“Beep, Beep, Beep,” is the sound I wake up to. I quickly press snooze and as I become more awake, an uneasy feeling seeps into me. My heart is pounding at an uncontrollable rate and the nerves throughout my body begin to tingle. The feeling of knowing something important is before you and not being certain you want to know the results is what I am faced with today. I drag my myself out of bed and force myself to take on the day. I put on jeans and my favorite maroon and white striped sweater to help build up my confidence. Before I know it, I’m walking out the door not knowing what today will bring me.

As I walk down the hallways of school, there is a sense of nervousness in the air that I contribute to. Today at eleven a.m. the results from the ACT in February will be posted. I find it hard to focus in class because my mind is concentrated on the possibilities my test score holds. This one score can make or break your acceptance into your dream school and determines your future path. Will the time I spent going through ACT textbook after textbook pay off or will I be utterly disappointed? Although there are more opportunities to take the test again, because of my preparation I feel so much riding on this score.

Slowly minute by minute, tick by tick, the clock nears eleven o’clock.

I feel the palms of hands building up a layer of sweat and gain a pit in my stomach.

As soon as hour eleven strikes, every junior in the school is on their phone repeatedly refreshing the ACT website. When I finally get through, my score pops up on the screen and my heart is pounding faster than ever. My test score starts to blur from the tears that are rapidly forming. Trying to keep it together, I quickly ask my teacher to go to the bathroom. While walking down the never ending hallway to the bathroom, I try to block out the vivid number I had just seen. I immediately call my mom and rant to her about my disappointment.
“ Mom, I don’t understand why my score didn’t improve,” I say trying not to choke up.
She shares my anger because she watched me prepare as much as I could for several months, but she counters her frustration saying, “ It’s only a number and will place you in the college you are meant to be at.”
With more positive thoughts in my head I return to class.

The chatter of ACT scores continues throughout the day.
After gym I walk with my friends to our next class and the topic of ACT scores comes up.
My friend Sam asks, “ What did you guys get on the February ACT?”
I feel every inch of my body start to tense up. It isn’t a score I want to share, especially after hearing, “29”, “31”. Eventually I’m the only one who hasn’t announced their score.
I explain, “ I don’t want to tell you guys, I didn’t do as well as I wanted.”
They all complain that they told me their score and say, “ It probably isn’t even bad.”

Feeling the pressure and being easily persuaded, I decide to tell them. It takes everything in me to force the numbers out of my mouth. When I finally spit them out, I hear a chuckle from one of my friends.

Trying to cover it up my friends say, “ Ali that’s not a bad score.”

I can tell they aren’t being sincere from the tone in their voice, but I just nod and remain quiet. I feel a flame of fire creep into my face as its color turns from ghostly white to a flaming red. I try my best to pretend I didn’t hear it, but there’s no way to escape the continuous sound of laughter that fills my head. Something I already feel so insecure about was just proven to me it is something to be insecure about.

I continue to my next class, U.S. History, still in disbelief of what had just happened and my face still flush from embarrassment. Hoping to avoid anymore questions I quickly take my seat at the back of the room. With still two minutes until class starts my friend Anna ventures over to me.

Before I know it the same question, “ What did you get on the ACT?” blares through my ears.

I flashback to seeing my score pop up on my screen and a sense of uneasiness washes over me. It’s an image I can’t seem to get out of my head.

Again everything in me begins to tighten and I am faced with an internal struggle.
Will Anna be offended if I don’t tell her my score?
Will she tell other people?
Will she laugh at me?
“Ali?” Anna asks.

I decide this isn’t something I need to share and is nobody’s business but mine.
“I’m sorry,” I explain, “I don’t feel comfortable sharing.”

A sense of empowerment lingers in me because I finally found the strength to say no. Still she continues to push and push, but this time I decide to stand my ground. No more being guilted into something I don’t want to do. After two minutes of continuous nagging, the bell rings and i’m finally safe from Ana’s interrogation.
While sitting in my desk dazing off to a civil war movie we are watching, the brightness of my phone screen engraved with my test score remains distinct in my mind. Even though I’m aware I can take it again, I know the effort I put in this time will be hard to beat. All I can think of is the long road ahead I have if I continue to push for a better score.
I finish out the rest of my day successfully avoiding all ACT related questions.
I plunk into my unmade bed and develop goosebumps from the cold, lonely blankets that layed next to an open window all day. Soon enough my trapped heat between blankets warms me and I start to drift off. Tomorrow I wish to wake up with thoughts of the ACT far from my reach.