“Ms. Shariff, I believe I told you in my email that your presence was unnecessary for today.” Ms. Shariff. The name makes me smile, but pride bleeds in. Her sweatshirt has a little kitten playing with a ball of green yarn that matches the color of her linen pants that look a little like pajama bottoms. She’s dressed exactly like herself, and still holding her own against a bunch of stuffy collegiate assholes.
