In high school, I spent my summer months at comically uncool camps: two visits to a number theory program in Boston, then a summer in Ithaca reading Montaigne and experimenting in adolescent self-governance (no, really, not an innuendo). I learned how to pack my bags for the East Coast’s thick humidity, how to rapidly kindle acquaintanceships, how to sporadically text my loved ones that I missed them—in other words, how to disappear.