Going to class is like being Lindsay Lohan in the movie Mean Girls, only a thousand times worse. Over the past couple of days the rest of the students have arrived on campus, transforming it from an empty place to one that’s filled with energy and bodies. As soon as I walk out the door, I’m accosted by people. Kids walking to class, professors with briefcases, people who seem in no way connected to the school and are on campus for no apparent reason but to walk their dogs. The best part? They’re all staring at me.

Not that I can blame them. I mean, I have a cameraman following me with a huge handheld. Today my cameraman is Frank, which just adds to the unfortunateness of the situation, since Frank is a huge black man who favors gold jewelry and flannel shirts. The circumference of Frank’s neck is roughly that of Fenway Park, so Frank is forced to leave the top of his shirt unbuttoned, exposing an inch of curly black chest hair.

I am now officially A Spectacle. As I walk to the psychology building, where my first class is, people gape at me openly. One girl in a pink skirt says, “Hi, Ally,” as I pass by, as if we’re old friends. I smile and say hello, even though, for some inexplicable reason, I feel like pulling her hair. Hard. But I can’t have America thinking I’m a stuck-up bitch, so I do my best to look happy and approachable.

Thankfully, cameras aren’t allowed inside the classrooms, so Frank has to wait outside for me while I’m in class. As I’m walking into the psychology building, I realize the show has totally overshadowed the fact that this is my first day of college. This is serious shit. These grades are going to determine my future. Yeah, I was pretty smart in high school, but what if it was all a fluke?

I’ve heard of things like that happening. People who are smart in high school, then rush off to college with no study skills and no self-control, causing them to be kicked out and scrambling to find somewhere that will take them as a transfer student.

I smooth my hair and pick a seat toward the front of the classroom so that I can absorb everything the professor says, but not in the front row, because I’ve seen Legally Blonde and I know how such a move can backfire.

The fact that I’ve left Frank the cameraman in the hallway happily munching on a glazed doughnut does nothing to diminish the stares. My classmates watch me as I make my way to my seat. Apparently they all know who I am.

At least I look cute. I’m wearing my only pair of Seven jeans (I got them for my birthday from Corey, yay!), and a light blue tank top. My usually wavy dirty blond hair is blown straight, then curled with a big-barreled curling iron so that it falls in soft waves around my shoulders. My brown sandals have a high heel, and are open-toed, showing off my pink toenail polish and my silver toe ring.