I’ve always known I was the stupidest person in my AP Biology class.
As I sit on the creaky metal chair and pull out my notebook and half-finished, incorrect, stupid-looking assignment, I know I cannot succeed. Everyone else is smarter than me and is ten times smarter than I am. I know most people see the “smart kids” as a joke, and I do too, but it doesn’t sting any less when I hear their average in the class is a 100, and they scored a 105 on the last test.
As I sit down and take my third test of the semester – the one determining if I pass or fail – I know I cannot succeed. I know that everyone sees me as a big fat joke.
I came from a school of sixty-eight kids from kindergarten through eighth grade. My graduating class was seven people, and I was always seen as one of the smartest kids. My teachers constantly praised me for being able to learn quickly and finish assignments to the best of my ability.
I’m a little fish in a big pond now. It doesn’t matter how talented I was; if I don’t put in the work I will fail. But with the constant pressure of every single AP class expecting me to throw away my entire life for one grade feels like I’ve been walking in quicksand for three years. At this point, I can barely breathe.
I would always spend my time watching the motivational TikToks pushing me to study more, be better, and have the best grades. I felt obliged to be the best and the greatest. If I wasn’t I would surely fail. I’d be trapped. I would be stuck in a boring suburban life with a husband making all the money, pushing out babies left and right, and dying alone with seven cats.
So I sit next to my friend, Anna. Anna is naturally talented and somehow has a knack for understanding every concept in microbiology even though she’s never studied a day in her life. She’s my friend, but I feel small sitting next to her.
Still, I sigh, take out my pen, and begin writing down the rate of growth equations and the total growth equations and the hardy-wienburg equations and and and…it’s too much. Deep breath. Look away. Come back again. Okay. I can do this.
I look at the first question: Organisms that reproduce sexually exhibit zygotic, gametic, or sporic meiosis. One way to determine the type of life cycle an organism has is by…
What? I swear I studied this. I wrack my brain for some kind of answer, something that makes sense. I feel my palms get wet and a tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Crap, everyone seems to know, why can’t I just understand?
Just get through the test. At this point I’ve completely given up trying to get a good grade. As long as I get through the test, I’ll be okay. I’ll survive. Hopefully.
At this point I’m just clicking answers. Answer A. Answer B. Answer C (for my name). Another C for fun. Just get through it.
Finally it’s done, I get out of the class. All I hear is chatter around me, who got what question right, who got it wrong, who got the best grade, who’s the smartest, who knows the most. Oh my god can they all just shut up?!
I get home and all I want to do is lay in bed, curl up in my blanket cocoon and never come out. But I sigh, walk to my desk, and do more notes for biology. It’s a never ending cycle, just like the Calvin cycle.
On Sunday we get our grades. I look at the screen and bite my lip as I wait for the obligatory ad from GradePro to load. I bite harder and press on the AP Biology icon. This is it, if I get a grade over 90, I’m okay. My heart is fluttering and I feel like I’m going to pass out.
Screw it, I peek over and look.
Eighty-two.
My heart sinks, but it’s good enough. With the 15 bonus points I’ll be fine. My phone continuously buzzes as the group chat spams with everyone’s scores. Nothing is below a 95, and yet everyone is saying that their grades are awful. I swallow and hold back my tears and go back to my AP Bio homework.
