The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the glowing numbers of my alarm clock. 7:00 A.M. After a few fleeting seconds of peace, I suddenly remembered… The math test–that math test–was in exactly two hours and 35 minutes. Third bell. My heartbeat picked up its pace. I had planned to study the entire night, but instead, I accidentally fell asleep. I thought I just closed my eyes for a second… and now… 7:00 A.M.
I quickly got up and grabbed my notes, my hands shaking as I tried to flip through the pages. The quadratic formula. It stared back at me, mocking my panic with its confusing letters, numbers, and signs, a language I didn’t understand.
My panic escalated. Breakfast? No. Who had time for food when an F on my report card was imminent? I got to school and the morning was a blur. I stumbled through the hallways, my mind trying to recite the equation as if it were some cursed incantation.
English. The clock was taunting me–I could hear its ominous ticks over my teacher’s voice, counting down my time like a bomb. I scribbled the formula over and over again, the letters and numbers dancing across the page like a nightmare on paper.
History. The test was painstakingly near now, every second drawing me closer to the inevitable. I heard the faint whispers of the other students talking about the test next bell—all normal, calm, saying it was “easy”—how could they be so relaxed? I was already quivering in distress, trying to remember the formula.
Math. I dragged my feet as the math room loomed before me. The desks were in rows and columns now, with the test papers laying face down at each seat, like tombstones in a graveyard. As I sat, my fear was taunting me, clawing away at my throat. The bell rang and I shot up in my seat, already accepting my defeat.
“Begin,” the teacher said, and I turned the paper over.
Blank. My mind was completely blank.
