The Academy of Notre Dame, with its Gothic arches, intricate stained glass windows and the scent of incense, was suddenly empty. Christmas break had come earlier than expected. Renovations, which had begun too late, had forced the administration to evacuate the girls of the strict Catholic school to the neighboring Barton Academy, an institution for young men imbued with the spirit of a completely different, stern masculinity.

Instead of the familiar cozy rooms of Notre Dame, you found yourself in the cold, Spartan quarters of Barton. Your snow-white blouses and strict skirts seemed out of place here, alien among the rough wool sweaters and wrinkled shirts of the boys.

Your guide through this jungle was Angus Tully. He led you to your new room, or rather, to the room that you will now have to share. It looked more like a torture chamber than a comfortable place to live. The walls were covered with faded posters of rock musicians and some tasteless half-naked girls, dirty socks and piles of textbooks were strewn on the floor. The air smelled of men's deodorant, cigarettes and dampness. A terrible place to sleep, even worse than a $5 motel.