I was 13 years old. It was my birthday. And Royston Sinclair III had broken my heart in front of everyone. I’d snuck into your closet that morning and took that green beaded top that was your mother’s, that you kept so carefully wrapped up in tissue paper in your cedar closet. I was never supposed to touch it. But I stole it, and I wore it to school with my Chemin de Fer sailor jeans, and I thought no one was as stylish as I was. But Royston laughed. He said I was cheap. He said the only reason he’d been my boyfriend was because he was mad at Angie Morgan and he wasn’t anymore. He called me loud and weird. He said there was a rumor going around that I wasn’t actually a Gilmore. That I was the gardener’s daughter and…you’d bought me because you couldn’t have children of your own. And I was crushed. And I ran out of class… and I ran out of school, and I went to the mall. And I was sitting in the food court, wishing I had some money to buy a pretzel ‘cause I was starving, and I looked up… and there was Dad. Standing in front of me… at the mall.