My Tamagotchi was my first pet. My pixelated playmate couldn't fetch or purr, but it commanded attention all the same. Through TSA checks and to the park, I touted its grown-up responsibility.

"You might kill it," I warned my friends.

On the first day back to school, I strapped my Tamagotchi to my backpack. My classmates gawked; my teacher did not.

At school, his "Put it away" was no biggie. When I got home, I released my self-consciousness. I tucked my Tamagotchi amongst Goodwill-bound books. I whispered, “Thank you,” hoping everyone would forget about it, even if I wouldn’t.