My professor stands at the chalkboard,
a distant figure at the front of the lecture hall.
We stare at him eagerly,
waiting for him to grab a student’s ear and vomit knowledge into it.
He shuffles papers, cleans his desk, and organizes his briefcase,
but still, class has not started.
I could run up and grab him by the collar,
throw him against the chalkboard,
the chalk dust covering the shoulders of his suit jacket from the impact,
but still, class would have yet to start.
We hold our breath in anticipation, 
taking desks off their back legs as we lean forward.
Tell us what you know, the boy next to me whispers,
tell us.
As her foot taps quickly, the girl next to me says,
he does this every year.
The first class is a test.
If you return for the next, then you can know.
Know what?
She winks and turns back to our balding prodigy of a professor.