A drop of water broke free from a crack in the ceiling. Plummeting through the air, its shifting form caught varying rays of light. The drop used the trapped luminance to sing colored notes until it crashed into the waiting bucket to be swallowed up in the faceless mass of its companions.

"Orgon," the teacher called out.

"Yes, Mr. LaCruz," Orgon tore himself from his dreamy observations.

"My hope,” LaCruz stated in thick murmurs from between his thin lips, “is that your extreme concentration upon the ceiling is of an engineering nature. Regardless, this time is devoted to literature."

"Yes, Mr. LaCruz." Orgon submitted bashfully as the other students snickered.

"We were discussing The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. Maybe you would like to give us your opinion."

"Boring," Orgon replied. The other students snickered again in silent agreement with something they would never dare say.

LaCruz lost his humor. "I think you should stay after class, Orgon."
"Yes, Mr. LaCruz."

"Marta, would you please read for us?"

"Yes, Mr. LaCruz," the girl's high-pitched voice came back mechanically. She began reading with the enthusiasm of someone counting out kernels of grain from a bushel basket:

    'Did you understand a word?' the manager was asking his parents. 'He isn't trying to make fools of us, is he?'

    'My God,' cried his mother, already in tears, 'maybe he's seriously ill, and here we are torturing him...'

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