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they’d be easy A’s for me. Public speaking would be a different matter – with only twenty students, the professor made it clear that hiding out in the back row wasn’t an option. She’d even forced us to make juvenile folded paper signs, prominently displaying our names on our desks like we were in the second grade. Of course, she immediately noticed mine and decided to torture me in front of the class. It was just that kind of day, after all.
    “Your name is Brooklyn ?” she exclaimed, her voice artificially interested. “How unique! Is there any significance to it?”
    Th is question was not new to me – year after year of elementary school teachers had wondered the same thing. Somehow, I just assumed I’d escaped it when I got to college. Then again, I also thought I’d escaped bubbly, mothering teachers. Was this simpering woman seriously an accredited professor?
    “Oh, yes, I guess there is,” I shrugged, uncomfortable under the weighted stares of the entire class. “My mother named me Brooklyn because that’s where she and my father met.” Translation: that’s where he knocked her up.
    I purposefully gave her as few details as possible, knowing it was best to discourage any further questions a bout my parentage. Disappointed, she frowned slightly before turning to interrogate someone else. I relaxed, looked at the clock above the door, and proceeded to count the minutes until the end of class. 
    ***
    Back at my apartment that night, John Mayer crooned through my speakers as I danced and sang my way around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for dinner. The front door opened and Lexi strolled in, a Starbucks cup in each hand.
    “One venti nonfat chai tea latte, as promised,” Lexi said, smiling as she handed me the steaming cup. “Forgive me?”
    “Forgiven,” I agreed, happily sipping my chai.
    “What’s for dinner?”
    “How do you feel about veggie lasagna?”
    “Sounds perfect. How’s your head?” she asked, grimacing slightly.
    “It’s fine, I took some Advil and I can barely feel it anymore.”
    “Great! Because we’re going out tonight,” Lexi announced.
    “It’s Monday night. I have two classes tomorrow, Lex; I’m not going out.”
    “ Pleeeease,” she whined, making puppy-dog eyes, “There’s a band playing at Styx tonight and they’re supposed to be amazing! We have to go.”
    “You don’t even like going to see bands, and you definitely don’t like Styx,” I noted, remembering her reaction to the dark, crowded club the first and only time we’d ever gone there. “So who is he?” I inquired casually, between sips of chai.
    “Who’s who?” she asked, playing innocent.
    “ Who is the guy who talked you into going out tonight?” I said, calling her out on her bullshit. I knew I’d hit my mark when her cheeks flamed to match the exact shade of her hair.
    “Okay, fine! You got me,” she admitted, not meeting my eyes. “There’s this guy in my American Lit class. He may or may not have mentioned being there tonight.”
    “But why do I have to go with you?” I complained.
    “Brooklyn Grace Turner! You know I can’t just go alone! You’re my wing-woman. Plus, you don’t want me walking home by myself, do you?” she begged, batting her lashes at me. “I’ll owe you big time!”
    “You almost killed me this morning! You already owe me, Lex,” I reminded her.
    “Yeah, but you already forgave me for that! Pleeeease come with me, Brooke.” Her baby blue eyes were practically glistening with fake tears.
    “Even if I agreed to come – which I haven’t – there’s still the matter of the giant bruise on my forehead.”
    “The swelling has completely gone down and I’ll work my m agic on your hair and makeup. No one will even notice, once I’m through with you,” she promised.
    “Fine,” I muttered, knowing I was only prolonging the inevitable by holding out. Once Lexi made up her mind about something, it was nearly impossible to deter