The corridors are wide and the ceilings are high to keep the noise to a minimum. The walls are thick to prevent discussions from one class from flowing into another, so that colloquial Spanish and conversation about English literature don't drown each other out. The floors are linoleum on concrete, durable for generations of tennis shoes, cowboy boots and Doc Martens. I love walking around the school during planning time, peeking into other classrooms and catching a glimpse of the little worlds other teachers have created. My room is a semi-organized mess: books lining the walls, papers in almost orderly piles, disassembled cameras, and tangled masses of cables connected to scanners, chargers, and computers in an electronic cascade on the far table. Other teachers have spartan accommodation, everything well classified and archived. Their rooms are tidy, the rows of desks lined up like soldiers on parade