I find myself in a classroom, full of people I have never known, and answering enquiries that I had never considered. The squealing chalk glides across the blackboard, leaving only a trail of numerical enigmas for us to decipher. The clacking of fingers against our calculators is a symphony of annoyance and wonder. The teacher’s instruction is like a starting piece to a puzzle. One hint, and suddenly over time, the most abstract of questions becomes the as clear as the water in my cup. As the bell rings, a chorus of sighs and sarcastic thank God’s sound off, amongst the rustling of papers and the slamming of book covers. My classmates throw on their jackets like baseball jerseys, signifying their freedom from the educational dungeon. As they leave the room, the sound of Timberlands and Sperry’s flow against the pavement and cobblestone. The prep school drums are sounding.