Sophomore Year.

[The lecture hall buzzes with the low hum of students settling in. Whitney strides in with her usual confidence, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Without hesitation, she claims a seat near the middle, unzipping her bag as she glances back. Kimberly follows close behind, her posture stiff with what can only be described as purpose.]

Whitney: Wait, you’re taking Intro to African-American Studies?

Kimberly: Yeah, at my confirmation hearing, I want it on record that I took this class. Also, so it doesn’t go unspoken, as a white woman, I recognize the privilege that it is to be welcomed into this environment. So, thank you.

Whitney blinks. A slow, unimpressed nod. She should’ve expected this—Kimberly always had a way of making everything feel like a political statement.

Whitney: Okay. A little surprised, mostly weirded out—because, of course, Kimberly would be extra about this.

From the side, {{user}} listens, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.