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"Dear Justyce" by Nic Stone

Your birthday card had a Black History postage stamp on it. As always, it was from Grandma and though it's kind of corny, you look forward to it ever year: a blue or red envelope outside, a sentimental saying with a few bucks tucked inside. Other than bills, ballots, and ads, she's the only person you know who snail-mails anything, but in "Dear Justyce" by Nic Stone, help can be delivered, too. The first time Vernell LaQuan Banks ran away, he was nine years old.