The night before was filled with the sounds of my fingers dancing across a keyboard and the scratching of ink pens filling in the answers to a plethora of answers. Sleep tried to creep itself upon me, a predator to my conciseness. I, however, shook the urge to give in to the persuading rhetoric drowsiness whispered into my ears in the name of maintaining a “B” in Geometry, a feat that I found pride in. So far, the quarter was going wonderfully, I had high grades in all my classes and the excessive studying I was currently participating in would keep it that way. Or so I thought.

The next morning, I woke up rather nicely seeing as I had stayed up so late. If I would have known the day would have ended the way it did, perhaps I would not have been so vainglorious that morning.

The usual call of my mother rang from outside my bedroom walls, “Time for breakfast,” it called, “Hurry or you’ll be late!” This usually would have been most agitating, for I would rather have stayed wrapped in the warmness of my comforter, but my hubris led me otherwise. I kicked the covers from me and scrambled out of bed.

“Coming!” I yelled as I ran down the stairs while collecting a previously written paper on India. I was happy and nothing would change that. In this case, not even the shortage Cocoa Puffs could taint my optimism  – do not think, though, I was not tempted to give up my happiness in light of this.

So, I left the house and waited patiently to get to school. The wave of department, I later  realized, sealed my fate: failure. I passed through the double doors with smooth confidence, and, within my arrogance, the path I took to first bell was rather short, for my journey was filled internal praise. I sat through creative writing and took down all the information I may need on non-fiction writing. A quick lecture on media reviews and what they entail, and it was time. The arsenal of mathematical formulas my army and I had compiled were about to be handy against our enemy, but we failed to realize Geometry had easily seen through our defenses and was, in every way, superior.  

The battle getting ready to occur was easily compared to that of Rocky and Ivan Drago, Marty McFly and Biff, or even maybe Luke and Darth Vader. To those who have no idea how these events went: Rocky stayed down too long, Marty Mcfly was almost erased from existence, and Luke walked away without a hand.  

 I stepped into the Geometry classroom, the sea of yellow calculators engulfed me as I sat in my desk. The teacher informed us of the test’s length, but I shook it off, after all I had studied.

    “Good luck!” She said as she passed the test booklets. I received my test, the very test that went so badly it elicited an entire memoir.

As I flipped open my booklet I smiled at the problem, for its simplicity was humorous. The only steps I needed to take was merely plugging numerals into the surface area formula. I moved on. The next problem was harder, but I figured I could figure it out. I tried to recall problems reviewed in class but drew a blank. Surely, I was not the only one who did not know the problem? I looked at my fellow classmates for proof and found that they were way past the problem, for a definite ring encircled the correct answer. My optimism was strong, so I moved on the to the next problem – skip – and the next – skip- and by the time I had reached an answer I comprehended I had reached question thirty: over half of the booklet. I looked at the clock and came to the most reasonable explanation possible regarding how time had moved so quickly: her clock was wrong! The batteries had perhaps  died the day before. I regret to inform you that the clock’s life had not ended and was, unfortunately, still ticking towards my academic blow. Tick. Tick Tick.

The red second hand moved closer and closer to the time of dismissal, the minor chirping of time passing rang in my ears. I flipped, hopelessly, through the test. My pencil raced across problems, scrambling to circle answers, any answers. So far, the test booklet had a total of four definite answers, the rest was incorrect and rushed.

    “Whatever has not been finished is done,” my teacher said to the class, “hand your test booklets in.” I stood up with no justification for my forgetfulness and tried to calm myself. I stood up and turned in the grade that was the rusty anchor of my GPA, the after effect drowning it in a river of disappointment.   

I hold the largest  respect for Geometry and its aid in our lives, but I realize I am no good at it. For hours I had studied, so the test was rather demoralizing. After  a week of internal contemplation,though, I came to ease, for I realize we all are different. God made us all unique. So, yes, I had a bad day, but I am thankful for what I can do rather than getting trapped in what I can not, so even the thirty-eight I held in my hands was rather fine in the end.