We started upon our tests: endless lines of bubbles. I looked at the test document, took a look at it, and wrote the answer to the problem down. The lines and lines soon mixed together in my head, and I found out that I was blanking out more than just once.

In elementary school, our teachers had encouraged us to go to the restroom as much as possible, desperate to allow us to take a much-needed rest. This meant that teachers allowed us as many breaks as possible, and they even encouraged us to go the long way around our school.

In middle school, things were probably going to be a bit different. I figured this about five seconds after the teacher came up to the front and told us that there were way too many people going to the restroom.

I grabbed the pass when the next person came back from the restroom. As I did, I noticed several motions behind me. Apparently three other people were also attempting to grab the pass. Finder’s keepers, I thought greedily and walked away.

“Come back,” said a voice behind me. I spun around. The teacher was motioning for me. My heart began to thump. Had I done anything wrong?

“You forgot to sign out,” she said, pointing at a piece of paper taped to a desk. I looked at it. “TAKS Official Sign-In/Out Sheet”, it said.

Rows and rows of lines were printed on it, each blank. At the bottom, a line of text told the teachers to turn this paper into the administrative offices at the end of the day.

I put down my name and walked into the hallway half-heartedly, and bumped into something. I looked up. A lady was standing there.

She had a pin on her shirt that read “Hall Monitor”, and she had a tight look on her face that suggested me to not annoy her.

“Young man, watch where you are going. You just walked into my monitor post!”

Indeed, there was a desk set in the middle of the hallway. I looked back, and realized desks were at regular intervals. Administrators seemed to be on preset paths, walking back and forth.

I mumbled an apology, and being more careful now, walked into the restroom, hoping I wouldn’t make yet another mistake. It was a good thing I looked up, because I saw a large woman standing right in front of me.

“There is a line, young man!” this lady said. She had appeared out of nowhere, but there she was, sitting at a desk near the restrooms.

“We do not clog up the restrooms here,” she said again, explaining that the restrooms could not be overfilled.

“There’s no one in the restroom though,” I protested.

“There is one person in the restroom, and that is the limit. I needn’t remind you to be more careful before making accusations in the future. Now get in the line!”

I tottered myself over to the line. It was around six people long. They all gave me a glance. One guy tried to start a conversation, but that was quickly stopped by “YOUNG MEN!”

The restrooms were designed with high-capacity in mind, yet here they were, being used more below the minimum than I had ever seen.

Thirty minutes later, I came back into the classroom, signed myself out on the paper, and put the pass back.

I almost fell asleep on my test paper.

I forced myself to concentrate on the question.

I twisted my head, trying to rid myself of the crick in my neck.

Two hours later, I put my pencil down, and placed my test document on top of my booklet.

The teacher came over and took both away from me, along with her pencil. Then she grabbed a book I had left at the front (there were to be no belongings with me other than pencils), flipped through, checking for secret compartments, and then gave it to me.

But I was bored. I didn’t want to read the book. It was so incredibly boring. I thought it would be interesting at home, but I had not factored in the fact that I would be tired after the test.

So I just dozed for thirty minutes.

“All students may begin lunch at this time,” said an anonymous voice that woke me up. I glanced up. The intercom was blabbering again, this time about food regulations.

People began to move around, stretching, and one person began to stand up to get her lunch, but the teacher stopped all of it with a bit of shrieking.

“STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP!” she yelled, and I froze, stunned.

“Nobody moves a muscle until I lock these tests up,” she said, a vein quivering in her forehead. Frozen, I watched as she placed the tests in a box, locked it, and then put the locked box into the cabinet.

She turned around and smiled.

“Lunches, anyone?”

- – - – -

Two more hours later after a delightful lunch in which students annoyed the teacher by throwing trash into her private trash can, an unfortunate one and a half hours more of testing, finally a voice came onto the intercom.

“Most of our students have already finished taking the test, so anyone who is finished with the test may now go to their sixth period class. Anyone who has not finished the test will be escorted by their teachers to the library for extended testing.”

Someone in our classroom let out a whoop of cheer. It was quickly followed by another cheer from the classroom to the right, and soon the whole school was cheering as if summer break had just been extended three years.

The intercom system turned on. “SILENCE!” said a venomous voice through it. We all shut up. “Thank you,” the voice said again in a softer tone, and hung up.