But eventually, I found myself here for my last class of the day - a debate seminar for us to put into practice all those skills our shiny computers should have helped us revise over summer.
The room is huge - half heavy oak panelling that's probably a hundred years old, half steel and apple funded, with a smart board filling up the space next to the green expanse where a short man with messy hair is filling out his details before turning to us.
A certain Dr. Haymitch A. Abernathy.
He trips over his shoe lace and moves forward a few steps in an attempt to cover up the awkward action. There is muffled snickering throughout the front rows, echoing back Mexican wave fashion.
"You won't be laughing so much when you have to be the ambulance crew to diagnose my fractured skull," he quips, running a grubby hand over his overgrown stubble.
"So, my little sardines," he continues, pacing out across the stage, "You have come to learn from the master of all things debate" Glaring at a pink haired girl in the front row, her arm raised a fifth of a fraction too big above her head, he adds "Save all questions for the end, Miss… ?" "Trinket, Sir" "Yeah, till the end"
When I had read his manuscript about the place of alcohol in society in the library, I had thought Abernathy the interesting sort who might be there only for the money to fund his research and nothing much else. Yet he actually seems to have a talent for communicating with the crowd. His statistics are spot on, and students seem willing to participate in small sample debates at the front of class despite all those new strange faces - a rarity even for the enthusiastic rich that Yale tends to collect.
By the end of the period, I have about 6 pages of notes commenting on technique in relation to confidence. How to focus on the muscles in the back so that they won't shake - something neurosurgeons use.
There aren't many questions to be asked and the girl from the first few minutes seems to have forgotten whatever it was she was bursting to ask only an hour ago. We are told in the next class, we will be debating Gender in medicine. Fun.
On my way out, I pause by his desk and wait for him to turn to me. "Ah, I was erm… wondering if… will we all have to speak in the next class?" His eyes are half covered by his shiny spectacles. It is disconcerting with his grin. "And you are?" "Katniss Everdeen?" "You say that like it's a question"
Tapping my sneaker subtly so that he won't see me trying to calm myself down from speaking too much, I reply, "Sorry, I just wondered… if we should prepare something to say for every class? You didn't directly say during the lecture"
" Miss. Everdeen, the class is voluntary involvement.." ah the relief "But, I do recommend that you get involved in as many class debates as possible - after all you will be assessed on your involvement"
There is always a catch. "I see. And what is the pass mark?" "Involvement in at least four weeks of classes and two full debates" "And if I don't?"
That infuriating smirk is back on his stupid smug face. "Well then, Sweetheart, I'll be seeing a lot more of you next year too"
He turns from me to wipe the chalk board and I leave before he can say anything else.
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