It was the beginning of the school year and the cool, brisk wind of the cloudy mornings let one feel summer had left and was not to return for the rest of the year. Daniel was walking down the old maple-lined path that would eventually lead to the Brighton schoolhouse one Wednesday morning. He carried himself straight and proud, had his books skilfully flung over his shoulder and held the end of the leather strap that securely bound them while they were bouncing off his lower back with every step he took. His other hand rested elegantly in the pocket of his trousers. The morning dew still hung on the…