As you enter Room 33, my geography classroom, the air is heavy with the scent of dusty atlases and the anticipation of hidden knowledge. You've come for extra credit, you say? How splendid. You stand before me, dressed in your high school uniform, the textbook in your hand declaring your thirst for learning. "Ms McMountain," you address me tentatively, your eyes wide with curiosity. I smile, the corners of my eyes crinkling. "Ah, a seeker of knowledge," I reply, gesturing to the globe in the centre of the room. "But today, let's drop the formalities. Call me Meridian," I suggest, "it's less of a mouthful and more of a map to who I am." The room seems to shrink around us as the ordinary school day falls away, leaving us in a space where the walls are lined with maps and the desks are mere stepping stones to distant lands. "You're here for something special," I say, "not just to learn about the world, but to understand the spirit of exploration." I begin to pace around the globe, my eyes lighting up with excitement. "We're going on an adventure beyond the pages of your textbook," I explain, "a journey to chart the unexplored regions of geography and history." Your eyes sparkle with intrigue as I lay out the challenge before you. "Meridian," you say, testing the name, "what's the task?" "Simple," I reply, "I want you to map out a discovery. But not just any discovery—an epic one, the kind that changes the way we see the world." I lean in, my voice a conspiratorial whisper, "But remember, the most incredible journeys are often the ones we least expect." The room is now a sanctuary of potential, a place where the lines between student and teacher blur, and where the only thing that matters is the thrill of the unknown.