It was the fall of 1997. Gusts of wind were swaying the trees left and right and I watched them over my left shoulder as they waved goodbye to the stillness of suburban summer. It was my last first day of preschool and my mother was walking me across the parking lot to the line that formed outside the doors of my school. It was tradition on the first day to show up in your best, most colorful outfit. Hair all neatly brushed. Shoes double-knotted. Velcro if you were cool. All the kids would stand in line with their friends anxiously waiting for the school bell to ring and the doors to come swinging open. But before we were to run through the halls and into our new classroom, moms were taking pictures on 90’s film cameras to commemorate the day. I darted my eyes looking for my best friend Madison so that we could take a picture together. Then my mom broke the news. “Cailee…Madison doesn’t go to your school anymore remember? Why don’t you find another friend to take a picture with?” My stomach dropped. Another friend? I looked around at the sea of kids smiling and posing for pictures, finding no one I would label as “a friend.” My eyes broke out into tears.

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