I missed my mother, who, if she had known what I’d done, wouldn’t have thought twice about shaking me upside down until the stupid fell out.

It is my earnest opinion that a good class is holier than God. I’ve never shared that thought with anyone.

Simone had told me once her longest-held sexual fantasy was to make many men laugh the moment her husband showed up at a party. I thought that was weird. Simone, in my experience, was not especially funny.

I knew I was the best writer in my cohort. I was the only one who knew.

If there’s one thing I learned in grad school, it’s that everyone loves a road trip story.

Simone’s face reminded me of being babysat by someone else’s mom. If I were her kid, she’d have lost her shit by now.

I wish I loved something more than forcing others to read what I’ve written, but no: my heart swelled as my peers interrogated me.

Who among us had fresh fiction to share so early in the term?

I want you to question your framework, Roberta. I want you to ask yourself who is telling this story and why. Narration is the backbone of fiction. Something to remember next time.” I took that personally.