On the chilly morning of May 4, 2026, I found myself marching alongside an army of zombie-like juniors down to the MAC to take the dreaded AP Bio exam. In an effort to de-stress before beginning the test, I ambled over to the Charles River dock and squinted into the glow of the sunrise, listening to the melodic chirping of tree-dwelling birds. Abruptly, my stomach dropped. Not because I was nervous about the exam, but because I noticed what appeared to be a plastic bottle floating in the muddy water. How dare someone litter in the Charles! Empowered by the EAC’s anti-litter doctrine, and being a recreational environmental activist myself, I committed myself to removing the litter from the water. I leaned over and picked up the godforsaken bottle, only to find… a letter inside?
Enthralled by my remarkable discovery, I got a DNS in my AP Bio exam. I read the letter and was shocked to find it was written by a fallen warrior: a Nobles student stuck in detention.
Nota bene: I called upon a few of my sophomore friends enrolled in Honors Chemistry to use radiocarbon dating on my primary source to determine its date of creation. They found that my detention letter was written circa 4 BC, which is around the time of Jesus’s birth. That date is highly improbable, as I found the letter in a crisp Dasani water bottle, which suggests a more recent date of origin. Additionally, the letter had a date (4/28/2026) explicitly marked in the upper right-hand corner.
Anyways, below is the letter:
O, woe is me! Upon a plastic rolly-chair sits I, slowly decomposing. I can almost feel maggots protruding from my hollow eye sockets. I will soon be reduced to a pile of bones if someone fails to rescue me! Hello? Is anyone there? It’s me, [REDACTED]! Does nobody care about my poor soul? It’s been four agonizing minutes, an ephemeral eternity. I believe I am going insane — I need to be medevaced out of here instantly… Oh, that’s my bad, I thought we could write whatever we wanted on this paper. Instead, I apparently need to talk about how I violated the Core Values. Well, I don’t really think I did …
Ok, I just stole back my phone, which I used to take a quick Buzzfeed quiz called “Say ‘Slay’ or ‘Nay’ to These Iconic Met Gala Outfits, and We’ll Tell You Which Nobles Core Value You Violated.” I got Respect, so I guess I’ll try to connect what I did to that.
Let me paint a picture for you. It was precisely one week ago, and the popularity of the new Gleason Cafe caught my eye. I could only IMAGINE how lucrative the cafe must be, and I wanted in on that paycheck. I am saving up to purchase the Quiet Room, which I plan to convert into a private Hawaii-themed mini-golf course. So, due to Hotelling’s law, it was imperative that I establish a competing cafe in the library. I knew my cafe had to be bigger and better if I wanted to truly cash in. It couldn’t only be a cafe — it had to be a restaurant.
The Sunday night before school on April 27, around 11 p.m., I pretended to be a Funko Pop, camouflaging myself in the librarian’s office among Librarian Sokoll’s Funko Pop collection (I simply stood in the office and didn’t move). Once everyone had gone to sleep, I emerged, revealing my true human identity. It was go time.
I surreptitiously pulled a squeaky red Radio Flyer wagon behind me, replete with supplies for my enterprising enterprise, which I then began to set up. I erected a multi-million dollar espresso machine on the Puzzle Table. I replaced every book in the library with arrays of “Best Grandpa Ever!” mugs, then repurposed the books into tables by stacking them. I recruited 32 talented middle schoolers to bus said tables, and severely underpaid them to maximize my own profit. That golf course wasn’t going to pay for itself!
Then, I went fishing in the Charles River for a few hours and ended up catching three pike, two rainbow trout, a baby megalodon, and seven trophy blobfish, which I bagged and relocated into the new 200-million-gallon aquarium I had just installed in the senior section of the library. As the acclaimed interior designer Mark Hampton said, “Real comfort, visual and physical, is vital to every room.” I just knew my restaurant guests would feel tremendously comfortable eating my culinary creations and mindfully interacting with the convivial environment I created, all while making serious eye contact with the baby megalodon.
My restaurant was only missing two things. The first being food, but I quickly solved that problem by moving all the food in the Gleason Cafe to my restaurant. In the words of the thieves who robbed the jewelry from the Louvre, “Finders keepers.” The second missing item was a lack of a name. In an impeccably timed “eureka” moment, the name came upon me: I’d call it “The Glee Sun Restaurant,” as I anticipated my customers would be overflowing with glee and jubilance as soon as they set foot inside, and because the sun was always shining in my rustic, farm-to-table eatery. My official statement to the pending lawsuit against me from the Gleason Cafe is that I have NOT stolen your intellectual property — the name of your cafe isn’t even copyrighted! Lighten up!
At 7 a.m., an hour early, I was pleasantly surprised to see a group of customers marching across the Beach towards The Glee Sun Restaurant. Five solemn men wearing shirts with an obscure acronym likely standing for “Famished, Breakfast-seeking Individuals” composed half the group. They were obviously hungry and ready to dine at The Glee Sun Restaurant! The other half consisted of several eccentric characters wearing what appeared to be hazmat suits. Unfortunately, I could not accept them inside, as their attire violated Nobles’ strict principles-based dress code. The troop of prospective customers entered the library.
I rushed to the entrance in an attempt to stop the guys in hazmat suits from entering the library, but before I could, one of the Famished Breakfast-seeking Individuals handcuffed my arms behind my back and began to read me my Miranda rights.
It turned out that the hazmat-suited guys were there for the megalodon, and the Famished Breakfast-seeking Individuals were actually members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
I will spare you the details of the following proceedings; you’ve probably read all about it in Ms. Genecco’s weekly email. I was charged with the following five ridiculous counts of misdemeanor, which landed me in detention sans bail:
- Malicious destruction of property and vandalism
- Illegal capture and poaching of wild animals
- Labor trafficking
- Unlawful theft of personal property, larceny
- Disrespect, the violation of Respect, a most cardinal Nobles value
