Namea

A plantation. 

Of course. 

I should have known as soon as I found out we were being sent to New Orleans.

The plane ride was short, uncomfortable and a nuisance. I've never been a fan of travel methods in which I'm thirty thousand feet off the ground and survival rates of an accident, of any sort, are slim to none.

My trusty candy apple red Camry has served me well through the years and being away from her for two weeks will be a true test of faith, strength, and resilience.

My über driver was a New Orleans native with a thick southern accent, friendly mien and chatty personality. As great as all that was, it didn't take long for me to grow tired of him.

People like him, overtly kind, tend to irk me after a short period of time.

Despite my multiple requests, I was not informed as to how many people will be staying here, only that there would be an equal amount of guys and girls.

So, no help whatsoever.

True to the binding words in the agreement I signed after a careful reading, they confiscated all of my electronics (cell phone, laptop, iPod and ear buds included). If it was buddy buddy with electricity, they took it. In exchange, I was given a brand new Sony camera (still in the box and everything) and encouraged to take plenty pictures and even record anything I find interesting or noteworthy.

Good thing I took that Digital Photography course my sophomore year of high school.

Unlike most normal people, the exquisite interior design of the property fazes me not. It's very nice. I will admit that. However, material objects have no strong effect on me.

When you've lost more than you've gained in life, you tend to not be as easily captivated by materialistic things.

"Interesting," is all my new roommate says to me as I make my way to the room assigned to me by the 'staff' conducting this experiment.

She's a tall girl, much taller than me (not that that takes much) with a coco completion and long black hair. With her slim figure and sharp facial features, she puts me in mind of the Victoria's Secret models I make fun of as a hobby.

Seeing as she arrived first, I don't bother to object to her getting first pick for the bed. They're both equally nice to me.

Other than her one word greeting, we don't say anything to each other as per instructed, and simply try our best to make the room feel more like home.

About 45 minutes after arriving, we hear over the intercoms that our presence is required in the library.

There's actually a library in this place. Ridiculous.

The setup is eerily similar to the library at campus.

Even though we walk in together, and sit next to each other, my roommate and I share no words. Instead, we both take the opportunity to survey the other participants. There are four guys, two other girls, and all are complete and total strangers to me.

In all, there are eight of us.

"Well," Dr. Blake begins, walking in with four graduate students behind him. "I'm glad to see you all were able to make it here safely."

"Barely," one of the girls, a brunette with striking blue eyes, mumbles and shifts in her seat. "My über driver was totes creepy."

And I am already totes annoyed.

Dr. Blake gives her faux sympathy and I couldn't be any happier. "I'm sorry to hear that Ms. Baker."

As he continues to go over the rules laid out in the agreement we all autographed, his graduate student assistants go around giving all of us small, dry erase boards and different colored Expo markers.

"...Now I want you all to write down your first names only and when you're done, flip the board over so your name is visible to the group." It takes us only a matter of minutes to complete the task and when we're done, Dr. Blake gives us our next set of directions. "Now, take a look around the room. Look at each persons name. Think about it and without factoring in what you may or may not already know about the person, I want you to express to that person what you think of their name from a racial standpoint."

Boy, this should be fun.

Given the uncomfortable circumstances surrounding the instructions, no one is exactly burning with excitement to go first.

Eventually, someone does and guess whose name they chose?

"I don't even know if it even constitutes a name," Richard, a Caucasian boy with blue eyes similar to totes, and dirty blonde hair laughs, looking in my direction. "How do you even pronounce it?"

All eyes turn in my direction and I cringe internally cringe.

"Nu - may - uh," I accentuate each portion and try my hardest to maintain a neutral disposition. "Technically, there's an accent over the e, but I opt not to spell it with one."

Richard chuckles, "It's ghetto as hell." Finally, he falls out in a fit of laughter and then offers me a weak. "No offense."

"None taken," I smile warmly, shrugging my shoulders. "Hey, isn't Dick usually a nickname for Richard?" His laughter starts to die down, but my smile only intensifies. "That's so cool. We both have names that signify who and what we are." I stare directly at him, my gaze unwavering and my voice low and clear. "Ghetto and a dick."

I hear chuckles and laughs from all around, but my eyes do not leave Richard and soon he matches my stare down.

"Hey Dr. Blake," he finally speaks, but his gaze still remains on me. "Since when do EBT cards cover college tuition?"

"Unfortunately, they don't." I pout dramatically and pull my curls back. "I've had to settle for tips and such from the strip club. You know, the usual, college student by day and exotic dancer by night?" He looks confused, but maintains narrowed eyes. "But thank God for your sister. She's taught me everything I know. Crowd favorite actually."

"You f*cking b-"

"I think that's enough for today's session," Dr. Blake cuts him off, but not for reasons one might think. Judging by the small smile on his face, I'm guessing this was the type of reaction he was hoping for. "We shall reconvene tomorrow morning at 10am."

With that, he gets out of his seat and walks out with his students behind him.

The rest of us waste no time in leaving the room as well. My roommate, who I learned name is Sarah, seems to have a newfound sense of annoyance toward me.

She's the first of us to walk out.

As I near the door, the other girl in the group approaches me.

She introduces herself as Layla and proceeds to praise me for shutting down Richard (she uses other words to describe him actually) and proclaims me her new best friend. Her voice is preppy, her words are simple and the speed in which she speaks is unnatural.

Put simply, she's sugar, spice and everything nice.

Didn't she get the memo that show was cancelled years ago?

As we walk toward my room or her room, I'm not quite sure it matters because it's painfully obvious she has no intentions on leaving my side, we're met with a complication.

"For what it's worth," the complication, with his low voice, bright eyes and firm build looks down at me. "I think your name is beautiful."

He doesn't say anything else and proceeds to retreat down the hall and into a room without offering me the chance to reply.

Actually, I'm somewhat glad I don't have a chance to do so because Layla wastes no time in informing me that Mr. Complication (real name Adam) was staring at me the whole time we were in session.

She continues to give me a 'rundown' on who he is, but I only get bits and pieces (athlete, senior, baseball). My mind is too enthralled as to why his compliment has me curious to know more about him.

I don't do that. Getting to know people only ever leads to disappointment. It's important I remember that or risk having history repeat itself.