The bell rings loudly, signaling the end of lunch. Suddenly, the hallways are humming with ­activity as students head to their next class. Doors slam and voices are heard everywhere. I walk to the top of the staircase where I stand faced with two choices – the left holds a glorious path to foreign cultures and literature, or the right leads to a world of intricate symbols and theory. As much as I wished to go left, my feet turn right, through the second door, Room 246. There, teens are scattered around desks, chatting happily with friends, a few tapping on their smartphones.
The final bell sounds, and suddenly everyone dashes to their desk and the teacher walks to the front. In his hand I notice a stack of papers. He explains that last week's Calculus tests have been graded, and begins to hand them back. Brief memories flit through my mind – the countless hours of scrutinizing the textbook, every problem done more times than I can recall. Every formula memorized, every practice problem solved. Around my desk, I can hear others begin to celebrate as their tests are returned.
“Look! I got an A! And an apple sticker!”
“Wow, my highest score yet!”
“How can anyone fail this test?”
“What did you get? I got a star!”
The joyous exclamations give me hope. I remember test day well. The problems were understandable, the formulas simple, and nothing seemed impossible. The teacher arrives at my desk, handing my exam back, face down. I close my eyes, pray for the best, and quickly flip it over. Dozens of emotions run through my mind. Confusion. Shock. Misery. Depression. Hurt. I purse my lips, careful to keep my expression neutral as I shove the test into my binder.
“Hey! How did you do?” a friend asks, her face lighting up in happiness. I notice the faint outline of a sticker on the first page of her test.
“I did great,” I murmur, plastering a fake smile on my face. I briefly wonder whether she will notice the change in my mood.
Luckily, my friend nods, and turns her attention to the posting of the class grades. There is already a swarm of teens around the sheet. I hear happy words and see bright smiles. I wait a few moments until the crowd thins out. I trudge over, careful to avoid betraying any emotion. There it is. My new grade. Its ugly curves mock me. “You will never get any better! You are a failure! College? What a joke,” it taunts in a sarcastic voice.
I hold back tears as I take my seat. I slowly pull out paper and a pencil as I wait for the day's math lesson to begin.
The ride home is no better. Two of my friends continuously discuss the math test. I try to avoid listening, hoping to contain my tears until I get home. I shove in my earbuds, but my iPod decides to play the most depressing songs in my library. It seems to sense my mood.
When I arrive home, I say a weak good-bye to my friends. As I step toward the garage keypad, the tears began to flow. By the time I turn off the alarm, they are falling faster and faster. When I reach my room, there is no stopping them.
It is a mixture of anger and sorrow. A desire to break something and watch it shatter while sobbing on my carpet. Why can't I succeed? Why am I always a failure? I can't think of a time when I succeeded at anything. The science competition: I failed to place in the top ten, unlike every other member of my team. The PSAT score: even after months of studying, it was nothing but a horrible disappointment and many hours of tears. My favorite English essay of the semester: according to my teacher it apparently had disconnected paragraphs with no central point. The physics test: the easiest test of the semester is yet another miss. The community service club I tried to start: no one came to the meetings. It seems like no teen cares about helping others. The speech competition last month: I didn't make it into the final round.
Why am I such an imbecile? These classes can't be that difficult – everyone else seems fine! I am nothing but a disappointment in life. I need to go to a good college. I need to get a good job. But without spectacular grades or extracurriculars, no college will ­accept me.
Oddly enough, quotes are my inspiration in life. A famous Japanese martial artist, Morihei Ueshiba, once said, “Failure is the key to success; each mistake teaches us something.” Time and time again I fail. Stress, tears, and sweat are a continuous cycle. As every test passes by, I run out of chances as my grades fall faster and faster. Sadly, real life doesn't always have happy endings. I constantly wonder to myself, will this failure ever lead to success?