I sometimes stop outside of Izzy's room and listen to her sing along with her music. Her music is loud, her voice is loud and it is clear, from the creaking of the floor, that she is dancing. I smile as I remember the times that I would close myself in my room and do the same thing. The sanctity of my bedroom, where I could do anything... I was totally and completely alone.
Then I blush as I realize that if I can hear her, my parents could hear me.
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