“You have an hour and forty minutes to complete the free response questions,” the instructor announces from the front. “You may now turn to the first page of your section two packet and begin.”

The sound of paper against paper echoes throughout the gym as everyone turns their pages to the first question. I fiddle nervously with my pencil as I examine the complicated words.

The chill of the cold gym does nothing the help my nerves—I wasn’t aware the test would take place in such a location, so I hadn’t brought a sweater or any warm clothing with me, leaving me with a thin, short-sleeved sweater to stay warm.

I let out a small sigh and force myself to focus. I’ve already completed the multiple choice section, so now all I have to do is complete these questions with written responses—which would be simple were it not for my abruptly empty mind. Despite how hard I think, my thoughts go blank as I attempt think of the answer for the first prompt.

I curse myself for my sudden disorientation; I’m in no place to fail. Being for an advanced placement class, I need to pass this exam in order to secure a college credit. Though I try to assure myself that the worse case scenario will simply be having to take the class in college, the pressure and expectations of others prevents me from keeping calm. I _must_ pass.

Nerves creep up my spine like spiders, distracting me from any answer, and suddenly, everything is in full focus. I hear the _tap_ and _scratch_ of pencils around me; I hear the _rush_ of air escaping in and out of my mouth; I hear the _whine_ of my chair I try to rearrange my position to become more comfortable.

Everything is too _loud_.

Everything is a distraction.

I reread that first question once again. I examine the diagrams that go with it. Though my eyes run over the words in each sentence, my brain refuses to process it; it’s as if the pile of letters belongs to some foreign language I’m incapable of understanding.

I glance up at a clock displayed on the wall nearby; thirty minutes have already gone by. _Already?_ I think to myself. The time seems to be slipping away whilst I try to run helplessly after it.

In a moment of panic, I decide that I need to put down something. The only thing worse than getting a question wrong is not answering at all—even if I believe I’m wrong, at least I can still hold a small semblance of hope that I may have earned some credit for my answer.

That said, I begin writing.

It takes me a small moment, but soon the words pour out of my head. I feel as if I’ve broken the dam blocking the river of thoughts in my mind; the words in the questions no longer feel so foreign.

Though I’m not fully sure that every answer is absolutely correct, I’m confident in myself when the instructor calls,

“Please put your pencil down.”