When I was young I wanted a secret language; one that my sister and I, or maybe a handful of friends, could comprehend. We could talk about anything we wanted in this language: school, turtles, our hopes and dreams, and other people we liked or disliked. But mostly I wanted a secret language because it set me apart. I’d be able to speak English just fine to those outside my Secret Language circle, and they would be impressed and awed by my abilities. I’d have something they didn’t have.