Day 50: Midterm Blues

Midterms. The word alone is enough to send a shiver down any student’s spine. Today was the dreaded day, and my anxiety had reached a peak even before I stepped out of bed. The sound of my alarm felt like a death knell, and I groaned as I reached to silence it. Faisal, ever the morning person (or at least pretending to be), popped his head into my room.

“Ready for judgment day?” he asked with a grin, holding up his stack of hastily scribbled notes.

“No,” I grumbled, dragging myself out of bed. My strategy for studying had been… less than ideal. I had spent the past week flipping through slides, highlighting random sections in the textbook, and hoping for divine intervention. Spoiler alert: the divine didn’t intervene.

By the time I reached the lecture hall, my stomach was doing somersaults. The exam was a mix of Microeconomics and Principles of Management—a deadly combo if there ever was one. As I took my seat, Amanda walked in, calm as ever, with her neatly organized file of notes. I envied her composure, but I also didn’t want to look too frazzled in front of her.

The exam papers were distributed, and the room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of pens scratching against paper. I flipped to the first question and immediately felt my soul leave my body.

Define "elasticity of demand" and provide an example.

Easy enough. I scribbled something down, hoping it made sense. But as I moved through the questions, they grew progressively harder. By the time I reached the long-answer section, my brain was in full panic mode. There was a graph I was supposed to interpret, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how to label the axes. I stared at the paper, willing the answers to materialize. Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Halfway through the exam, Faisal coughed loudly from the other side of the room, causing the professor to glare at him. I knew it wasn’t a real cough; it was his way of saying, This is a disaster. I stifled a laugh and tried to focus, but my mind kept wandering to what grade I’d need to pass if I bombed this.

As the clock ticked down, I hurriedly scribbled answers to the last few questions. Whether they were right or not was a mystery. When the professor finally called time, I let out a sigh of relief, though it felt more like resignation.

Walking out of the hall, Faisal caught up with me. “How’d it go?” he asked, though the look on my face probably answered his question.

“I think I just wrote the sequel to How Not to Pass a Midterm,” I replied.

Amanda joined us, clutching her folder. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “I mean, the elasticity question was straightforward.”

Faisal groaned. “Straightforward for you, maybe. Eddie and I were out there fighting for our lives.”

Amanda laughed, and despite my misery, I couldn’t help but smile.

Back at the dorm, I flopped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. The exam was over, but the dread of results was just beginning. Faisal, ever the optimist, suggested ordering pizza to celebrate “surviving the ordeal.”

Lesson of the day: Midterms are brutal, but at least they’re a reminder that the best preparation is better preparation. And maybe next time, I won’t rely on divine intervention.