Mr. Ray announced the SAT date on a Tuesday, chalk squeaking against the board as he wrote it in block letters like the date itself owed everyone money.
"You have six weeks to go," he said, turning back to face the room. "And for those of you still needing scores for admissions purposes, this is effectively your last real shot before senior applications lock in. I'd start taking practice tests seriously now, not the week before."
A collective groan moved through the room, the specific sound of thirty seniors simultaneously remembering they had a future that required paperwork.
I didn't groan as my math grade had never been the problem; if anything, the SAT was one of the few places all my careful, methodical habits actually paid off in a form the world recognized as legitimate. I'd take
