Before my foot can fully pass the threshold of your door, I already know what you’re thinking. “What’s this little girl of color doing in my class—my advanced class?” Well I do not regret to inform you that I am your student, not by some careless counselor’s mistake, but by confident choice.

Your glare throws sharp daggers into the heart of my soul, but not one punctures it to make it bleed. Neither you nor your criteria scares me; I am bold enough to tell you to your face how intelligent I am from my mouth, not through my skin. I can show you through the movement of a pen on paper too.

As you call off your list of names for attendance, I bet you’re searching for mine. “It’s Shaniquia, Bonquiqui, or Keyshia” you think in your mind, but you are one horrible contestant in the game of guessing; my name is Brooke, sir.

So when you grade my essays, don’t be surprised to find “big words” instead of regular “black folk slang”. When you’re lecturing and turn your head to glance at me, don’t be appalled as I write down and listen to every word you say. I may not be your shade of white and, through my skin, know everything. I am in fact a beautiful shade of brown, all the same intelligent, and I am not ashamed.

Stop with the stereotype guessing game.