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before I even met him, but they were used to having him all to themselves. Jesse came around fast, but Alison...” She shook her head. “She’s not quite there yet.”
    “It’s really great that you and Dr. Fleming are letting him live here and go to school.”
    Sarah shook her head. “That didn’t take any thought. I love having him around, and of course Danny and Des do, too. And Jesse is awesome with the baby. I wish Alison would come visit more, get to know him better.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Danny keeps telling me these things take time, and I guess I trust him.”
    I thought about the Flemings as I hurried through the bitter wind on Thursday afternoon, heading for class. My parents were happily married and still so gooey in love that my sisters and I pretended to be disgusted. But deep down, I knew I was grateful that I didn’t have to deal with all the crap I’d seen some of my friends go through. And as much as I liked Sarah, Danny and Desmond, I could see the strain that divorce and remarriage had on the whole family.
    Thursdays were my favorite class days, since I only had one two-hour seminar, and it was in the early afternoon. It was my one day to sleep in a little. Plus I was excited about the seminar topic: Modern Journalism and Social Media.
    I took a seat in the middle of the large classroom, smiling at a few people I recognized from other classes. By the time we hit junior year, most of us who had been in the same major for two to three years had survived more than a few classes together.
    “Hey, you’re Julia Cole, aren’t you?” The girl sitting behind me leaned forward.
    She looked vaguely familiar.
    “Yep.” I searched my memory for her name but drew a blank. I couldn’t even remember what class we might have had together.
    “So you dated Liam Bailey. Right? I was at that party last month. You know, his surprise party? My roommate dates a guy on the track team, so they took me along with them. God, that was crazy.”
    My face froze, and I fell into autopilot. The girl was looking at me in expectation, waiting for a response.
    “Umm. Yeah, it was crazy.”
    “So what did you do? After, I mean? Did you, like, want to beat the shit out of him? Any guy who did that to me, I’d want to kill him.”
    I shook my head. “No. I haven’t even seen him since that night. It’s just over.” She opened her mouth to say something else, and I added, “And I don’t want to talk about it. It’s no one’s business.” I fixed Ms. Nosy Body with a steel glare my sisters used to call the Jules Freeze before I turned around again to face the front.
    A few people around us had overheard, and I ignored the murmurs as I opened the fresh notebook and fiddled with my pencil. I was relieved when Dr. Turner appeared a few moments later.
    She was a tiny woman with jet-black hair and piercing brown eyes that snapped above the cat-eye glasses she always wore. Once upon a time, she had been part of the Washington press corps and had routinely attended briefings at the White House. She was part of the first wave of women in political journalism and one of my favorite professors; I could listen to her stories for hours.
    As always, she launched directly into her lecture, peering at us from time to time over her glasses. Dr. Turner eschewed all the more modern technology; she still used an old overhead projector to share her notes. Today was a class overview, a reiteration of her expectations and rules for those who had never before taken a Turner class and an introduction to our seminar project.
    “Now those of you who have had me as a teacher before might recall that I am known for my creative class assignments. This is a new topic. Social media as it relates to journalism has never been taught here before now. So I decided we should be daring and adventurous, try something a little new.”
    She scanned the room, a little smile playing about her mouth. “I know you all are on the internet and