I can’t help it baby, this is who I am; sorry, but I can’t just go turn off how I feel.

You can’t make me leave. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

In October of 2004, for two weeks that felt like a lifetime, my parents briefly entertained the notion of uprooting our family and moving us somewhere new. I know that’s something that a lot of kids have to deal with growing up, but it had never even been on my radar before that fall. I’d lived in the same town since I was three years old, and I’d been with the same group of classmates since first grade. I’d also watched my older siblings go through the local high school, and I already had a lot of ideas for how I wanted to follow (or diverge from) their footsteps when I got there. It never occurred to me that my immediate future might be spent anywhere other than this town.

There was also a girl – the first girl from school I’d ever developed a real, yearning, aching kind of crush for. I probably thought I was in love with her, because what else do you do with those kinds of feelings when you’re 13 years old and you’ve never experienced anything like them before? What’s love if not those fluttering butterflies you feel in your stomach every time you see that other person? I definitely wondered whether there could be some big, grand future in store for me and her, somewhere down the road.