On a cool October evening in 2009, I sat in my parents' kitchen, waiting for my three best friends: Angel Tyler, David Rider, and Odette Sallow. As the kitchen door clicked open, I watched them shuffle inside, trying to mimic the serious expression I'd seen on my father's face countless times. Once they found their seats, I reached down into my backpack and pulled out a brown leather notebook with a silvery blue pen attached. As I gently set it on the table, Angel's eyes widened. "Is that it?" she asked.