The End by D. C., Pembroke, MA
My pulse raced - and I don't mean the kind of race when Mr. Hottie Lifeguard gives you a little smile. I am talking about a coronary waiting to happen. The feeling in my stomach was at that point of nausea all kids get when they think about their parents making out, but worse (if that's possible). I was sweating so profusely I began to fear I would drown in my own perspiration. I couldn't control my actions or my thoughts. I just hoped I wouldn't fall out of my chair or break out into hysterical nervous laughter.
The tension in the room was enough to kill me, if my own stress didn't make me jump out the window first. How was I going to face them after this? I was positive that everyone's opinion of me would by severely altered and I would deservingly become the social outcast of my high school. Any intention I had ever had of becoming a success was, without a doubt, gone forever. I had blown it, big time. Now it was just a matter of moments that separated my happy existence and the ominous future. This was it; my life was coming to an all-too- abrupt halt. At least I had been happy for a few years, I consoled myself.
The eulogy I was formulating in my head was abruptly interrupted by the horrifying sound that pierced my ears - the guidance counselor called my name. I numbly glanced around me, but my efforts to collect myself were embarrassingly in vain. I lumbered out of the wooden chair that teetered backwards into the table after my clumsy ascent. As I began the horrific and petrifying journey to where my future was already determined I felt dozens of glaring eyes bite into the back of my already-overflowing head. I was prepared now. I had led a good life and had to accept this as my fate and hope someday I would come to accept my station in life. With a farewell to my old friends I reached with a trembling hand for the white sheet of paper entitled the Practice SAT.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.