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American Whispers turn to tragedy.  

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Priti Harsiani American Whispers turn to tragedy. My day started like any other, with my mother telling me to hurry up. She was waiting by the front door, impatiently looking for her bunch of keys. "I'm coming," I shouted back getting rather annoyed, because I was being rushed. I know that when I am rushed I always forget things. "Guess what," shouted my little sister as she ran to get the front passenger's seat of the car. "What," I replied putting on my sock. "We are going to America tomorrow," she said, with a gleaming face, excited to be going. She stood there holding the car door handle just to make sure I did not take the front seat. I looked at her in disgust, but relieved as well, that I would not have to look at her horrible, green school uniform for another three weeks. I was not that excited...

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