My head swirled with confusion, my brain jammed with questions. My cheeks transitioned into a bright red and my hands trembled even more as I tried to steady them. Beads of sweat formed on my upper lip. Oh boy. I thought to myself. What have I gotten myself into?

The humid summer hair crept in through the open window. I scrolled through numerous Facebook posts from friends who weren’t really my friends. “7th Grad3 $wag!” and “Gonna rock 7th gradeeee!!” spread like a plague throughout my news feed. Groaning in boredom, I closed the meaningless tab. I stood up from the chair, and meandered into the living room. Just then, my mother opened the door with mail in her hand and a large toothy grin on her face. “What’s up?” I asked, curiosity flooding through my mind. “Mail,” she laughed. Seeing my confusion, she continued, “for you!” The curiosity become thicker, I snatched the envelope from her hand. The letter had been previously torn open, meaning my mother had already read it. My sweaty fingers clumsily took to letter out of the envelope. I opened up the rather thick paper and glued my eyes to its words, occasionally mumbling some incoherent phrase. My mother stood up from the anticipation and blurted, “You’re going to join, right? Oh, please tell me you’ll join!” The realization sinking in I said, “But I’m terrible at math! Why in the world would they want me in the honors class?” Her smile dropped and her light tone turned heavy and serious. “Meliss, they wouldn’t put you in the class if they didn’t think you were qualified.” I didn’t reply. I was too busy gawking at the letter. “Please tell me you’ll join,” she pleaded for the second time. “Okay! All right, I’ll give it a shot,” I replied, the realization still sinking into my mind.

Before I knew it, the school year had begun. Three weeks into the year and the first math test was quickly coming up. I had spent some of the night reviewing, feeling rather confident. I had flipped through the book, recalling phrases and formulas. I checked my practice problems I deemed that thirty minutes was a reasonable time for studying math. Besides, it’s a little tricky to study a certain section of math. All it is are the same problems, but different numbers. If I was able to get one problem right, I could get the other ones right.

Walking into the room I reviewed formulas in my head once again. The bell rang and I took my seat. Is it hot in here? It feels hot. Yeah, it’s definitely hot in here. Why does she keep it so hot? Man, this is uncomfortable. I thought as I took off my thing green sweatshirt. I fanned my face with my hand and felt the redness growing in my cheeks. Feeling completely insecure, I look at the other students. They didn’t have a problem! My blush grew larger and I took a deep breath. The teacher walked in with an inviting smile across her face. I took out my pencil and waiting for that wretched packet.

A girl in front of me turned around and handed me the test. Taking it with my infamous trembling hands, I turned around and handed the extras off. Flipping through the pages I absorbed the problems. Oh boy. I thought. Whoa, okay, you got this! Just relax! Wait… are my cheeks on fire? Man, it feels like it! I pressed my fingertips on the side of my cheek. The icy tips against my boiling skin felt refreshing. Looking back on the first problem, I mentally prepared for a problem I had never seen before. After taking a very long blink, I picked up my pencil. Hey! I know this problem! We did a problem just like that on the board a few days ago! I rubbed my sweaty palms against my jeans and got to work. After forty grueling minutes, I abruptly stood up and turned in the test.

Next class, I walked in with a little more confidence than before. I walked over to my desk with my head held high. I took a seat, and instead of freaking out at the abnormally warm room I embraced it. I just couldn’t shake the feeling I had done well on the test! I waited patiently for the teacher to walk in with a preppy smile like she always does. This time she slowly walked in, her face stone cold. Suddenly, I felt my stomach drop. My confidence evaporated along with my slight smile. “Well,” she began, breaking the awkward silence. “I don’t think you’ll be happy with your results,” she announced solemnly. The pit in my stomach widened, along with my eyes. “Now, when I call your name you can come up and take the test. Please keep in mind you can only retake the test if you failed.” The tips of my ears were burning from anxiety. When my name was called, I slowly got up and walked over the front of the room. She handed me the test. Face down. That was never a good sign. I turned around a stumbled back to my desk. I flipped the paper over and held in a shriek. A seventy! A seventy? What? How could this have happened? I had studied! I had reviewed! I had paid attention! What did I do wrong? I was devastated. This was the first bad grade I had gotten. Ever. I wasn’t sure how to react! What could I do? Surely this would be fatal to my grade, not to mention my GPA! The bell rang and I walked to my locker, ignoring the manner less shoves. A seventy. How? How could I get a seventy?

When I got home I told my mom everything. “And the worst part?” I told her. “ I can’t even retake the dumb thing!” I spat. She gave me a pensive hug. “Sweetie, it’s okay. Everyone messes up. Do you want to switch to an easier class?” she asked, with genuine honesty in her voice. At that question rage boiled through my veins. My chest tightened and I felt my teeth clench together. “Are you kidding?” I practically yelled, desperately trying to keep the rage out of my voice. “I’ve worked my butt off for this class! Why would I quit? I’ve always gotten A’s! Always. If anything, I should be working harder!” A smile crept across her face. “That’s the spirit,” she calmly told me. “Now, go get that A.”

The next test had rolled around. Determination pumping through me, I banished the mini panic attack. I sat down and took out my freshly sharpened pencils. Rolling up my long sleeves, I vividly pictured the A atop the test. Taking a deep breath, I opened the test packet. The sound of my pencil flying across the paper filled the room. I jotted down numbers, exponents, and absolute value bars. By the fifth problem my pencil had been reduced to a stub. My paper was a mess of numbers, but I understood every scribble. I double— even triple checked my negative signs and inequalities. I felt confident in my work so I slowly stood up and turned in the test

Next class our tests were handed back. I flipped my test over to find a bold red 94 printed at the top. I was proud of myself! Ninety-four is good, but not good enough. Throughout the rest of the trimester I had stayed up later, studied harder, and my attention span must’ve grown because I didn’t zone out once in class. I checked PowerSchool every chance I got. Slowly, my grades rose: seventy-eight, eighty-one, eighty-five, eighty-three, eighty-five, eighty-seven, and then eighty-eight. The last test of the trimester was soon entered, and my grade barely rose to an eighty-nine. One point was all I needed to get an A. “Well, you did you’re best, and I’m proud,” my mother told me after every test. I would reply with, “B+ is not my best mom!”

On the last day of the trimester, I walked in class with my spirits shattered. Sure I had done well, but it sure wasn’t my best. I took and seat and noticed a bright pink stack of papers hanging from a magnet on the board. Printing in dark bold lettering it read BLOCK TWEIVE EXTRA CREDIT. Of course! How could I have forgotten extra credit? I the paper off the board and assessed the paper. Five problems were neatly and equally spread across the paper. I only have to do five problems? I quickly scribbled down the simple problems and turned the paper into the bin. Talk about close call— it was due today!

Waiting for PowerSchool to load my heart exploded out of my chest and my hands turned into an earthquake. I closed my eyes and tried to control the anticipation that was growing quickly. The page loaded and I opened my eyes to find a ninety-one in the spot of the seventy-eight. I didn’t force my smile to recede; instead I let it take up my whole face. I felt lighter than a feather and the adrenaline lessened. But I didn’t care. No, not at all. I had recovered from the ugly seventy and nothing felt better than that.

After I got home on report card day, I looked at the ninety- one for the bizillenith time. I know I had messed up. I mean, I had tripped and fell right on my face, but accidents like these should never hold people back. Yes, sometimes unexpected things are brought upon us, but it’s what we do in that situation that defines our character. It’s up to us to find the silver lining even if there aren’t any clouds in sight. I’ve learned the sky shouldn’t be the limit, or the moon! There is no limit to what we are capable of; what we are able to adapt to. Sure, we might fall on our faces. Just dust off the scraped knees and continue on. After all, everyone loves a good comeback story.