The TAKS tests were coming upon us all, like a large dark cloud waiting for its chance to destroy picnics. According to our teachers, the picnic was decent teaching, and the cloud was the testing. (Of course, that’s not to say school is a picnic.)

“How can we teach knowing that TAKS testing is about to come upon us?” my ELA teacher said to no one in particular. “We can’t even teach properly!” she then exclaimed to her filing cabinet. “Should we teach what the students really need to know, or what the state wants to test them?”

Regardless of whether the teachers liked it or not, TAKS testing was scheduled, and the entire school planned to be shut down during the event. “We want you all to do a good job on your test,” our teachers said. “Don’t rush, reread the questions, answer them with proof, and above all, do your best.”

The day of the testing came quickly, and when it did, I made sure I had a decent breakfast. It was crucial that I ate food because testing on an empty stomach isn’t very comfortable, but even more bigger was that we could only eat at 11:45. Normally we ate our lunches at 10:45, so this seemed very late to us.

There was a nagging feeling in my head that I was being watched, and sure enough, as I looked around, I saw three police officers nearby, surveying the scenes. The video cameras people didn’t normally pay attention to now shown in my head like a bright spotlight pointing above me.

“Put your belongings in your locker,” said an cold voice over the intercom system over and over again. “If you have a cell phone, they must be off, out of sight, and not on your person.”

I went over to the nearest orange chart hanging on the walls. These had room numbers and the corresponding range of students that needed to go to that classroom. I found my name and headed over to classroom eighteen fifty-five.

The hallways were occupied with teachers bustling back and forth. Administrators walked back and forth, radios squawking as if the entire area were a war zone. They gave everyone cold glances, and I shuddered away from one. Teachers who didn’t have students to watch were setting up posts in the hallway.

As I walked into the classroom, I sat down and got out my mechanical pencil and some lead in case I ran out. My testing teacher immediately came over, offering a wooden pencil. She seemed a nice lady, but I pointed out to her I already had a pencil.

“But what if it breaks?” she asked, holding out the pencil again. “It’s always good to be safe.” She explained that once the test started, I wasn’t allowed to go to my bag to get more pencils. Apparently I could flunk the entire test because of my pencil.

“No, I’m fine.” I took out another mechanical pencil from my bag to reassure her.

“But what if that breaks too?” the teacher asked, eying the pencil dubiously. “You can’t trust those mechanicals. Might fail on you any second.” She reminded me of my mother talking about computers.

“All right, I’ll take it,” I said, exasperated, and grabbed the pencil. She smiled, wished me good luck on my quizzes, grabbed another bundle of pencils off of her desk, freshly sharpened, and then went to the next person in my row.

When the bell had rung, there was no welcoming sound of the morning announcements. Normally students came onto the TVs to deliver our news. Today, the TVs were all off. Instead, the principal came onto the intercom.

“Please stand for the pledge,” she said in a very monotone voice. After leading us through the pledge, she then said, “Good luck” and then the intercom shut off.

When the announcements were done, our teacher grinned, trying to ease the tension, and then, waving some sheets of paper, said, “I’m required to read these short passages. Don’t worry,” she added with an unconvincing smile. “This won’t take but two minutes.”

Instead, thirty minutes passed by extremely slowly as she read in a monotone voice about pagers, cell phones, Internet devices, smart phones, media players, media systems, wireless devices, self-assisting headphones… words blended themselvesssss tttoogggeeettthhheeerrr…

Our teacher appeared to be covering every possible situation in case anyone tried to sneak by with a loophole. When she had finally finished the entire speech (ending with calculator watches), she finally smiled again and took count of us again. She posted a folder on the front of the door to the classroom.

Almost immediately, I heard a squawk from someone’s radio. “Eighteen fifty-five testing room posted roll, over.”

A pause, then, “All right, testing personnel will pick that up.” Less than ten seconds later, someone came by our door and took the folder, handing our teacher a stack of booklets in turn.

These booklets were not your average booklets. They were printed with the colors white, green, and black. A large stamp on the front indicated this booklet was genuine Texas-printed and had not been tampered with.

Another label on the bottom indicated that this was the official property of the Texas Education Agency and that any duplication, studying, referencing, questioning, and otherwise messing with the test proper was prohibited.

On the back, a large barcode stood, a long set of numbers at the end. And finally, on the side, a plastic seal closed the two sides together. Text printed on the seal stated we were not to open the seal at risk of voiding the test.

Accompanying the booklet was a test document, as it was called. It was also printed with green, black, and white and it had numerous rows of bubbles on it. After a second glance, I realized the entire page was covered with dots.

The first section indicated my name and my school ID. That was about all I recognized. Then came my PEIMS student ID, then my US student ID, then my state student ID, then my status ID, my gifted/talented ID, then my qualifications, and it went on and on, until I found myself getting dizzy, wondering why they needed so many IDs.

“All right, everybody.” The teacher said, motioning for attention. “I’m going to tell you what you do: I need you to take off the seal on your booklet right now. Let’s go… pull!” Together, we peeled off the plastic seal that sealed the booklet together to reveal… two plastic seals.

One of the seals closed the left side of the book. The other closed the right side of the book together. The left, apparently, was the math section of the booklet. The other section was the reading section of the booklet.

“All right, let’s open the math section. I need you to take it now, and… pull!” We pulled that off as well.

“All right,” the testing teacher said once again, then guided us through a few sample questions. What is the answer to five plus two? Seven, I bubbled in. Bob has a box. Lily also has a box. Together, the boxes weigh two pounds. The boxes each weigh the same…

Finally, when we were done with the questions that insulted all of our intelligence, the teacher walked over to each of us, checked something on my test document, and then told us to flip the page in our booklets, revealing a blank page.

She told us to flip this page as well, revealing another blank page. It went on in this fashion for two more pages, and then a glint came across our teacher’s eye. She smiled.

“Now you may begin.”