“We walked as though we had sledgehammers affixed to our shoulders, and our names were Ricky. Why Ricky? You know, Ricky the mechanic. Ricky the prizefighter (or was that Rocky?). Ricky the uncle who belches the alphabet. It was a joke. Sort of.” 

 “…as presents to one another, we went to the courthouse and stood in line with applications to change our names. Because like Madonna or Cher we would have no last names, we each decided to spell it differently.” 

–Sarah Curry, “The Rickies,” a story we read and loved before we went home and saw each other only from afar. This is an ode to thirteen beautiful Billies (and their teacher).