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He gave it one drop of the formula with an eye dropper. The result was almost instant. The mouse disappeared, though you could tell it was still there because it was running on its little exercise wheel. After about an hour the mouse reappeared, perfectly healthy and none the worse for well. He repeated the experiment several times until he was absolutely sure that the formula was safe. Now it was time for human testing.He chose a girl from the senior class and had even sent a note home with her for her parents to sign. The note however only asked for permission for the girl to help him with a lab project. It didn’t say what the project was or that she would be experimented on.The next day Jane stayed after school to help him with the project. As she was much bigger than the mouse, he gave her three drops of the formula. Again the result was instant, although she didn’t completely disappear. You could however see through her. He gave her one more drop, then she did completely. On our way back the whole b-ball team walked passed us to leave. I was outside the locker room and Heather says, "I dare you to sneek into the boys locker room and spray perfume everywhere, on everything." of course me being the goodie goodie I am,I refused. but she forced the bottle in my hand and shoved me into the locker room and gaurded the door so I couldnt leave. So I turned around to start spraying and none other than Thomas came out of the shower room in a towel. My face turned red and I eepped then tried to leave but Heather put something in front of the door, that was extreamly heavy. I put my head on the door and and whisperd "shit!" "What?!" Thomas said in a really odd voice. I turned around and looked up avoiding eye contact and said, "the door is blocked and I cant leave" I finally looked down to look at him. DAMN he was hott! he was still wet from the shower and only in a towel. I took a deep breath and asked if he would help me get the door open and he complied. I.
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That uncertainty, I later realized, was grief at the loss of my youth. It was grief at the loss of no longer picking peaches. Now, for someone who has never had the pleasure of picking fresh peaches, there are a few things that you should know. The trees are not tall. The branches are pruned so as to make them strong enough to hold the burden of hundreds of pounds of fruit. And the limbs are cut so that they hang low over a person’s head, and reaching up is not too difficult. The farmers often have milk crates set out so short people (like me) will have something to stand on if necessary. Warnings about bees are not without merit, but bees are usually more concerned with the fresh fruit at their disposal. The tree I chose was shaped like a deformed diamond. The branches were filled with huge, ripe, luscious peaches. Every one I touched seemed willing to give its sweet self to me. I put the basket on the ground and scooted the crate beneath a branch that looked as though it was about.

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