I directed her to a rundown street in the slums of the city that was brightly lit. Behind a school building, a school that I never attended but always dreamed that I once had. It was my special spot. We parked on the playground. She assumed we were going to stay in the car so she started to take off her coat, “no” I said and I grabbed her arm as well. “We’re going outside.” She didn’t say a word but reached for the lock and opened her door. I brought her to the swing set that was ten feet in front of us. It was red and stood out against the brown building walls and the old black colored ground. We were so old. In a place where age was a social standard, a deciding factor on who got on what and how someone was treated. Most of the world, the school world, was under the age of thirteen. We we’re on the playground of a middle school. The average teacher could be anywhere from thirty-five to fifty-five. And here she and I were. Stuck in the middle, outsiders of the hop scotched, child populated world. We sat down on separate swings, of course. “So, tell me something” she looked at me before saying those four bad words. I never know what to say when I’m asked to. -Chris Amanda, change it all you want.