Math and McDonald's

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I remembered dreading my very own existence at that moment, as were other students in that class. Mrs. Ulliman was always a difficult grader. Sometimes, she would even go as far as to measure our papers with a ruler to check to see if our margins were exactly on point. Every time you made a mistake, she would glare at you with a disappointed eye and tell you, “Well, that’s not right, is it? Let’s not do that again.”

I was surrounded by the sound of graphite moving anxiously over paper. The clamor filled my ears and collided with the dull ticking of the clock that hung over the SAT proctor’s disorderly, graying hair. There were only eighteen minutes left and I still had not written a single word. The prompt reverberated in my head like a ringing bell, but I could not form cohesive thoughts. My heart raced and my fingernails dug into the curve of my palm in panic, leaving small, pallid impressions in their wake. Pleading with myself, I considered the page that lay askew on the on the chipped desk in front of me. I wrote a desperate and painfully arbitrary sentence that I quickly erased. Nothing sounded right. I had studied and prepared for this moment with

Sitting on the computer, signing up for the SAT, I envisioned myself taking the standardized test that so many dreaded. I saw myself kicking butt on the exam, exceeding my expectations, and earning myself admission into the college of my choice, which I had not yet decided on. When the day had come to take the test, junior year of high school, I was terrified, not because of the test, but because of the circumstances I now found myself in. School had always been tricky for me – waking up and getting ready in the morning, forcing myself onto the bus, the worst parts. My grades were amazing though, considering my fear of school. I earned mainly A’s in college prep and honors classes.

I am in second period, Geometry. Ms. Knight paces between the aisles of desks, handing out worksheet after worksheet intended to prepare us for the DC-CAS, DCPS’s standardized exam that we will take in March. We are to complete ten worksheets by the end of the hour and a half class period. I have finished six. I turn my head to stare out of the window. The drizzle is proper rain now and I watch it puddle on the concrete, and the cars, and the awning of the CVS down the street.

I knew those words were coming, but I still bemusedly processed to what Jill had indirectly told me. I stared blankly into the words on the papers. She kept talking. Her voice in the background sounded like screeches on a chalkboard: painful and loud. I read over the words again.

Her eyes scanned the page as if she was learning to read for the first time. The more she looked, the less she understood. How could was she unable to understand something this simple? It was so simple, yet the answers still did not show themselves.The idea of failure was foreign to her, as was confusion. Whenever the teacher set a paper on the desk in front of her, she would complete it with ease. It was what everyone expected of her, and she always lived up to that expectation. That was the norm, until today. For just a moment, panic set in. How could she damage her reputation by asking a question? What would her parents think of her if they knew she wasn’t perfect? As her heart slowed down, she secretly pulled out her notes, making sure

The science test you’ve been dreading has finally come to haunt you. You walk in, and the teacher routinely reminds you of the weight of the test on your grade, 80%. The teacher hands out the test and you blankly stare at the questions that can either build up, or destroy your grade. Unconformities?! What are they? Scrolling through the pages, you finally find some questions you know. The teacher announces that there are only 5 minutes left before you must turn your answers in. In a hurry, you halfheartedly guess most of the test, hoping that you get lucky. Days pass, and you receive your final grade for the test. Next to your score you see an F in bright red. Frantically, you race to the computers to check your overall grade. You log on only to see a perfectly stable B+ plummet down to a D. On the bus home, you are tense, assured that your parents have seen the obvious drop. Walking through the door, your mom asks “How’d the test go?” Stammering, you reply with “Er--well that's a long story”. Confused she asks for the test, and you wearily hand it over. You immediately see the disappointment in your mom’s face as she flips throughout the pages. Your punishment was groundation, and after your mom lectures you, she walks out. You think for a while, and realize that you could’ve prevented all of this if you simply studied instead of playing that game for longer.

Kendra Lim is a cheerful Husky senior at Chino Hills High School this year. She looks up to her mom and other family members, as she knows that they are always working hard to support her. Kendra is majoring in mathematics in college. She enjoys the feeling of euphoria when she is finally able to solve a complicated problem and understand the material. She is the most stressed before deadlines, but she maintains a positive outlook. She finds that stress keeps her motivated to always try harder and do her best. Many seniors are already getting the dreaded senioritis, but Kendra aims to finish strong. Senior grades still count, and she wants to carry good habits and a positive mindset with her to college. Kendra is really excited to go

I was extremely wary of the class: my first attempt had made me afraid of college algebra. But once the class finally started, I realized my worries were all for nothing. I was finally able to understand the content of the class, and I was doing very well on all of my assignments. So well in fact that I had an “A” in the class. I couldn’t believe that after my first attempt had failed so horribly that I was able to make such an amazing

After thought, I remembered my poor fifth grade math performance and thought about why I did better in the years after. I falsely concluded that I became more hardworking and proceeded to apply that solution to my present problem. I attended as many after-school study sessions as I could, and did every question in the book. On a few occasions I even found more online resources that could help me evaluate my knowledge and increase it. The culmination of my efforts succeeded, even though they were based on a false assumption. I had grown as a

Amitai Etzioni argues in his article, “Working at McDonald’s”, fast-food restaurants just as McDonald’s, are not beneficial for teenagers in the long room. They don’t learn the correct skills that they have to in order to achieve in life. Such as skills like “self-reliant, work-ethics-drive, be productive teenagers" or have opportunities for entrepreneurship. The jobs that they are being hired at only consist of a twenty minutes or less training to get the job done. Besides the fact that they are not learning any useful skill, the jobs are taking over their school work. Which causes some teenagers to drop out of school instead. They prefer making money than sitting in a classroom learning about a subject they are not interested in.

After seven hours of school and two and a half hours of soccer, I could feel the heaviness of my eyes as I was reading the last words on the page of my book, “It’s what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young, knows what their Personal Legend is.” (The Alchemist 21) After I finished, I didn’t think much else about it, except for the fact that I had a quiz tomorrow. Consequently, this quiz was the first grade we would get for the school year, and I had to start out with a good grade point average. Grades to me are like an engine to a car - essential to being successful.

It was the first month of my high school years, I was as nervous as an incoming freshman could be. I had no idea how long and strenuous my years at Bensalem High School would feel. As many others, I had a hard time adjusting to the transition from middle school to high school. Unlike others, though, I struggled about twenty

Four AP’s. 4.42 GPA. 27 A’s. These numbers define me. I have destroyed myself in pursuit of these digits, and no words could effectively describe their importance to me. There are plenty of us. We, the kids who stay up past midnight rereading our essays, miss parties and games to polish our Spanish projects, and bombard our teachers with simple questions on vocabulary quizzes. But is it worth it? Some days I can feel myself cracking. The pressure of perfection is suffocating, and I silently scream for freedom from the bondage of my black backpack’s straps. What if there was more to life than the pursuit of sublimity?