It is 1998. I am a painfully uncool 13-year-old who isn’t sure who she is yet. My older sister is in love with Keanu Reeves so I am in love with Keanu Reeves. Everyone at school likes the Spice Girls so I like the Spice Girls. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. The days are filled with schoolwork that I conscientiously avoid doing and the nights are a blur of CBBC and Australian soap operas, oven cooked meals and hours-long sessions spent taping chart music off the radio. Saturday morning is usually given over to gym club, but this Saturday morning I am at home. I don’t really like the chart show because music videos don’t really interest me, but today I am watching. Maybe there is…