My best friend and I (not pictured) lived together during my senior year of high school. It helped me become a better adult.
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By the time I was heading into my senior year of high school, I had been the new girl for five years in a row.In the '90s, my parents worked hard and literally followed career opportunities so they could provide for us. For me, though, that meant volatile teen years being jostled between multiple cities in the Midwest.My junior year in St. Louis had gone pretty well, though. I had already survived puberty with forehead-to-chin acne and frizzy hair by tapping into my inner extrovert to make new friends.I just wanted to settle into my last year at this high school, where I had a group and felt like I belonged. I couldn't bear another migration, but it wasn't up to me.As my first day of the last year of high school approached, I felt optimistic. I still remember being at a back-to-school sleepover, singing catchy songs like "Breakfast at Tiffany's" into hairbrushes with my besties, thrilled I had one more year with them.But I returned home the next morning to find my mom literally packing boxes as she announced we were relocating — again.In time, my parents reluctantly let me live with my best friend's family
