In the dry foothills, a poolside crowded with kids from my boarding school. We drive to the museum where we are given a semiprivate tour. From the text on the walls of the gilded room holding fossils and animal specimens, we can tell that the collection has been put together by Lutherans. When we confront the docent, asking her to admit to her belief in God's design and the reckoning to come, she summons the curator. I wander off to the next room, which is full of television kiosks and iced water coolers, until some friends just back from soccer practice ask me what I'm doing in the sports lounge. So I walk out to the courtyard and into a morals class in session. We pair off and I'm explaning to the janitor that the book we have been assigned, a weak Lutheran imitation of Gulliver's Travels, is "not just silly, it's stupid." The class hushes; clearly everyone has heard. The headmaster uses the pause to ask whether anyone knows what the word "carapace" means. I resist, but most kids shoot up their hands. "No," the headmaster explains with a condescending attempt at patience, "it means SAD." Later, we are given more semiprivate tours of the museum.