My god. I am an idiot.
Today, I took the SAT.
That is to say, today, I took a quarter of the SAT.
I got kicked out.
Let me explain myself.
Section 2. Math. There’s a question that particularly bothers me, but I get it at the last second. I proudly circle the letter on the test booklet. I begin to fill in the circle.
“TIME!” the proctor calls.
I continue filling in the bubble.
“I said time, young lady.” She glares at me, the crows feet at the corner of her eyes deepening in suspicion.
I drop the pencil, bubble half filled.
Section 3 starts. Section 3 continues. I finish Section 3. I sit there staring at the half-filled bubble. The half-filled bubble of sections past is bothering me. It’s calling my name. Fill me in, it urges me. Fiilllllllll meeeeeee….
I fill in the half-filled bubble.
I freeze, my hand caught in the sinful act, the shameful act. I look up.
“That is not the correct section.”
I say nothing. What can I say? My hand is still poised to bubble, the tip of the pencil pressed against number 18 of section 2. I’m in shock. I’m in denial. This isn’t happening.
“I’m going to have to confiscate your test.”
She’s what? What’s happening? Why am I here? What is life?
I say nothing. My peers turn around to look at the culprit, the idiot caught cheating, the dishonest, scraggly, cad. Me.
I pack my things in the stifling silence. I’m still in denial as she collects my booklet, the past hour-and-a-half’s worth of work. But really, it’s more than that. It’s the many hours I spent cramming’ work, it’s the $51 swiped from my mother’s credit card, it’s the past month I spent gearing up for the test. It’s my pride and reputation as an honest student. I didn’t cheat!, I want to scream. I want to reach into their heads and extricate the judging thoughts dancing in their minds; reach in and sit them down and defend myself.
I suffer the walk of shame to the door. The walk of shame continues to the front of the testing center. I call my mother on the phone of shame and make the phone call of shame. I am dismissed. The bench of shame is waiting for me. I sink into it and let the light drizzle of shame that’s beginning to sprinkle hit me. I sit in my misery, fully aware of my iPod-less state of shame. I wait.
And that was the end of that. Of life. Of everything. Of the universe.