"Bunny," she says, and a few of the students snicker. "Bunny Hopper."
"Is that your real name?" this frat-boy looking, polo-shirt wearing motherfucker asks my sweet one snidely.
I look down at my roster—there's a Beatrice Hopper, but no Bunny.
"Yep," she says, looking me squarely in the eyes, challenging me to contradict her. "Bunny Hopper. My parents had a sick sense of humor."
I look at the polo-shirt wearing kid with eyes of ice. "You need to be more respectful during class," I say to him. I look at the student next to Bunny. "Go."
He says his name, and the rest say their names, in turn, but I'm only half-listening. I'm trying to figure this Beatrice out. So she wants to be called Bunny, huh? I think to myself. I wonder if she'll still show up at the café around 5 today, the same time we met up yesterday. Hell, I wonder if I will—am I really willing to break the student/teacher taboo for this sweet little brunette? Either way, I can tell, this is going to be an interesting semester.