When I was a kid, my mom wasn’t a fan of Kool-Aid. She thought it was nothing but sugar and dye, a shortcut to bad teeth and hyper kids. If we asked for something sweet, she’d say, “There’s always water,” like it was the treat of the century. Every once in a while, though, a few packets of Kool-Aid would sneak into the cupboard, and that felt like rebellion in powder form.

I didn’t really fall for Kool-Aid until my mid-teens. Spencer, my boyfriend back then,  and I would whip up a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid and make grilled cheese sandwiches. We’d pour our bright red drinks into glasses, carry everything out to the picnic table in the backyard, and giggle like we were getting away with something.