First she was the annoying three-year-old sister of one of my classmates, following us and trying to play along in our games when we played in her basement. Then she was an eight-year-old that I knew better than her sister that was once my friend and I marvelled at how she wore her white hightop sneakers on the wrong feet on purpose. Soon she was eleven with tall shellacked bangs and curly dark hair. And then she was fourteen and we'd grown apart.
D was never young when I knew him, but he was young at heart and trying hard to heal an old wound, probably more than one old wound actually. I was only trying out my flirting skills, learning to control my new superpower - I didn't know what flirting could lead to until him. When we agreed that it was a bad idea for him to attend Prom with me, I was relieved. I liked the cachet I received from the whispers of the few who know without the stares we would've received if he had come. I've never had any desire to be an animal in a zoo or the subject of paparazzi.
Clearly she didn't consider those risks either when she made her choices. Ten years didn't seem like a problem, much the same way that he and I discounted eight. And now she has eight years of supervision in front of her and a lifetime of registration, questions in job interviews. Now she has to start a new life at the same age that I released D, making him find another future as well.