On my way to school, I sit in the passenger seat of my Mom's silver Nissan Marano. My pink zebra print booster seat is beneath me, allowing me to gaze out the window. I see the pine and oak trees that line our street; they're freshly green and covered in dew on this spring morning. My mom puts on a CD titled "Bella's Mix." Track 1 is "Our Song" by Taylor Swift; we both know all the words and start to sing along together. I look up at her smiling face and blonde hair, hoping I could be half as beautiful as her one day. The heater is on a low setting, but it is just high enough that her scent carries over to me. I know it's her Clinique "Happy" perfume that Dad gets her every Christmas, and Marlboro Lights. Nothing will ever smell as good as that, because she smells like home. Images play back in my mind of us baking in the kitchen, playing with Bryer's horses, and getting so excited about the new episode of Grey's Anatomy coming out this Thursday. I will never know anyone like her again, besides myself.