September 3, 20XX

I wondered what activities the "Going-Home Club" involved, but it looks like writing in this journal and sitting around talking is all we do. Then we go home.

It seems too good to be true. Even the probability club had more responsibilities than this. We'd solve and discuss one tricky math problem, and the rest of the time we flipped coins and played cards. I was the dealer. I was so good a dealer that I became the club leader, a position I did not seek nor deserve.

Needless to say, the club shut down. Which is why I'm confused why a club like this exists. We are literally doing nothing but writing to no particular audience and talking about nothing in particular. There's no club uniform, no club report, no club events... just this. It's a safe haven for me, so I won't complain while it lasts.

I confronted Mr. Kafka about this, but all he told us was that this was officially the "Self-Reflection Club". The "Going-Home Club" was a name jokingly coined by past students. He seems to know much more but is tight-lipped. Strange, if you ask me.

What's also strange is that nobody else seems to know about this club. Apparantly this has been around for a while, yet this is the first time I've heard of it. I can think of probably twenty or so other people who would love to join a club like this. It's very private.

That's too much thinking on my end, anyway. Today was the second day of school. Nothing much happened besides more orientation, and some early homework. I even have two tests assigned by the end of the week. As expected of Palomar.

I'm more or less getting along with my peers. I like to keep to myself.

I wonder how the other two are doing? I wonder what's on their minds? I thought about striking up a conversation but decided against it.

It doesn't really matter, anyway.

After a lone exchange between Claire and Mr. Kafka, our time wraps up.

Time to go home.