She is wearing dark eye makeup, veering toward the Goth.
She says, No one will take you seriously with a name like Summer. I’m sick of it.
“Change your name,” I say.
I am, she says. From now on I’ll be known as Ophelia.
That isn’t much better, I wanted to tell her, but I could see she wasn’t in the mood for arguing. It was bad enough that I had laughed at her.