The pen taps on the desk, waiting for my answer as the blank paper looms before me. The clock faintly ticks as I scramble to read over the next paragraph. The words blur together as the tears fill up my eyes. What to do? What to do? My pen taps harder on the desk. I look around at the rest of victims; they hadn’t noticed me. They still diligently were filling in the ovals of their individual sheets.
Mine was blank.
My parents are going to kill me. I wasn’t going to get into Ivy League, and at this point not even a community school! I scratched my pencil against the scan-tron at random. A, D, E, B…how should I know all of these answers? They didn’t make sense. Was this in English?
“Time!” The proctor called out, “Put your pencils down.”
My hands shook as I placed my murder weapon down, for this score was going to be the death of me. Maybe I could get a point for writing my name.
But I didn’t even do that.