It’s the last week. Not just any week- the final one. The halls of Doherty echo with overlapping emotions: stress, exhaustion, hope, and that wild hunger for freedom just out of reach.
I walk through the doors Monday morning already counting down the hours. Everyone’s moving a little faster, talking a little louder, or not talking at all- buried under their school work, hoodies up, caffeine in hand. Final exam week is like running a marathon with bricks in your backpack. And the worst part? You’re not even sure what’s in the bag.
Math hits the hardest.
We were thrown into chapters we barely had time to absorb. One day it’s polynomials, the next it’s rational functions, and by Friday, we’re doing synthetic division like it was ever something we understood in the first place. I’m scribbling notes as fast as I can, but it feels more like copying than learning.
There’s this silent pressure in class- like everyone’s pretending to know what’s going on while secretly panicking. And the teacher? You can see it in their face- they’re just as over it as we are. The way they sigh before going over yet another review sheet says it all; it’s more than safe to say that we’re all crawling toward the finish line.
The hallways are alive in the weirdest way.
Every corner is filled with nervous energy. You hear it in passing:
“Did you study for bio?”
“I stayed up ‘til 3 last night…”
“Dude, I’m failing that class no matter what.”
But right behind all that panic is something brighter—summer. You can feel it breathing down the neck of every conversation. The sunlight hits the school windows just right, like it’s mocking us with a glimpse of the freedom we don’t have yet. The grass outside looks greener than it has all year. I think someone even left their shoes on the lawn.
Teachers are slipping too.
Some of them have started giving half-hearted lectures, knowing no one’s really listening. Others have turned to movie days or open-note tests, pretending it’s for our benefit when it’s probably for theirs too. One teacher during this past month just leaned against the whiteboard today and said, “I’m so ready to be done.” Honestly, same.
Even the strictest ones have softened. Rubrics seem looser. Grades are getting curved towards the end of the mile. Everyone’s just trying to hold it together for these last few days. It’s like watching a building crumble in slow motion- only the building is made of lesson plans and late work.
My brain is a constant flipbook of emotions.
One minute, I’m on the verge of a breakdown, buried under review packets and overdue assignments. The next, I’m fantasizing about late mornings, road trips, and not hearing the word “quiz” for ten whole weeks. It’s emotional whiplash.
I’m so close to freedom I can feel the sun on my skin, but I can’t fully enjoy it because of the weight of everything still due. Every step forward is tied to a deadline. Every free moment is haunted by a reminder notification. My planner looks like a battlefield.
But even in all this chaos, there’s something comforting.
We’re all going through it. Together.
Even if we’re too tired to say much, we nod at each other in passing like, “You still alive?” And sometimes, that’s enough. It’s a strange bond—this final week survival mode.
We’re not just stressed students right now. We’re sleep-deprived soldiers of the school year, crawling through a fog of finals, clutching our pencils like lifelines. And when that final bell rings? When we walk out those doors for the last time this year?
It won’t just feel like summer. It’ll feel like victory.
