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look assertive, even if I didn’t feel it. This was the best choice I had. And it was just for a few months. I could do this.
    “Konnichiwa!” said a bright, chirpy voice. I glanced around and saw Darla, Bridget’s roommate, and resisted the urge to cringe. Despite the greeting, Darla was not Japanese by any stretch of the imagination. “Random” was the most appropriate description—or, if you were being nice, eccentric. She had Japanese anime posters plastered over most of their dorm room. That wasn’t too weird; what was weird was that she had action figures . Lots of them. Posed in elaborate scenarios from her favorite anime shows.
    “Hi, Darla.” I tried not to sound too sour.
    “How’s it going, hon? You applying to colleges yet?” Infuriatingly, she winked at me through her fire-engine-red-framed glasses.
    “Yes,” I said. I hoped my lack of conversation would send a clear hint.
    “That’s just great ,” she said. “You’re going to love college. You—”
    “I think we should take a seat,” Bridget said dryly, showing up in the nick of time.
    “Oh! Right. Here,” Darla said, indicating a few desks in the front row. I groaned.
    “Don’t worry.” Bridget patted me on the shoulder. “Nobody’s going to call on you.”
    “Good,” I mumbled, and sank down in the seat as far as possible. Next time I’d have to bring Carey with me if I wanted to survive … if there was a next time.
    “So,” Bridget said, settling into the seat next to me and retying her bandanna around her wavy brown hair. “How’s your T-shirt thing going?”
    “Not bad.” I dared a quick glance around the room. There were lots of dreadlocks, Indian prints, and black turtlenecks in attendance. “Listen … do you think you’d be willing to put up a few posters around campus for us? We’d appreciate the contribution to our vacation fund.”
    “Sure. You know, your logo’s very catchy. It’s a fun idea. I hope you guys can manage to earn the cash—that would be great for you.”
    “Thanks. I owe you big-time,” I said fervently. “When Carey and I are rich and famous businesswomen we’ll buy you a Mercedes.”
    “Fab. Just what I always wanted.” Bridget laughed.
    “C’mon! You should feel privileged to be a part of such a stupendous idea from the ground up.”
    “Right,” Bridget said. “Although …” Here she paused thoughtfully. “Really, you have some good ideas in that manifesto of yours. I mean it. I think tonight’s meeting might be of interest if you ever decide to … you know. Be more active about it.”
    “Active? Please.” Carey and I fully intended to make this as easy as possible for ourselves. Additional activity wasn’t really on the agenda. But with Bridget sitting there next to me, looking enthralled as the Students for Social Justice president—a guy with a scruffy ponytail—went on and on about community organizing and grassroots activism, I tried my best to listen.
    Eventually, Bridget’s friend with the dreadlocks went up to the front to talk about a seminar that Students for Social Justice was hosting in a couple of weeks: two guys from UC Berkeley who were planning a public health outreach program were coming here to speak about their project. It was all very noble, but I wasn’t sure it related to what Carey and I were doing, despite what Bridget said. Sure, it would be nice if we managed to raise a little awareness of mixed-ethnicity people, but basically, we were selling shirts. A community health clinic made the Latte Rebellion seem like small potatoes. Small, selfish potatoes.
    Still, I let Bridget and Darla talk me into coming to the seminar, and I promised I’d try to bring my friends—“try” being the operative word. I had no idea what Miranda would say, and Carey—well, apparently Carey had a packed schedule of her own. My parents, at least, would approve. They figured Bridget was a good influence on me, though I was pretty sure Students for Social