The fateful December afternoon on which Mr. Commentaaron notified me of his early retirement, I was shook.
   There was only one place fit to ponder such a crisis: the same spot my peers often spend the early afternoon huddled together, nose tucked into a copy of “There There” or fingers glued to their keyboard, typing away at an analysis of the Ottoman Empire’s fall.
   As much as I would like to ascribe the utopian education scene above to the Sankar Science Center’s state-of-the-art “learning stairs,” our little corner of comfort is actually situated a mile off campus.
   Follow the scent of unfinished calculus homework, and you’ll find nine out of 10 supposed midday medical appointees at the Starbucks on Aloma Avenue, sitting shamelessly atop an ocher armchair of lies. Evidently, Orange County doctors’ offices are so overwhelmed that they now leave kids in the waiting room just long enough to write a seven-page AP Lit paper.
   I’m surprised our school hasn’t demanded a cut of the coffee shop’s daily revenue, given that we provide at least a third of their weekday customer base. Just 15% would probably be enough to fund our own coffee bar in the Grille before the next time B Clubs meet.
   Still, it wouldn’t be the same. There’s just something about the Starbucks ambience — the soft Mariah Carey playing overhead, the sublime umber palette of all the furniture — uniquely capable of launching a teenage procrastinator into flow state. Or so I’ve heard.
   Of course, I could never endorse such an unsaintly move. Cutting class to squeeze in an extra hour of shuteye is one thing. But skipping school to do … more school?
   The result is a perpetual cycle. You skip biology to finish the history reading due next period. Now you’re behind on biology. So tomorrow, you skip English. Wait! What about that essay you missed while brushing up on Punnett squares? Oh, I know: Starbucks during history.
   They say caffeine is addictive, but perhaps the real peril of Starbucks lies not in the cups of coffee but in the constancy of class-cutting. Eight midday skips, plus a couple of inopportune red lights on your way back to campus (see: the new 15 minutes late equals absent policy), and you’re sitting for a final exam in Micro while your peers are ridin’ waves in New Smyrna.
   Consider the long-term consequences of your actions. Sure, you might be slightly more prepared for the 20-minute quiz worth 3% of your final grade tomorrow. Is that worth being subject to an additional 90-minute exam worth 20% of your final grade two months down the line?
   I’d love to harp more on the evils of choosing caffeine over class, but my cinnamon dolce latte’s getting cold.
   Stay in school, kids — at least until 3 p.m.