April 26 – Friday / St. Ivy High – Class 1-A
The Calm Before
"I swear," Tyler said dramatically, tossing his bag down beside his chair, "if this exam is about delivering speeches, I'm going to give a TED Talk on why I deserve extra snacks."
"You'd still fail," Miles muttered without looking up from his notes.
"Not if I perform it shirtless," Tyler grinned.
"Please don't," Emma said.
It was Friday. The final stretch. The last exam. The energy in Class 1-A had shifted from tension to a kind of jittery euphoria. Relief was on the horizon, and every student could feel it.
Amaya sat with her hands neatly folded, eyes glancing toward the clock. Sofia was applying lip gloss with deadly precision. Yuki had already filled a quarter of a notebook with predictions and diagrams about the structure of the exam—none of which she planned to share.
Jay leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, listening.
"Summer's almost here," Tyler sighed. "I'm thinking: beach trip, ramen crawl, then hibernation."
Sofia smirked. "Please. You'll be crying about sunburn by Day Two."
"We should do something," Emma said suddenly. "Before vacation officially starts."
Everyone glanced over.
"Like what?" Amaya asked.
"I don't know. Something stupid. Or sweet. Just… something we'll remember."
Tyler gave her a slow smile. "Emma Sinclair, are you getting sentimental?"
"Shut up." She turned away.
Before anyone could push further, the door creaked open.
Mr. Brooks entered.
And just like that, the room straightened up.
Mr. Brooks and the Final Gauntlet
At exactly 8:00 a.m., the door creaked open.
Mr. Brooks entered in his usual storm-gray jacket, coffee mug in one hand, exam folders in the other.
He dropped the folders onto the desk with a thud that echoed.
"I'd make a speech," he said, voice dry, "but none of you are worth the drama."
A few chuckles. Mostly groans.
"This is your final exam for Language and Communication. For those of you hoping it's a group project—congrats, you're wrong. It's written. Completely. Solo. Seventy marks. If that number scares you, you weren't paying attention all year."
He paused, sipping his coffee.
Tyler whispered to Jay, "I already regret being literate."
Mr. Brooks continued. "There are three sections: formal writing, comprehension, and an essay. Topics will require actual thought. You've been warned."
He passed the first row the exam booklets. They moved like a relay baton down each line.
Jay received his and flipped it open.
Tyler peeked. "What'd we get?"
Jay's eyes scanned the paper.
Section A: Formal Letter
Write a letter to the school board proposing a new subject that should be added to the curriculum, with logical reasons and structure.
Section B: Reading Comprehension
A passage from a national speech on education reform, followed by five analysis questions.
Section C: Essay (Choose One)
The role of empathy in modern communication.
The illusion of choice in democratic societies.
"Words can heal or wound more than weapons." – Discuss.
Jay smiled faintly.
Tyler groaned audibly.
Writing in Silence
The classroom went quiet.
Pens scratched.
Pages turned.
Breath held.
Jay started with Section B—he always liked picking apart arguments. The passage was a political speech, dressed up in noble phrasing but with obvious gaps. He annotated quickly, answers flowing in neat, pointed language.
From beside him, Tyler muttered, "Why do politicians love talking without saying anything?"
"Because it works," Jay murmured back, still writing.
Tyler looked at him. "That was both wise and terrifying."
Jay didn't respond. His mind was already on Section A.
He imagined a subject like Practical Negotiation. He built a case—logic, importance, benefits to student well-being and real-world communication. Each paragraph precise, confident, polished.
Across the room, Emma's brow was furrowed in deep focus. Her essay stretched across the page like a battle she was determined to win.
Amaya sat upright, her handwriting soft and fluid. She picked Essay Topic 1: empathy in communication. Jay noticed how her lines paused often—carefully considered, deeply personal.
Yuki was done with Section A before most had finished reading the directions. Of course.
Jay reached the essay section last.
He picked Topic 2.
"The illusion of choice in democratic societies."
He stared at the words for a moment longer than he should have.
Then wrote.
It wasn't just an argument. It was a dissection. He danced around the truth—without touching his own. About puppet governments. Power behind curtains. Dynasties disguised as elections.
He knew more than he could ever write.
So he wrote what the world already suspected, dressed in the voice of a student trying to understand.
The Last Line
"Five minutes," Mr. Brooks announced.
Tyler had just started his essay.
"Crap, crap, crap," he whispered, scribbling so hard his pen squeaked.
Jay finished, scanned the page once, and then let his eyes wander—over the classroom, the posters, the flickering light above the board.
He exhaled.
One year.
One whirlwind of clubs, elections, secrets, and people.
One version of him left behind.
Another one still in the making.
Brooks collected the papers row by row.
Jay passed his forward without a second thought.
Tyler groaned. "I might've written my will in place of an essay."
"You'll get points for emotion," Jay replied.
The Announcement
Mr. Brooks stood at the front once the last paper was stacked. He cleared his throat.
"Well. You survived."
Silence.
He continued, "Results will be posted next Friday. If your name is spelled wrong on the sheet, I don't care."
A few laughs.
"And for those curious," he added, sipping from his now-cold mug, "summer break officially starts after that. Until then, feel free to loiter around and pretend you're still students."
He paused.
Then raised a brow. "Year Two begins in August. Unless, of course, you fail. Then congratulations—September is your reward. With me. Every day. Forever."
A visible shudder rippled through the class.
Brooks turned toward the door.
"Don't do anything dumb. Or do. Just don't drag me into it."
He walked out.
And with that, it was over.
Not Quite the End
But no one stood up just yet.
No whoops of freedom.
No chairs scraping against the floor.
Jay looked around the room.
They were still here. Still together. Still waiting for something.
Tyler turned to him. "We should do something. Before break."
Jay smiled faintly.
"Let's talk to the others."
He stood.
Because even if exams were over…
The best part of school was still ahead.