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Of course, when I was in grade school in the tardy 1990s — or primary educational facility, as we call it in my native Australia — I involved myself in the ongoing saga of who liked whom. I remember nervously calling the home of the most trendy girl whom we all were infatuated with (an original choice, I know) and hanging up in a panic when her mother answered the phone. The revolving cycle of crushes in our class was a delicious soap opera that we were all writing for ourselves and it felt so adult.

But then — very suddenly and without warning — it became too adult. As we aged into our next schools and teen years, childish talk of Spin the Bottle and gossip on MSN Messenger (our version of AIM) was suddenly being infiltrated by grown-up words like “fingering” and “hand job,” which left me recoiling at hand-related imagery I didn’t quite understand. Girls were no longer just charming, I was informed; they were hot. “I’d fuck her,” I remember hearing pubescent boys at my school assert proudly with all the faux machismo a 13-year-old can muster.

I didn’t obtain why we couldn’t be kids a little