We were at a basketball game at my high school. The home crowd was halfway decent but only a scattered few sat on the guest side. I saw my younger self sitting with a crowd around her, talking and laughing. A boy sitting in the row of bleacher behind me was busy tickling me, doing his thing: flirting with everything that moved. I had just met him that night through the girl next to me. She, one of my best friends at the time, sat there pouting. This was eighth grade. I remember.
I chuckled to myself. “Why are we here?â€? I asked. As soon as those words escaped my mouth, the frozen scene in front of me melted into play. I turned to my guide, my “knight in shining armor,â€? expecting an answer. But he had disappeared. My heart raced. What the hell was I doing there? Do I just stand there and let everything play out? Follow my eighth grade self around? What?