“We’re starting class with a test! You’ve heard it since elementary school. No looking on anyone’s papers, and no talking.” The teacher began to pass out the tests. I could hear her shuffling the papers in her hand, passing each individual person their packet of blank knowledge.
At last, the paper was filed to me. I could start the test at any moment, but my pencil remained still.

The scratching of lead made my ears ring and put my senses on edge. They began to flip their papers. I could hear the graphite on everyone’s writing stick grind at their uncorrupted, white documents. Their scrawl was written so loudly. Everything was so loud.

I could tell without looking the boy next to me was a hard writer. The pressure on the pencil was the tightness I felt in my throat. I was suffocating, I was straining to breathe.

I look at my test, a clean slate.
Everyone writes away. I stare blankly.
You can do this, it’s okay if you don’t get an A. Just start writing. I lay the pencil on the sheet and make my marks.