I will miss the home-cooked meals my mom rarely cooks and savoring them when she does. I will miss my mom’s shoulder when I am just too tired to stand up in the grocery store or the amount of tears that land upon it. I will miss my best friend who lives across the hall, even when she irritates me and borrows my clothes. I will no longer be able to feel the ocean breeze during class change or dip my feet in the sand at lunch. No more sun beaming down on my skin as I drive down A1A with the music loud in the Jeep after endless hours at the beach. I will miss the uninterrupted sessions per week of cheerleading and the owner’s wife, my little spanish mamacita, who will never understand the meaning of obré hair. I will miss the teachers who have had an impact on me like no other, who have created a place that I feel safe and comfortable enough to talk to whenever it is needed. So for the next seven weeks I will savor the hours spent in the gym, walking down the very familiar halls, and enjoying knowing someone when I walk into Publix with my mom. But what I will miss most is the people who I have fought, laughed, and cried with; the people who I call my best friends who all will be parting ways on June first to create a new place to call home.