“Pondering life is a big order, so we gotta start somewhere smaller and more manageable,” Evelyn says, leaning against the board. “We’re gonna start with ourselves. What we believe, what our motivations are, how our spirit is.” She rests a hand over her heart. “How amped are y’all?” There are unenthusiastic sounds from the rows of people behind us, but particularly from the guys in the corner who have hockey practice before school. They mostly just grunt.

“Evelyn, this is so boring,” Travis from the hockey team complains, his face smooshed so far into his hand that his words come out a little muffled. “Who wants to think about this stuff? You said we were gonna talk about sex, drugs, and rock and roll.”

Evelyn makes her way over to the other side of the room, then faces us. “All right, Travis, since you asked, here’s how we’re gonna connect the two. If the ethos of the seventies was sex, drugs, and rock and roll, what’s the ethos of today?”

She scans the room with her eyes wide, probing us for answers, or maybe hoping that we’ll give a shit. “What does ethos even mean?” Travis asks.

“The spirit and the beliefs of a time,” Abigail says, doodling absentmindedly.

“Uh, do we even have one of those?” Danika asks, and everyone laughs.

“Yes, great question!” Evelyn says a little too excitedly. “This is what philosophy’s all about! You know what? Everyone, get into groups of four,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We’re going to start talking to each other and asking this question. Is there a spirit or a belief today in your generation? This is how great philosophy starts! Quickly, now, everyone up!” Evelyn says, urging us up with big waves of her hands. “What are the spirit and the beliefs of today, or even just of the senior class, your friend group, you. And if it is sex, drugs, and rock and roll, please say I have a friend… so I don’t get fired. Go, go, go!”

The classroom erupts into a cacophony of metal on floor. I scoot toward Abigail like a dog rubbing its butt on the carpet, and we’re joined by two more desks: on the left, a skinny boy named Marquis, with a tuba case by his chair; on the right, a guy named Jared, who Abigail used to have a crush on.

“How is this English class?” Jared whispers with disbelief.

Abigail leans into the circle and lowers her voice. “Evelyn gets away with subjecting us to her college major because the Gill School loves her.” Then she puts her arm around me. “Just think of what you would’ve missed if you hadn’t been kicked out of public school for explosive anger that bordered on—”

“Definitely tell everyone my life story, Abigail,” I say sarcastically.

“She punched a bus window at a girl and almost blinded her,” Abigail says matter-of-factly. She can’t help herself. She loves having an audience.

“That’s pretty badass,” Marquis says, fingers twitching like he’s playing an invisible tuba that none of us can hear. “What’d the girl do to deserve your fist?”