In 1998, I was 15 years old in the suburbs of northern New Jersey. Stranded in the exact region that has given us such cultural classics as "The Sopranos" and "The Jersey Shore," it was particularly easy to spot the "different" kids--the sensitive, smart kids who were just so confused to be surrounded by all this macho, Guido, football posturing. For me, this was painfully obvious every single day of my high school existence.

This may have been the first mixtape that anyone ever made for me. This was also likely one of my first solid girl-crushes.

Katy was a junior when I was a freshman. We were in the same French class. She sat behind me and sometimes, when our teacher was busy at the board (and when I was lucky), would pull her desk up next to mine to give me covert lessons in obscure knowledge or tell me fantastic stories about her life; wicca, Alistair Crowley, the time she had to walk five miles to get home after a crazy show in super uncomfortable Doc Martens (oh, the 90s...).

Katy was an incredible artist and often drew elaborate portraits of Joni Mitchell and Tori Amos. She was also into the local punk scene. One day, she shaved her head. Another time, she was suspended for smoking herbal cigarettes in the girl's room. I was obviously in love.

I don't know why she took a liking to me or decided to give me this tape, which is a perfect mixture of pure suburban teen existential angst (punk) and poetic feminist sensitivity (Tori Amos, Bikini Kill). Maybe it was just obvious to her, like it was to me. In those days, us weirdos really needed to stick together. ~Gina