they can turn on or something? Even crappy music would be better than nothing. I look down at the test. OK. Well, maybe I canât do this.
Look at the clock. An hour and a half. Look at the test. Names and dates and laws and wow this is going to be a really long ninety minutes.
I read question number one. I donât know who signed the Treaty of Versailles. I should have read the chapters at least. Reading is hard, though. Takes time and energy and concentration and itâs just so much easier to not do it. Lines and letters everywhere, fighting to make sense but mostly just donât. Takes forever just to get through a page.
Essay questions. Good. Do those first. Get to choose. Gross domestic product driving decisions about rebuilding after the war. Shit. OK. Back to question one. Is it hot? I move. Focus. Read the question. Has to be some guys that I know. Perfume? Is Jack in front of me wearing cologne or something? Smells awful. OK, twist around again. Look out the window. Is the sun going down yet? How long is ninety minutes? Canât do this. No, focus. Read question two, you can go back to number one. Shit. Takes forever to read, the question is really long and has a lot of different people in it and I donât know who any of them are. Canât do this. I grind my back into the hard plastic of the chair, slamming my feet into the ground. Good, got question two. OK, focus. Question three. Need to leave. But the letters arenât coming together and that cologne is going to make me sneeze and I can almost hear that clock, that clock thatâs meaningless because the ninety minutes is just for everyone else, and for me, with extra time, itâs a life-sentence. I have to stay here until Iâm done. Forever and ever and ever and now the clock is ringing in my ears and the lines are jumping all over the page and the smell, oh God the smell of that cologne is riding up my nose and rotting my brain from the inside out.
I push up from the desk. The feet of the chair scratching at the tile floor is the only sound in the room. Walking to the front of the room, I put the test down on the teacherâs desk. âIâm done.â
âBut itâs only been fifteen minutes,â she says. Her eyes look sad, worried, almost. âTake it back to the desk, Tyler. Give it another try, you can sit in the hall if you want.â
âLater.â I wave as I walk out the door, sneakers wrecking the perfect silence of the empty hall, drowning out the clear notes of sorrow in her protests.
Â
Whereâs Mom? Sheâs supposed to be home by now. I sent her a text. OK, three texts. She canât forget. She has to drive me. The Department of Motor Vehicles closes at five. Itâs 4.15 and if I donât get there soon I wonât have time to take the test and wonât get my license. Need my license. Need it today.
I call her cell and walk up the driveway. Donât see her car. Donât see her coming. Third ring. No answer. Where the hell is she? Why does she always flake out like this? Fifth ring. No car. No answer.
I pace. Up and down and up and down the driveway. Voicemail. Again. I hang up. Dial her work number. Pick up pick up pick up. Have to get there. She canât forget, she canât. Reminded her every day for the past week. Hell, probably two weeks.
Third ring. No answer. Not at her desk. I text her again. Dammit, Mom! She canât just forget like this. She canât but she will. She totally will. I kick the side of the house. Kick it again. And again.
The phone buzzes. I look down. Mom. She sends me a text:
Sorry, I completely forgot. But things are really busy here, I have to work on this case. Be back late tonight. Maybe we can get your license next week?
Why canât just for one day I have a normal freaking life with a normal mom whoâ¦
âTyler!â A car pulls into the driveway. Rick. Thank God. âArenât you supposed to be
Look at the clock. An hour and a half. Look at the test. Names and dates and laws and wow this is going to be a really long ninety minutes.
I read question number one. I donât know who signed the Treaty of Versailles. I should have read the chapters at least. Reading is hard, though. Takes time and energy and concentration and itâs just so much easier to not do it. Lines and letters everywhere, fighting to make sense but mostly just donât. Takes forever just to get through a page.
Essay questions. Good. Do those first. Get to choose. Gross domestic product driving decisions about rebuilding after the war. Shit. OK. Back to question one. Is it hot? I move. Focus. Read the question. Has to be some guys that I know. Perfume? Is Jack in front of me wearing cologne or something? Smells awful. OK, twist around again. Look out the window. Is the sun going down yet? How long is ninety minutes? Canât do this. No, focus. Read question two, you can go back to number one. Shit. Takes forever to read, the question is really long and has a lot of different people in it and I donât know who any of them are. Canât do this. I grind my back into the hard plastic of the chair, slamming my feet into the ground. Good, got question two. OK, focus. Question three. Need to leave. But the letters arenât coming together and that cologne is going to make me sneeze and I can almost hear that clock, that clock thatâs meaningless because the ninety minutes is just for everyone else, and for me, with extra time, itâs a life-sentence. I have to stay here until Iâm done. Forever and ever and ever and now the clock is ringing in my ears and the lines are jumping all over the page and the smell, oh God the smell of that cologne is riding up my nose and rotting my brain from the inside out.
I push up from the desk. The feet of the chair scratching at the tile floor is the only sound in the room. Walking to the front of the room, I put the test down on the teacherâs desk. âIâm done.â
âBut itâs only been fifteen minutes,â she says. Her eyes look sad, worried, almost. âTake it back to the desk, Tyler. Give it another try, you can sit in the hall if you want.â
âLater.â I wave as I walk out the door, sneakers wrecking the perfect silence of the empty hall, drowning out the clear notes of sorrow in her protests.
Â
Whereâs Mom? Sheâs supposed to be home by now. I sent her a text. OK, three texts. She canât forget. She has to drive me. The Department of Motor Vehicles closes at five. Itâs 4.15 and if I donât get there soon I wonât have time to take the test and wonât get my license. Need my license. Need it today.
I call her cell and walk up the driveway. Donât see her car. Donât see her coming. Third ring. No answer. Where the hell is she? Why does she always flake out like this? Fifth ring. No car. No answer.
I pace. Up and down and up and down the driveway. Voicemail. Again. I hang up. Dial her work number. Pick up pick up pick up. Have to get there. She canât forget, she canât. Reminded her every day for the past week. Hell, probably two weeks.
Third ring. No answer. Not at her desk. I text her again. Dammit, Mom! She canât just forget like this. She canât but she will. She totally will. I kick the side of the house. Kick it again. And again.
The phone buzzes. I look down. Mom. She sends me a text:
Sorry, I completely forgot. But things are really busy here, I have to work on this case. Be back late tonight. Maybe we can get your license next week?
Why canât just for one day I have a normal freaking life with a normal mom whoâ¦
âTyler!â A car pulls into the driveway. Rick. Thank God. âArenât you supposed to be