I remember the first time I felt something wasn’t quite right about the world. It must have been elementary school recess, in about the fifth grade, when the unwritten rules of four square were revealed to the trembling, nervous, kid version of myself. My best friend had recently moved across the Atlantic Ocean from me, and for the first in my life (but definitely not the last) I felt lonely and miserable. Most recesses I spent alone, trying to convince myself that staying firmly rooted in my imagination was preferable to participating in the power dynamics of human relationships.

Admittedly I wasn’t very good at four square (and probably never will be), and this certainly contributed to how much of my time in the game was spent waiting in line, gifting me the time to leisurely observe the match before me. I became curious about why certain players were in the first and second square positions more often than other, often equally athletically endowed, children. As I watched, I began to notice a correlation with popularity, not just in the upper positions, but in third and fourth square as well. Often the upper and lower squared leaders had an existing social connection; they either moved in a friend group together, were friends, or were ‘dating’.

In my elementary school foursquare had two different sets of rules: the first were set and fundamental to the game (can’t bounce out of bounds, can’t cross the line before you throw), the second were infinitely flexible, and were determined by whoever stood in square one.