Exeter in a Century
BY ANGELA HE ‘27 and ANDREW YANG ‘27
In 100 years, the world will be filled with advanced underground transportation systems, erratic weather patterns, and advanced AI technology. The Academy’s adaptation to this new environment will be by renovating campus facilities, adding new courses, and implementing thrilling AI technology into its classrooms. A thrilling adventure awaits. Welcome to Phillips Exeter in the year 2125.
DATE: Jan. 16, 2125
LOCATION: 20 Main St., Exeter, N.H.
Students coin the new underground trains of Exeter as the “E-Trains.” They board the E-Train at 7:58 a.m. and ride over to the Academy Building for their 8:00 a.m. class. Sleep-deprived students hug the poles and nod themselves off to sleep. Others stare into their personal VR glasses, waving their hands around and gawking at each other. Suddenly, the train stops.
“There’s no way,” a student groans.
This is an unexpected train malfunction. Please stay calm and remain in your seat. Campus safety is on its way.
“I got three dickies already! Imagine if I get another one because of an E-Train malfunction!” a student cries at the AI robot.
Hello, let me help you address your concerns. According to the E-book, “Students receiving four unexcused absences within a term will be placed on Restrictions for two weeks.”
A half-asleep student, disturbed by the sudden commotion, raises his head. “Oh, are we there yet?”
Walking by a spacious classroom with rows of hammocks and beeping machinery, you can hear a symphony of snores. Outside the door, there is a glowing sign: SLEEP 501- In this accelerated sequence, students develop better sleep habits by challenging themselves in multiple ways. How do you sleep in hammocks? How do you power nap on a table? What are the qualities of a good pillow? Students answer these profound questions and apply the techniques in class. Sleep quality is measured with AI machinery that monitors students’ brain waves during sleep. Prerequisite: SLEEP 400. Offered: winter term
Students walk out of the classroom, yawning and rubbing their eyes. “I need to practice more sleep to get an A this term. The AI claims that I need 27% more deep sleep,” a student mumbles.
“Nah, you don’t actually need to practice that much. Just go for a 10-mile run before the next test. You’ll be really tired, but there you have it: more deep sleep,” a friend recommends.
The snow starts falling at 3:07 p.m., exactly on schedule. At first, it seems harmless, even pleasant. Fat, soft flakes drift down from the sky, dusting the quad in a perfect layer of white. Students pause on their walk to class and glance up with mild amusement. However, within minutes, the snow intensifies, and the flakes grow faster, heavier, sharper, and shift sideways in sudden gusts of wind. By 3:15 p.m., the entire campus is engulfed in what could only be called a manufactured blizzard.
The artificial weather machine perched above the library like a type of futuristic gargoyle hums loudly, and its blades spin against the darkening sky. Winter Mode Activated, it announces in a cheerful monotone, completely oblivious to the chaos created. By now, snow drifts have begun piling up against the dorms, and McConnell quad has become a slushy, ankle-deep mess that makes walking nearly impossible. A senior in flip-flops, caught off guard by the sudden storm, wades miserably across the quad, each step accompanied by a wet squelch.
“Is this better or worse than last year’s perfect spring day incident?” someone reflects. Everyone’s minds return to when the machine had accidentally sent pollen levels into orbit.
By nightfall, the snow stops as abruptly as it has begun. The quad is silent except for the occasional groan of the machine powering down. Its job is complete. A few brave students venture outside to assess the damage: stray shoes stuck in frozen puddles, snowbanks swallowing entire bikes, and a single Croc that had somehow made its way onto the roof of EPAC.
The administration sends out a mass email applauding the “resounding success” of the weather machine and its ability to “provide a seasonally immersive experience.”
All we can do is hope the machine won’t malfunction again until spring.
By the year 2125, the Academy had, indeed, found an innovative solution to the weather problem. However, a solution to the campus floods remains a mystery. Exeter’s campus sits on what is essentially a sprawling island. Rising sea levels have turned Water Street into actual water, and the Squamscott River now laps at the steps of Phillips Hall.
On a typical day, students can be seen navigating the campus waterways in motorized gondolas. The gondolas are equipped with GPS systems that malfunction frequently, resulting in unplanned detours to the dining hall when students are trying to get to math class. A few daring seniors have even taken to building their own rafts. However, those are now banned after the administration saw a dozen dining trays floating around in the quad.
A gondola tips slightly as a student leans forward to grab their bag, and the water sloshes against its sides. “Can you paddle a little faster? I’m going to be late for English,” they call to the AI-powered gondolier, which beeps in response instead of speeding up. Around them, a group of preps climb out of their boat, and one loses a shoe in the water. The quad, now a lagoon, contains docks jutting out where pathways used to be, and the faint squawk of seagulls echo overhead.
“Another high tide, huh?” an upper calls out as the gondola bumps awkwardly into a lamppost barely above water level. “Better than last week. At least no one has rafted themselves into the dining hall yet.”
The air smells of damp wood and seaweed. A salty breeze carries the sound of a distant faculty member yelling about a tied paddleboard to the Assembly Hall railing. A drone buzzes overhead and attempts to chase away the growing flock of seagulls circling the dorm roofs.
After a long day of classes, students return to their dorms, drifting to sleep with the lullaby of crashing waves. The dorm is mostly quiet, save for the faint voices of AI assistants.
Your deep sleep levels are 24% below average. A reminder to go to bed echoes through rooms, explaining how data suggests that lacking eight hours of sleep can potentially lead to: type 2 diabetes, heart attacks, strokes, colorectal cancer, or dementia.
As students climb into their beds to practice their pre-sleep ritual from SLEEP 501, a loud beeping noise echoes. Blinding white light flashes outside with the two artificial suns in the sky. 10 seconds later, the suns disappear, and the campus returns to a cool, serene night.
As the students finally began to drift off, the AI voice chimed softly: Reminder- you have an 8:00 a.m. class tomorrow. Please prepare your gondola and plan your tunnel route accordingly.