You had just moved to Boston. You were only 8 years old.

You decided to wander outside for a bit—it was high afternoon in the summer—nice and warm.

You walk out to the sidewalk, looking around curiously, scanning the unfamiliar environment. The sounds of children playing and laughing can be heard in the distance.

You go to cross the street to see the other kids, when you feel a hand grab your arm.

“Careful!” a little voice could be heard saying, as a car speeds past.

You get pulled back and are met with a boy a little taller than you. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He had a pout on his face, like he was trying to look mad, but he looked more concerned than anything.

“There’s cars and stuff! You’re supposed to look both ways, y’know!”