20
Emma
I’m in my last final exam, scribbling the last answer down. I grin foolishly at the finished paper in front of me. I’m done with it, done with the class. Actually, I’m done with all my classes now, as of this moment.
I’m so happy that I actually skip up to the front of the room, dropping my final exam in the basket on the desk. Dr. Smith looks up from his New York Times.
“Finished?” he asks.
“All done.” From the pile of papers underneath mine, I can see that I’m not the first. But given that there are twenty more people still taking the exam, I’m not the last one either.
“You may go,” he says, already turning his attention back to the arts section of the paper.
I leave the room with a grin on my face. Mouthing, “I’m done!” to myself as I walk down the stairs feels silly but
