When Anne was nine years old, she built a treehouse with her dad. When they had finished with the final touch ups, Anne and her dad stood back and looked at the pink and green masterpiece that sat in the tree. The year that followed, she spend every day after school in her tree house. Only, to Anne, it wasn’t a treehouse. It was a castle or a pirate ship, basically, it was anything Anne wanted it to be. One year later, on the first day of fifth grade, Anne did something a little different. Instead of retreating to her tree house after a long day of school, she went to her room to finish her homework. “Tomorrow,” said Anne, “Tomorrow I will go to my tree house.” Three years later, Anne came in from a day at the mall with her friends. As they walked back to her room, Anne caught a glimpse of the once pink and green tree house that slouched in the tree. She could barely remember the games she used to play as a child, and she couldn’t remember the last tim