“And, what was the last thing I was supposed to say—a fun fact?” Megan asks, tapping her chin. “Um, well last summer I received the award for best intern when I worked at Apple, so that was pretty fun!”

A small laugh erupts two seats over, but it is quickly concealed by a fake cough.

I look down my row. The guy who laughed reaches under his seat for a water bottle. Maybe to cover up more laughter, or maybe because he’s hungover. After all, he’s wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap inside the auditorium.

He slips the bottle into the side pocket of a backpack bearing the large seal of what I assume was his high school. The logo includes a gold shield and a founding date that means his school is older than the country. Fancy.

He leans back and props his feet on the chair in front of him. This guy is either so rich that he doesn’t need this class, or straight up stupid.

“Hi!” A cute blonde shoots up like her second-row chair is on fire. She straightens her shoulders. “My name is Sara Jones, and I’m a freshman studying computer science.”

“Great,” the lounging dude mutters. “Hermione Granger is in this class.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking to me, but I kind of hope he’s not.

I am actually grateful for Sara, the only other freshman who has stood up so far. At this point, it seems that most of the students are upperclassmen, if not graduate students. I am trying my best to remember everything my high school guidance counselor told me about not letting anyone make me feel like I don’t deserve to be here because of my age or where I come from. It’s a bit easier to do so knowing I’m not the only freshman. In that small way, I am not alone.

Sara collapses into her seat, as if that sentence exhausted her.

Professor Thomas gestures for her to continue. But Sara just looks from side to side.

“What?” she says, her voice even higher than before.

“Your fun fact,” the dude next to me yells, still practically draped across the chairs. He looks like a heckler at a comedy show.

“Oh.” She stands again and straightens her skirt with shaking hands. “I, uh...”

My heart sinks to my stomach on this girl’s behalf. I know what it’s like to feel intimidated, like everyone around you is summing you up, just waiting to academically eat you alive. I’ve been in rooms where I am the only kid who looks like me, the only one who speaks two languages at home, the kid who’s “only” here because of a scholarship, who’s from that neighborhood your parents tell you to avoid when you drive back from the airport. People find this out about you, and it’s like they smell blood in the water.