First love is supposed to be pure and sloppy and all-encompassing and life-altering. Mine was all of that and more. I loved every moment of my first love. I would have, however, preferred to experience it without the world watching.

It wasn't so much that I saw the family but rather heard the commotion surrounding them. Six British police officers in full uniform and neon mesh vests with POLICE screaming across the chest (in case you couldn't guess) formed a circle around a small group of children with a few scattered adults. My three friends and I watched in slack-jawed fascination as the group moved seamlessly but forcefully through the crowd. There was not much sound coming from the other airport passengers but as the group moved, murmurs started. People whispered and wondered aloud who deserved such an escort. As the group passed in front of us, someone took a picture and a flash bulb exploded in front of my eyes. It felt like a misfire and I blinked against the momentary blinding light. More flashes followed; it sounded like hundreds of pops and clicks surrounding us.
"What the heck?" My friend, Dana, asked me. Her hand shielding her eyes against the onslaught. "Who is that?"
I stared, unable to pull my eyes away from the insanity unfolding in front of me.