It would be impossible to explain my relationship with Ella Harley. She was an English nerd with a knack for my Grandmother’s crime novels, and I was a techno geek who dreamed of becoming a filmmaker. We both had a witty sense of humor and dreams too big for our own good, and it was glorious. I had a feeling that I was the only one she let read her writing, and she was definitely the only one I let read mine. I was always pushing her to make it more public, and she in return would say, “When you do the same with yours, maybe,” which was the equivalent of, “Yeah, when pigs fly, moron.” Now that I think about it, what we had wasn’t exactly what I’d even call a relationship, it was more of an advanced affiliation. I think she was scared of messing up with me. She never was a risk taker outside of her writing. But I know she caught me looking at her in class, and I think I felt her eyes on me sometimes in Calculus. Never English, her eyes were always glued in English, her heart always set. I remember how much she enjoyed the Latin, explaining it as an advanced jigsaw where pieces came together to make a big picture, but where every piece wasn’t specific to a certain one. Her favorite word was magnanimous, because it meant literally (she stressed the literally.) full of great soul. After a time it was my favorite word as well, for it was the only one which completely captured what the word Ella meant to me.