Before the school year ended in June, members of Upper School (US) English Teacher Allison Kornet’s Masks class wrote proposals, attempting to solve problems affecting the US community with comically unrealistic solutions. Heading into the school year, The Vanguard is presenting two Modest Proposals from her class. Would you like to see these changes?

Summers are for slackers

 After completing the Junior Profile, the history paper and two grueling weeks of APs, we rising seniors are desperate to find a new academic benchmark. But what are we supposed to do during the summer? Just exist? In June and July, the lack of any academic assignments is simply unproductive. These months of nothing aren’t raising our GPA or getting us into college. According to Pew Research, students ages 15 to 17 spend an average of 39 minutes a day on academics in the summer; this simply isn’t enough time. As a student who cares about the future success of my peers, I propose we speed things up.

 Let’s get rid of summer, winter vacation, March break and a couple of long weekends here and there. Imagine how much faster we would achieve our goals! By working around the clock, we would be miles ahead of every other school, checking off key moments in high school with impressive speed. College applications would stand no chance against us. Common App? Done by mid-June at the latest. Essays? Completed by July. We could be the first to submit our applications, using our senior fall to get ahead of our normal academics.

 Without summers, we could continue our classes throughout the year. Future generations of students could complete high school in only three years. The time we would save for our future selves! The pace we set in high school could jump us so far into the future we could have a corporate 9-5 by age 20. Because that is the goal, right? That’s what happiness looks like.

 Sure, some students will complain about not having any breaks or fun all summer. To these kids, I urge you to rethink your values. Here, we don’t have space for “fun,” or slacking, as we call it. If you don’t think achievement in human-created fields is the number-one reason we have all been created on this Earth, then you should transfer schools. Completing your assignments and putting in those extra hours of work every night are exactly what you’re meant to be doing. Focus, and your future is sure to bring you happiness, or at least success.

 To parents concerned about their children’s wellbeing, I promise there is nothing to worry about. In 10 years, they will be grateful you let them work toward exhaustion every day. Once your child has worked through high school, college and their job and has finally retired from a long and successful career, they will have all the time in the world to relax and spend time with you.

 I’m not one to ignore other people’s ideas. If you can find a better solution to the anxious restlessness we all feel during the summer months, speak up. The worst thing we could do would be to waste our time. If we want a better life for ourselves, which I’m sure we all do, let’s put our heads down and get to work.

—Charlotte Garrity ’26

Fix the faculty raffle

 It is a truth universally acknowledged that two students who enroll in the same course may emerge with experiences as different as night and day. One student might leap toward a gleaming A with minimal effort while the other claws desperately for a B+ under the watchful eye of a teacher who assigns an essay every week. This cruel paradox is not the fault of the students but the result of a deeply flawed system which pretends that teachers are identical.

 The school insists that students select classes based on “what feels right” or “what sparks our interest.” It believes our academic interests, intellectual passion and curiosity will guide us to our courses. But after years of GPA trauma and mental health breakdowns, students know better. Hunting for insider information like wolves, students consult their older friends, asking questions like: “Who will give me an A, though?” or “Which teacher only does labs?” You’d think we were plotting a bank heist, not just trying to take Honors Physics without emotional damage.

 I humbly propose a solution that will finally eliminate this academic injustice and bring true equity to the student experience: A GIANT RAINBOW SPINNING WHEEL IN THE COMMONS. Each Monday morning, students will gather around in sacred assembly to spin for their academic fate. This wheel will include every eligible teacher for every course; the process will be exciting and efficient. Students will line up by grade, spin the wheel and receive their weekly instructor assignments. Cheers, screams and fainting may occur, but at least all students will suffer equally!

 Now, I anticipate several objections from those who cling to outdated ideals of structure and stability. Some may say, “Rotating teachers every week will disrupt the flow of learning.” To which I respond: What greater lesson is there than adaptability? The modern student must learn to shift styles, whether switching from the math teacher who grades like a prosecutor or from the one who calls a C+ growth and lets you do corrections for all points back.

 Still, others may whine about how the wheel is “cruel.” But I ask you: Is it not crueler to continue the present system in which students are gaslit into believing that all classes are equal and then held accountable for inconsistencies they had no control over? The wheel is brutal, maybe, but definitely transparent.

 Let us construct the wheel. Let it gleam under the fluorescent Commons lights. This monument will symbolize the academic fairness, or shared despair, of the school. Let the freshmen weep, cradled in their couches. Let the sophomores clutch their iced Starbucks and whisper prayers. Let the juniors cancel therapy because there is no point anymore. And let the seniors spin with the calm, dead look of those who have already seen too much and written too many college essays about it.

 For every student stands an equal chance — their academic destiny will be determined not by effort or interest but by pure chaos in wheel form. The future of education is not logic. It is not equity. It is rainbow, plastic, good-old luck.

 Better luck next week.

—Hope McMillin ’26