completely slipped my mind. Mr. Riley was one of those teachers. The ones that feel no shame about putting people on the spot. I want to run and hide, but there’s nowhere to run or hide to. I just sit in my seat for a moment, frozen, but then Mariana gives me a gentle: “You’ve got this” and I stand up from my seat, joining Mr. Riley at the front of the class. Everyone is looking t me. I see over thirty pairs of eyes, and I’d through that looking into them would make me feel better, but it just makes my heart pound even more. I take in a deep breath.
“Hi, my name is Raine…Raine Harilan. I just moved here from Pennsylvania.” I pause, hoping that’s enough detail, but Mr. Riley is standing beside me, his arms crossed, looking at me expectantly, for more details.
“Tell us a little more about you, Raine,” he says.
When it comes to details about my life, I can’t think about anything except dance. I figure I’ve told Mariana already, so it’s already out. I might as well share it proudly. “I’ve been dancing my whole life. My earliest memory was of me dancing, actually.”
“What kind of dance?” Mr. Riley asks.
“Ballet,” I say, keeping it short and simple. “But I can do a little bit of everything.”
Mr. Riley nods his head. “Thank you for sharing, Raine. We are happy to have you in our class. You may take a seat.”
I sit back in my chair at the front of the class and Mariana gives me a thumbs up from under her table.
Mr. Riley doesn’t have any extra textbooks to give me today, so he tells me to share a book with Mariana as we complete an introductory activity for class. According to Mariana, Mr. Riley starts every class with an activity—usually partnered work, before he goes on to lecture for the remainder of the hour. Mariana and I have our desks pushed together during the activity, and I’m scribbling notes in my notebook. At my old school, I had gotten mostly A’s, and a few B’s, but now that I’m in a whole new place, I want to get straight A’s, and the only way for me to do that is to focus. Hard. When I’m not dancing, I’ll be studying. I won’t have room for anything else.
Mariana and I are filling in the final answer on our worksheet when the door to the classroom creaks open. I don’t look up, or let it distract me. At least, I try not to, but whoever has walked into the classroom has captured Mariana’s attention. She glances up and then looks at me with a smirk on her face.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Mariana says, but it doesn’t come across as sarcasm. She keeps looking at me and then back to the front of the classroom. Finally, I follow her gaze toward where Mr. Riley is lecturing a tall boy in a black hoodie that he has pulled so far over his head I can’t even see his eyes from where I’m sitting.
It’s only when he turns and starts to head for his seat on the other end of the classroom that I get a glimpse of his eyes, which throws a wave of recognition over me. I feel my cheeks heating up. The room getting hot.
“That’s Elliot Dawton,” Mariana says, matter-of-factly. “Star of the basketball team, an annoyance to all the teachers. It’s a miracle he even has good enough grades to play. He’s always late.” Mariana leans in even closer to me, lowering her voice another level. “He’s like the cliche bad boy at our school. He checks all the boxes. Hot? Check. Tattoos? Check. Eye liner? Check. Piercings? Check.”
“What happened to his eye?” I ask. I’d turned my head just slightly to get a glimpse of him without him noticing, and there’s a large purple discoloration. I think back to the boys from yesterday—the blonde boy in particular. Now that I’m thinking more about it, they all looked angry, furious. It wouldn’t be surprising to me if they were the ones responsible for Elliot’s unfortunate new look.
Mariana shrugs. “If I had to guess, he probably got into it with the South Avenburgh team. Again.” She stops talking when Mr. Riley comes by to check on us. After she tells him we’re done with our assignment, he collects our paper and she’s back talking again. “They’ve been rivals since our freshman year. They can’t stand each other. Every other week it seems like Elliot has a new scar, a new injury, and more likely than not it’s because of a fight with their team. At this point, even the teachers ignore it. It’s nothing new, really.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s…disappointing.”
“Isn’t it? I mean—even still, a lot of the girls here are totally into him, and I mean…I get it. But he’s like…dangerous. If there’s one thing I would say to a newbie like you it would be to say as far away from him as you can. It’s not even worth it.”
“Notes,” I say, and I keep my attention focused on Mr. Riley for the rest of class. Thankfully, when the bell rings, Elliot is one of the first to leave the classroom. I don’t think he noticed me. Even if he did, I’m not sure if he would have said anything to me, anyway. Not that it even matters, but still. Like Mariana said—it’s better for me to stay away from him.
She stands up from her desk, grabs her backpack, and interlocks her arm with mine. The way she does it is natural, as if we’ve been friends forever.
“Newbie, I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about this place,” she says. “And by the end of it I hope you don’t think of me as the most irritating eighteen-year-old you’ve ever met.” She laughs at herself as we step out of the classroom and out into the crowded hallway.
Even though everyone is moving so fast, my mind is going in slow motion as I try to keep up with Mariana’s monologue about the school. She explains the latest gossip—who’s dating who, who broke up with who, who is totally crushing but won’t do anything about it. I try to keep up, but I must admit—it’s hard for me. In Mariana’s mind, every person has a name. An identity. A place where they fit into this large space, while I’m just an outsider.
Despite the overwhelming amount of people walking past us, they part for Mariana, creating a path ahead. As we’re rounding a corner, Mariana pushes a slice of gum into her mouth and begins to blow it into a visible bubble. It pops when we reach my next class—English with Mrs. Penn.
“Oh my gosh, you have the same class as Keith!” Mariana squeals when we enter into the classroom. She immediately rushes over to a boy on the side of the classroom nearest to the teacher’s desk. His long dreadlocks fall down his shoulders and his brown skin practically glows in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Immediately, at the sight of Mariana, his wide brown eyes light up. He sits up straight, looking between the two of us.
“Hey, Mari,” he says, an then he glances at me. “And hey…?”
“Raine. She’s new and she’s now officially going to be our best friend for the rest of the semester unless she gets sick of us,” Mariana wiggles her brow. “But c’mon, that would never happen. Keith and I are the coolest students in this entire school. Aren’t we?” She gazes into Keith’s eyes and he just shakes his head, with a smile on his face.
“Nah, you’re tripping. We’re the coolest on this entire planet, and I won’t let anyone convince me of anything different.”
“He’s so serious,” Mariana says, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, real talk, we may not be the ‘cool kids’ here at NAH, but we’ve got a special thing going and well, I think you’d fit in with us.” Mariana pulls the chair out of the desk beside Keith as the warming bell rings. Her eyes flash with panic for a brief moment but then she takes in a deep breath, gesturing for me to sit in the seat.
“I’ll catch up with both of you later. At lunch? Sounds good? Bye!” she sprints out of the classroom after that and Keith and I glance at each other for a brief moment and next thing I know, we’re both laughing.
“You’ll get used to Mariana,” he says. “She’s always on ten, I swear.”
“I like ten…” I say, and Keith’s smile widens as the final bell rings. For class, it’s the usual—the teacher calls me to the front to introduce myself and then I listen carefully to the lecture while taking notes. Keith and I are mostly quiet for the rest of the class because there isn’t any partner work, but when it comes to an end, he offers to walk me to my next class.
“Gym with Coach Carson should be a good time,” Keith says, trying to make conversation. I nod along, but deep down I have doubts about it. Despite being active my entire life—gym is the one class that gives me that heart thumping, goosebumps raising feeling Iv’e never fully gotten used to. It’s something about the expectation that I put on myself. The expectation to be the fastest, the strongest, the most athletic. It’s not possible, I tell myself, but I still beat myself up mentally if I don’t reach my own rigid desires.
Gym is on level B of the school—also known as the basement level—where the basketball players and cheerleaders practice for games, Keith tells me. The walls are covered with awards and pictures of smiling students wearing medals around their necks. The oldest pictures go all the way back to 1967, when the school was founded. Keith is pointing out a picture of a swimmer—a girl named Amera Linn who has held the record for the fastest swimmer in the entire district for the past decade. He’s going on, talking about the next image on the wall, when I hear a person talking loudly down the hall.
Keith and I both turn our heads as the voice grows louder. It’s a girl’s voice. High-pitched, shrill. She’s practically yelling at a tall boy wearing a black hoodie. The very same hoodie I’d seen in in second period psychology class.
Elliot Dawton.
He stands still, not even moving, as the girl points a finger at his face, as if she’s accusing him of all the wrongdoing in the world. Elliot just shakes his head, and when he starts to walk away, the girl—with red hair that sways behind her back—steps in front of him, blocking his path. From here, I can only hear a few words here and there, but there’s a series of three words that have already been repeated at least two times—get back together. Keith turns his attention back to me and lowers his voice.
“High school drama, don’t you just love it?” he says. “C’mon, the gym is this way.” He interlocks his arm with mine, the same way Mariana had earlier, and leads the way to the gymnasium. We have to pass by Elliot and his supposed ex-girlfriend on the way there, and I focus all of my attention on not making eye contact. But when I’m parallel to them, I can feel Elliot’s gaze on me. Don’t look at him, I say to myself. Don’t. Look.
But a part of me wants to look, and so I do. I flicker my eyes in his direction and he’s just staring at me. Just like Mariana had said, the bottom rim of his eyes are lined with a thin line of eye liner, which is something I’m not used to seeing on guys. He even has a piercing in his lip that wasn’t there when we’d met at the corner store. Overall, he just looks different. As if the version of him the other day was Elliot 1.0, and this is Elliot 2.0. A typical, high school wannabe bad boy. Right now he looks like he’d fit in nicely at a rock or metal concert, not that I’m complaining. He looks good. More than good. Maybe…too good.
The second our eyes meet, I don’t give him a smile or anything, I just quickly look away, and continue my walk with Keith, but all of a sudden my heart feels like it’s pouding in my chest at a rate I question my body can keep up with. How am I supposed to participate in gym class like this? Before I have even entered through the double doors of the gymnasium, I’m already a sweating mess.
Coach Carson is standing near the the doorway with a clipboard in his hands, and he gestures to the bright, orange cones that have been set up in rows along the gymnasium floor. With a head nod, he tells me to take a seat next to one of them. I say goodbye to Keith, and then head for a cone at the very back of the class because I want to feel invisible right now.
The classroom slowly begins to fill up, with the seats at the front being taken up the fastest. By the time the warning bell rings, I’m still the only person in the last row. To distract myself from the growing number of familiar faces entering the room, I start tracing the palm of my hand with a pencil. It soothes me. At least long enough that my heart beat can calm down and my nerves can settle.
But then the bell rings and a person walks right past the still empty cones towards the front of the class and takes a seat in the one directly next to me.
24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXpHc7hzHfb
