Finals and Soccer Balls to the Face

There’s one thing I have to get used to now that I’m in high school. At Unity (the ginormous middle school in my town that’s big enough for every 7th and 8th grader in Cicero), there was the ISATs, which are the state “No Child Left Behind“ standard test for the elementary lot. Now, in high school it’s ACT prep, it’s common assessments ever few months, it’s FINALS.

Finals don’t scare me. It’s the prospect that the grade I get on my final can drastically change my semester grade is what gets to me. I only have trouble (and by trouble I mean it’s impossible for me to get an A ever) in Algebra. It’s not regular algebra I’ve been doing, though. It’s Algebra on steroids (uniquely titled Honors Advanced Algebra, which as pretensions as course names get) and it’s the everyday. We never get a day off from learning about mathematical constants and formulas and conics and graphs and values of x and (for the last few weeks) trigonometry.

Last semester, I studied my little buns off for the Algebra final. I turned into a hermit crap. I had music and my notes and the text book with me constantly. I dreamt of matrices and formulas. Pi paid me a visit and recited 200 values of itself, none of which I remember past 3.14. I learned was not myself. I studied like a dog. I didn’t sleep. And come the fateful day of the final, I get an 80%. Studying will not break my B curse. I will always get Bs. It’s written in stone, I suppose. I think I pissed off the math gods long ago and am still paying penance.

Other than that, Honors English finals will be a breeze, Honors History will require studying, but I’ve got a study guide that, on some fluke decision, is exactly the final. Honors Biology is easy, Spanish is a joke, it’s so easy. My last final of the year on the very last day of school will be the P.E. final which is running a mile under 12 minutes. That will be symbolic of my struggle this year. I’ll do well, I suppose. I hate gym though.

Off topic, today in gym class while playing soccer, I got kicked in the face. Right smack in the nose. My glasses left a mark on my face, but I’m fine. The girl who kicked me, however, got a nasty bruise and had to be carried off to the nurse. Ironic, I get kicked in the face and I don’t even get to miss gym class.

I’m going to turn back into a hermit crab this Memorial Day weekend. I’ve got to study, despite the proof that it did nothing last time. Still, it’s almost a moral obligation to do so, to somewhat prepare myself.

Wish me luck.

Much love and getting kicked in the face,
Sarah.