Chem 281, Chem 211, and some Commerce class are neatly packed into the arena-come-exam hall. procters stand at attention and everyone is able to quietly find a seat. hopefully the right one.

the microphone crackles. “commerce students, note that in question 23, on page 5, it shouldn’t be n = one, but n = one million.”
a low ripple of laughter and then 60 seconds later, pencils gripped hard, we’re at it.
for three hours there is almost is silence.

“there are 20 minutes left.”
there is a sound of blank spaces being filled in feverishly – anything to fight the emptiness. and there is the sound of surrender, of vast white spaces snickering snidely, untouched by charcoal.

afterwards, we dribble out out into the night. a girl is half-crying; she looks almost like she’s laughing, but there are tears and red eyes and a runny nose.
it begins to hail.