You were a terrible friend. Words really cannot express how unpleasant it was to be friends with you. I hated that your house always smelled like dogs, I hated how you were always having a competition about something, and I hated how you wanted to make cake from a Betty Crocker red velvet mix instead of from scratch. But that cake mix woke me up. Your sister driving us too fast down route 9 (or maybe it was 20) in the dark made me see what escape felt like. We were running away and they put on "call me" by Blondie while the pickup truck picked up speed. The isles of the Cumberland Farms opened my eyes and the canned funfetti frosting was the best thing I ever tasted.