Music floats into her ears, soft and hummingly, smooth and melodic. The teacher roaming the rows, delicatly returning a thick packet of paper, marked to perfection. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Partial Credit. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Every student looks up from their work to gaze at the final mark of their tedious labor. Eyes falling back to the sheet in front of them. Elegantly drapped in disapointment and shame. Hours of work, days of confusion, a final recollection of achievement, washed away with the simple swipe of a pen. 

Looking around, I witness my classmates struggling to find a thread of motivation left in their souls. Twelve years we have spent together, all 200 of us. Mixed and Matched into different classes, we all know the other. Just another month and we'll be forgotten memories of each others conscience. Snapping out of my gaze, with a delibrate shock of movement as my paper dangles in front of my eyes. I felt my body tense, not sure to look in fear whatever confidence I had for this unit will wash away. 

Reluctantly I take the paper, and glance to the top for my final mark. 26/50. Of course. I look around to see others gazing at my facial expression. They all knew to read my eyes. I set my head down and squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to push away the tears of this horrible horrible class. Now, down to one last chance, the Final Exam. The last twelve years of my life hang on this one test. Pass, and I'll graduate with the others who've dealt with the overrated expectation of society. Fail, and I'll be sucked back next year, to reattempt this class and be forced to see those who once looked up to me as a role model, but now see me as a disgrace. 

I place a hand gently on my phone and raise the tune of my saving grace. Soft melodic tunes turn into my shield and wall. The only thing I have left to save me from myself.