June 19, 2019
You wake up. The sunlight pours through the window and into your room. You crawl out of bed and head towards the bathroom. You wash your face. You brush your teeth. You catch a glimpse of your deodorant. You decide not to put it on. After all, you are a sophomore boy.
You make your way to the kitchen. You skip breakfast. This is Scarsdale.
You arrive at school and sit down in your first-period class. All is well. The weather is warm, the ice cream truck is parked outside, and it’s the last day of classes. It’s the last day of classes, you realize. The panic sets in. After classes come finals. How did you forget about finals?
Your teacher is holding a last day review session for your final. Why aren’t they having a party? The show-off raises their hand to ask a question. They know the answer. They know you know they know the answer. They ask anyways. The silence cuts you like a knife as your teacher stalls, struggling to remember material neither of you has touched since October. The final is three days away.
You hear the bell ring, and you hurry along to your next class. There are bagels on the table. There is a disproportionate amount of cream cheese. This is a party. You no longer want the party. “I brought you guys some food to help you destress,” says your teacher. The bagels are not working. You are still very stressed.
You don’t remember the rest of the day. Three days away is all you can think about. You make a study guide. You try to make a study guide. You search for your notes. There are no notes. Where are the notes? You write down formulas you already know. There is no educational value but you feel better.
You open up Netflix. You deserve this. You check the clock. It is midnight. You started watching at 4 p.m. Where did the hours go? “The test is three whole days away,” the devil on your shoulder whispers, “you have time.” “You only have three days left,” the angel on the other shoulder urges, “you need to study.” The two bicker. You don’t know who to listen to. The timer runs out and the next episode plays. Ah, yes. Season 3.
You walk into school. It is the day of the final. The hallways are hot. The classrooms are hot. Everything is hot. You look at the first question on the test. It does not make sense. You move to question two. It also does not make sense. You see question three. You are unsure if you even took this class. You look around to see if anyone else is freaking out. They are not. This is hell.
Two hours pass and the proctor tells you to put your pencils down. You realize you filled out the Scantron in pen. This cannot get any worse. There are people comparing answers. You did not get any of them. You are sweating. “It’s okay,” you tell yourself, “I’m done and it’s finally summer.” Your phone buzzes. Your friend asks for a ride to the math final tomorrow. You forgot about this final. This is how you die.