I stare at the whiteboard. Coffee. Need a liquid candy bar right now. Yawn. Note to self: 2 am is a bad bedtime. It's the fourth time I've actually seen my wristwatch change days. I went to sleep sweaty after playing HORSE (actually, we dubbed it PLATO in honor of the book we're studying this week) but on the pool table. It's intense, and I was limping back to the dorm with a bloody left knee. (Curse thee, stupid pool table edge!)

"So," says Eric, my group's mentor. He sets down his cell phone and assumes an expression of timeless wisdom, which doesn't quite work for me. He's twenty-eight. "I'll be back in a minute. You guys keep working on this train of thought.

I blink and nod. To my left, Bethany manages a smile. Mark's head landed on the table fifteen minutes ago. He may be snoring softly. That or the AC is malfunctioning. Justin stares at the whiteboard behind me, eyes glazed. There's a limit to how long one can discuss Plato. We've been in here for three hours, and this is the fifth day.

Eric leaves, and we - well, the ones with some semblance of consciousness left - look around at each other.

"Wow." Jessica blinks. "Um, right. Definition of love. Where were we?"

I squint, summoning my mental powers. They fight through the sludge clogging my brain. Maybe if I push past a certain point, it will all become clear. "We were wondering if God defines love because of his nature, or if there's some outside eternal standard of love."

Bethany nods with a hint more enthusiasm. "Right, and Eric was saying it seemed like we didn't want anything to be controlling God's nature."

I understand the tenets of what she says, but if she asked me to put that in words right now, I'd stare like an almost-deaf dog who heard a whistle. I sigh, hating to admit my weakness. "Could we maybe take a short break?"

Justin shifts his gaze to me and nods. He's a wave-riding sitar-playing Cali boy with a shaggy head of hair and treble clef tattoo on his left wrist. So what I'm saying is he never appears to entirely inhabit this universe, and right now he's somewhere past Pluto. "Yeah, sounds good."

Jessica nods, and Bethany concurs. Mark doesn't make a sound.

I give my mind permission to float away, far, far away. Clearly, lead is growing on my eyelids, because they keep sinking, and get harder to lift. I reminisce longingly about a caramel frappuccino I bought in desperation two days ago. I really shouldn't have sneaked out of the meeting under the pretense of using the restroom. And hurrying out of the building, across the square, and to the bookstore may not met with a stamp of approval. But I figured it was that or sleep during the lecture. Alas, there is no time.

Bethany turns toward me, a glint in her eyes.

I feel bewildered. A glint? This signifies energy. How did she sneak in caffeine? If I think of it logically, using the rules we've been utilizing this week, she looked exhausted sixty seconds ago. Ergo, this is fast-acting caffeine. Chocolate-coated espresso beans?

"I think we should discuss Hungry Hippos," she says. "You know, the board game."

Jessica's mouth falls open, and she claps her hands. "Oh, yes!"

I feel my eyes widen. The moment of illumination has come. Connections snap into place like a mechanical spider web. "I see!" I jolt up straight in my chair.

Bethany leans forward, elbows on the table. "Clearly the makers of the game were well-versed in Plato, because the hippos go into a Bacchic frenzy."

I lift a finger, which trembles as I consider the pure brilliance of it all. "Yes, exactly! Because the original Bacchants were so overwhelmed with love for Bacchus that they tore him into pieces, like the hippos do in the game!" I lunge for my notebook and fumble with a pen. Must copy this word-for-word.

Jessica nods, forehead pursed as she scribbles on a sheet of paper. "Of course. This is groundbreaking." She glances up, looking each of us in the eye. "Colors. What do the colors of the hippos signify?"

I smile, utterly prepared. "Well, you know what Dr. R said about red, how it's the color of love and the color of danger. Doesn't that fit so perfectly? I can't believe no one's thought of this before."

Nancy speaks up, holding her pen in the air. "Wait, wait. I have it. Remember how this week we've been talking about what it means to win? Well, that means all of us can win in this game."

Jessica gasps. "Oh my gosh. You're right."

Bethany nods studiously. "Why don't you expand on that?"

Nancy props her dainty elbows on the table, strands of reddish hair framing her face. "Well, say we four played, and Jessica ended up with the fewest marbles. If she feels satisfied with how many she got, and that's her definition of winning, then she won."

I slap my left palm against my forehead, jotting down each of Nancy's words. "The genius in this room astounds me. I knew if we pushed past the mental fatigue we would be enlightened." I draw a deep breath, eyes widening. "It's like - oh-" I fumble with my copy of Plato's Phaedrus. "It's like in Phaedrus when the souls go beyond the rim of heaven and see the true Forms of beauty and love and all that live there!"

Bethany shakes her head, half-bowing toward me. "Brilliance."

Nancy poses another question: "So what does it signify when we get tired of playing Hungry Hippos and put the game away?"

We stare at each other. The fog invades our brains again, and we stare silently at the table.

Bethany sighs, staring sadly at the tabletop. "The Muses have fallen silent."