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One

Every time I walked by little children, I felt a pang of jealousy.

There was something about being young and naive to the pain of the world that made me wish I could go back. Imagine how nice it must be to only worry about which light-up shoes to wear or hoping that Santa brings the toy you wanted.

Truthfully, I was naive and oblivious to the world's pain until I was sixteen.

Life was sweet.

My days were filled with shopping trips to expensive stores, vacations to exotic places, and no worries at all. I used to complain about having to attend etiquette classes or not finding anything I liked on the menu at fancy steakhouses.

The highlight of my naive years was spending summers in the Hamptons with my Nonna and Nonno—my dad's parents. Our annual trip to East Hampton meant everything to me.

It was the time my dad would finally spend with us instead of work, my mom would cook Venezuelan dishes for my Italian grandparents, and my sisters and I would run free without supervision.

We called ourselves "the An girls" because all our names ended in -an.

There was me, Ryan.

The oldest, the one who got away with the least amount of trouble. I was the leader, keeping everyone in line.

Then there was Logan.

She was in the middle of the three of us and always seemed to get away with the most. Being just two years apart, she and I argued a lot, and we definitely fought our share of battles.

But Dylan was the peacemaker.

Dyl was the true arbiter, practically the glue that kept us together.

We all had "boy names" because my mom liked unisex names. But looking back, I think it was because my dad hated not having sons. He wanted it to sound like he did whenever he talked about us.

Spending time with my sisters wasn't the only reason I loved escaping to the beach. Next door was a boy my age—a really cute one.

I still remember his name, how his freckles reminded me of constellations, and how his hair curled just right. He hated being the younger brother sandwiched between two older brothers and a little sister.

He was the highlight of those summers.

I missed riding our bikes to the beach or the ice cream shop with him.

In hindsight, I wish I'd cherished those moments more.

Sometimes, you don't realize the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

I remember the moment my life got sour.

"Ry and Lo!" my mom's voice came over the intercom, "the food is going to get cold, and your dad's tired of waiting!"

Logan was sitting on the bathroom counter, concealer in hand.

"Mom and Dad will kill me if they see this." I panicked, looking in the mirror.

A huge purple mark stood out on my neck.

The hickey had been given to me when I was supposed to be at yoga with Lauren and Mia. Instead, I was in the family restroom of a movie theater with Benjamin Oliver.

"I'm almost done." Logan patted my neck with a beauty blender. "You probably need to borrow Dyl's color corrector."

I shook my head. "Hell no. She'll snitch."

"Then put on a turtleneck!" she shot back.

Then we heard a loud crash downstairs, followed by men's voices shouting.