There were a lot of things Julie Molina didn't know.

For example, she didn't know why Carlos felt the need to only eat the marshmallows out of their Lucky Charms cereal, but he did. She didn't know why all planets had different gravitational pulls (although her science teachers would argue that she should know that), but they do. She didn't know why, even though Carrie, Flynn and she had been best friends since Kindergarten, the former had decided to forego sitting with them at lunch on their first day of high school, choosing her new music group over them, but that's what happened.

So, yeah. There were a lot of things Julie didn't know. How could she, in a world as big and crazy as this one? A world where the ground could shift under your feet at any moment (literally and figuratively). A world where people and opinions were always changing.

Julie didn't like change. All change did was open rabbit holes full of unknowns, enticing a person to dive headfirst, with no warning as to what was on the other side. Not Julie, though. Because the world was big, and the world was crazy, and taking a leap like that was too much for an ordinary girl like her to handle. So she knew from a young age that she needed certain things, certain truths, in her life to keep her sane. Things she could cling onto as Constants. Things that she knew, no matter what, would never change.

So, these were her Constants:

Number 1. She loved her family more than anything in the world. Anyone who had seen the Molina's would know that this was a given. They were one of those families that the universe just got right. Carlos, even though he would eat all the marshmallow Lucky Charms and was constantly trying to hang around Julie and her friends, always knew when she needed a sibling movie or game night. He knew that an open door to her bedroom meant come in and hang out with me, and a cracked door meant please knock I'm studying, but a shut door meant don't bother me until I emerge on my own free will. So as far as little brothers went, Julie thought she was pretty lucky.

Ray was practically the best dad a person could ask for. There were some people who just weren't great parents. Carrie's dad, Trevor, after the sudden death of his wife, became so focused on trying to be 'cool' and 'in touch' with his daughter's generation that he forgot that sometimes Carrie just needed a dad. Julie knew that Carrie didn't mind most of the time ("I can practically do whatever I want"), but she also knew that deep down, it hurt Carrie that she felt more comfortable going to Julie's dad for fatherly advice rather than her actual father.

Flynn's folks were the opposite of Trevor. They were too much parent. Too over-bearing, suffocating their free-spirited, outspoken, firecracker of a daughter hoping it would flip a switch in her head one day and she would fall in line with the rest of society. ("I know they love me, I wish they would just accept me for me.") So when Julie would ask her father if Flynn could spend the night, even on a school night, he would always say yes. He was the perfect in-between. Julie could always go to him as his daughter, but she could joke and mess around with him like he was her friend too. She knew at times she took that for granted, but when she would think of her friend's parents, she always found herself thanking the powers-that-be a little extra for the dad she was given.

And then there was her mother. Rose Molina. She was, for lack of a better word, Julie's person. Her dad had always said that Julie was her mom's mini-me from the moment she was born. That Julie would light up the second her mother would walk into the room. She always knew exactly what would make Julie laugh, how to keep her entertained, whether it was food or a diaper change or attention that she needed when she would cry. She always just knew. As Julie grew up, the number of similarities between the two grew with her. Her mother's passions became Julie's. She adopted her mannerisms, from the way she would scrunch up her nose in discomfort when someone said something cringe, to the way she would close her eyes and sway her head to a melody when she really got into a song. Yeah. Rose Molina was her person.

So it was safe to say that her love for her family would never change.

Number 2. She lived and breathed music. According to her parents, the first time her mom played the piano and sang for baby Julie was the first time she ever smiled. She taught her to play practically the second her brain was able to comprehend learning it, and it just became their thing. They would spend hours in their studio at a time, fingers floating over the ivory keys, creating new melodies until Julie's little hands would start to cramp and she physically couldn't play anymore. Then her mother would just play for her and Julie would sing along.

Her mom had told her once that the first time she truly realized the talent Julie possessed was when she was ten. The two were just messing around, taking a break from songwriting when her mother started playing I Will Always Love You. She sang the first verse and chorus by herself, half-assed and joking, because it was Whitney, and you can't top Whitney. Julie studied her mother, the words to the chorus, the route the notes took to create the melody of the timeless classic. And when her mom motioned for her to join in when she came back around to the chorus, Julie did no problem.

No problem.

As if singing Whitney Houston was something she was born to do, something she did in her sleep. Her mom was shocked to hear the power behind her voice, the way she could belt each note and switch between her lower register and falsetto just like that at ten years old when she still just sang the song to be funny in her thirties.

"Mom?"

"Yes, mija?"

"You stopped playing."

She tore her eyes away from Julie to look at her hands, realizing that she had, in fact, stopped playing.

"Sorry, mija, it's just-" she paused, trying to find the right words.

Her mother turned to look at Julie again to see her head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed together, and big curious brown doe eyes staring at her questioningly.

She smiled at her daughter.

"Do you like music, Julie? Singing and playing the piano?"

Julie's face morphed from confused and curious to bright and happy.

"Duh, Mama! It's like my favorite thing! I thought that was obvious by now," Julie teased.

Her mom let out a tiny laugh as she pulled Julie in for a hug.

"Good," she said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Music seems to like you too."

And if she didn't already know before (which she was pretty sure she did), Julie knew in that moment that music was all she wanted to do.

Number 3. Now this last one…bear with her.

Julie Molina liked to think of herself as a good person. She liked to think of herself as a nice person. But just because she was a good person and a nice person didn't mean she had to get along with every single person on the planet. Especially when that person was an egotistical, self-serving, irresponsible wannabe-bad-boy-but-was-really-just-a-puppy jackass who seemed to make it his life's mission to annoy her with his wit and voice and sleeveless shirts and beanies and perfect smile and eyes that she just couldn't figure out the color of and…

She was getting carried away. But you got the point.

Julie Molina knew, without a doubt in her mind, that she hated Luke Patterson.

Now, we don't have time to unpack all of that.

Actually, yes we do.

Songs/Other References:

-10 Things I Hate About You

-I Will Always Love You, Dolly Parton (Whitney Houston version)