Quaack Prep -

The cafeteria serves only soup. But every soup—minestrone, tomato, mushroom, miso—has a single, perfect hard-boiled egg floating in it. Tradition. No one remembers why. No one questions it.

The students—diverse in species, united in confusion—wear blazers the color of mallard heads: deep iridescent green for seniors, muddy brown for juniors, and for the freshmen, a pale, fuzzy yellow that fades to white by the second week. Their motto, stitched inside every lapel, reads: STAY WEIRD. STAY TOGETHER. quaack prep

The first thing you notice about Quaack Prep is the door. It’s not a big, intimidating gate like the other academies have. It’s a small, arched wooden door, painted a soft, pond-scum green, with a brass duck-shaped knocker. Above it, carved in curly letters: ENTER AS STRANGE, LEAVE AS FLOCK. The cafeteria serves only soup

There’s a hidden pond behind the library. Students go there when the pressure of constant quirkiness gets too heavy. They sit in silence, feet dangling over the water, and watch the real ducks paddle by—ducks who never had to apply, never had to write a personal essay about a time they felt like an odd duck, never had to memorize the five stages of flock formation (Denial, Splashing, Synchronization, The Long Pause, Grace). No one remembers why

In Ethics of the Flock, Madame Beakly poses the central question: “If one duck quacks alone in a forest, and no one is there to misunderstand it—does it still start a rumor?” The class debates for three hours. No one wins. Everyone leaves feeling vaguely seen.