Never in my life had I been more prepared for something. I woke up, sun streaming through my blinds casting shadows on the covers. Most mornings I would turn over and squeeze my eyelids tighter, shunning the new day. Today my eyes were open wide, beckoning the morning. This was to be a good day; how could it not be. It was the day I had been preparing for since the first day of high school. Today Tuesday, June 14, would be the last day for me to walk through the double doors of my high school dubbed a student.         

Earlier, three months to the date, I began gathering all my knowledge. Searching through old notebooks and binders, I collected anything that was something I had learned since the third grade. Math and English, science and grammar, humanities and language, I was to be tested on the facts of life. This particular test, the FOOL, is administered nation wide to all graduating seniors intending to proceed with college. It is a test that determines what a particular person has learned in his/her life, making sure he/she has the basics, or framework, understood before starting higher education. Everyone knows of the test but no one is given a study guide to help with the preparation. The specific content of the test is keep quite secret, hardly ever talked about, to ensure the knowledge is that of the student and not of the people that came before. The one piece of advice given is to study what is important, only subjects of the most importance will be on the exam. Unlike the SAT, which helps universities determine whether or not to let you in, the FOOL determines whether or not you are prepared socially for the responsibility of college life.                                           

As I got out of bed I slipped into the outfit I laid out the night before. Usually I do not take so much care about my attire or appearance, but being my last day I figured I should look my best. I pulled on my worn Diesels, forming perfectly to my body. I felt confident; after all I was graduating with a 4.5. I had pulled off an A all semester in calculus; I could pass a standardized test. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on the neck of my favorite oriental blue floral silk blouse. Brushing the remainders of my omelet out of my mouth, I went over the ancient rulers of Greece and their acclaimed accomplishments. As my manicured toes slid into delicate silver ballet flats I thought of the countries in Africa, remembering which were land locked and which had once been under French rule. Descending the stairs from my room to the kitchen I sang a tune I had taught myself as a girl, reviewing the rules of the playground, which in later days I realized applied to living a well-mannered life.                                                                  

"This is it'," the words rushed through my head with ineffable of joy. Four years of hard, never ending work was about to come to an end, summing up another chapter of my life. All my effort and enthusiasm was about to be rewarded. As he had done every day for the past thirteen years Dad kissed me on the left cheek on my way out the door. It was a bittersweet moment. I thought of how this small gesture I had taken for granted was about to come to an end, just like many of the other constant things in my life. I walked away from my home, down the front steps to my car waiting on the street. Who will start the engine for me next winter so I won't have to sit in a cold car, the things my dad did for me. I laughed to myself as I eased my body into the driver's seat. Dad, he is smart enough, has a good job, pays the bills on time and has some pocket change every now and then. He always wears a smile on his face, welcomes a joke, and goes out of his way to do things for others. This life worked for him but it just was not practical in the world today. If he had to go and take the FOOL today I doubt Harvard would still accept him. He just does not know things like I do. I surpassed him with my math knowledge years ago. It seems he was born before many of the classics we were reading in English had even been written. I respect him deeply but I question whether his motives in life are accurate. There is so much knowledge to be obtained; instead of analyzing history he is busy living his life.                                                                                                                   

Turning the key into the ignition I put the car in neutral, letting it glide the fifteen feet down the hill to the stop sign. Pushing in the clutch I shifted into first, then easing up on the clutch as I gently fed the gas I was on my way. Methodically I drove the familiar streets to school. As my eyes saw blurred scenes along the road, my memory was taken back in time to the first day of high school when my fellow classmates and I had been dubbed with the title of freshmen. We were on top of the world. We were looked upon as equals by our upper classmen, or so I thought until I became an upper classman and saw how pathetic we must have seemed. The friends I made that day and in the weeks to follow were the people I would make my memories with, the people who would help shape who I was to become. The times we had together were priceless. Academics aside, my time in school was spent laughing at the remarks and cost of others. Everything was funny the quirky things people outside did, the racist jokes, the impressions of teachers. Humor made every subject safe, approachable, comfortable.                                                        

Friends kept the competition high. We worked to motivate each other, out do the others' grades and accomplishments. We all looked out for number one. As my favorite memories flashed through my head from past to present they stopped at one of the most recent. A sly smile pulled at my lips as I remembered lunch from the day before where we had shared some good laughs. I was eating my grapes from the bag lunch my mother had packed for me earlier in the day. Grapes are good but I am very picky about the ones I will eat; they have to look and be perfect for me to even consider putting them in my mouth. For a grape to be consumed it must be firm with no spots. If it was soft and squishy the taste would be lost and the chance of a bug being inside was very high. Well, that day the grapes were not up to par. Casually I tossed one across the hall towards the trash. Missing of course, it landed on the floor next to the feet of our janitor. As he bent down to pick up the misplaced food he looked up and smiled. It was a kind smile, one of a dutiful servant; but I was untouched. Our janitors were there to clean up after us. Everyone knew students had better things to do than to pick up after themselves. Why do for yourself what another could do for you? The kid sitting next to me copied my actions, picking a grape off its stem and throwing it to the ground. As our janitor picked up the second grape, a third was thrown. This went on for ten or so rotations. One grape at a time, he would pick it up and place it into the trash without making a sound. All around the room people were smirking at each other. We marveled at the fact we could control this man, make his body go up and down the way a child could control a puppet.

I pulled my car into the parking lot. Looking around I saw the familiar cars and faces of my classmates, all coming to school this one last time with the same objective. Each one of us expected a bright future coming after our Ivy League college experience, except one girl. I don't remember her name, I had no need to, we never talked, I had nothing to say to her. I had a feeling she would not do well on the FOOL. She had no honors courses, her name had never been posted on the Scholars list outside the cafeteria, and I doubted she realized the importance of the test we were about to take.

As I took my seat in the auditorium where the test was being administered I swallowed the butterflies that had taken life inside me. I took out my number two pencils I had sharpened the night before and began to write in the designated places my name and the university I intended to attend. There was to be no talking or moving around, the test packet had been passed out and the administrators instructed us to break the seal.

I flew through the first twenty questions. I began to relax, the questions we not nit picky, but more broad. I turned the page after the seventieth question, one more page to go. This was it, the moment I have been waiting for. I knew I had gotten every question right; there was no way I would have allowed myself to do any different. I could not wait until my school opened the results and saw just how well prepared I was to pursue higher education. Not only was I academically sound, the FOOL helped demonstrate the point further that I was a well-rounded, kind hearted person. As I smoothed the centerfold of the packet I read the bold print, short answer. Great, I am good at these, it is hard to give a wrong answer. I moved in my seat to find a more comfortable writing position; my handwriting had to be beautiful. I breathed in deep and read the question, "What is the name of the man who cleans your toilets?"

I thought back to all the times that I had seen him in the hall, to the other day at lunch. I tried to picture his nametag. Nothing was coming to me. I stayed calm. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the concern on the faces of others. I began a cold sweat; I must have read the question wrong. As I reread it I saw something I had not noticed before, "This question is worth 60% of the final test score." There were ten minuets left, even if I got every other question correct and just this last one wrong I would not pass. I sat dumbfounded. The administrator called time, pencils down. I reluctantly passed my test forward. The confident group that had marched into the room with such pride and excitement left without a word.

As I got in my car to leave I looked around my school for one last time. My eyes fell once again on that nameless girl. Instead of looking defeated like the rest of the class she was full of pride. I drove away in a rage, uncertain of my future once written in stone.