MBTI high school

Chapter 59:

Chapter 59: "The Bac? What Bac?"

(or how everyone revises… or not)

In room C-17 of MBTI High School, where the sun hit the grimy windows a little too harshly, four students were slouched around a table in what vaguely resembled a study session… except no one was actually studying.

The “Explorer Club,” as they had dubbed themselves (somewhere between bad jokes and a bag of chips), was holding a highly strategic meeting. Five days before the bac.

ISFP, lying across two chairs with her headphones in and a pencil stuck in her hair like a magic wand, said:

— ISFP: “Okay, guys, the bac is in less than a week. Maybe it’s time to… I don’t know… glance at our notes?”

— ESTP (juggling an eraser and random stuff): “No worries, I’ve got insane survival instincts. I’ll be fine.”

— ESFP (putting on makeup): “I heard the philosophy exam is basically just a written debate. I can totally improvise. Do I sound more inspiring quoting Nietzsche or Beyoncé?”

— ISTP (appearing out of nowhere): “Did I ever mention I lost all my notebooks?”

A silence.

— ESFP (raising an eyebrow): “Like… all of them?”

— ISTP: “All of them. Even my planner. I don’t even know the exact exam dates anymore. I’m counting on my sixth sense.”

— ISFP: “You’ll be counting on our WhatsApp group, that’s what.”

She was drawing a mermaid’s back in her science notebook. Then ISTP added with deadly seriousness:

— ISTP: “I had a dream last night… that I was studying.”

Everyone turned to him, surprised.

— Others: “And?”

— ISTP: “So that’s a good sign. Somewhere in the multiverse, I studied. I’m going to pass.”

ESFP burst out laughing:

— ESFP: “Dimensional success method. I love it.”

— ESTP: “Did you happen to dream about me studying too?”

— ISTP: “Nope. You were skateboarding in the exam room. On fire.”

— ESTP (proudly): “Classic.”

That was just how the Explorers were. Full of resourcefulness, wild ideas, and way too much confidence for their level of preparation. Stress? They didn’t know her. Or at least they didn’t let her show. The important thing was making it to the exam alive… and preferably well-dressed.

— ESTP (snapping his fingers): “Okay, I’ve got an idea.”

He stood up, gesturing wildly.

— ESTP: “We split the subjects. Like, I’ll skim through math and give you a summary tomorrow. ESFP, you take care of history and geo. ISFP, you’ve got art as an option, so you’re safe. And ISTP…”

— ISTP: “I build a mic inside my pen, and you feed me the answers in real time?”

— ESFP (screaming): “That’s what I’m talking about! Technical genius serving pure laziness!”

— ISFP (sighing): “I just hope the bac isn’t based on WhatsApp typing speed, ‘cause I’d be valedictorian.”

— ISTP (dead serious): “I’ve got a backup plan. I’ll drop my draft, crawl discreetly to the exit… and never come back.”

Laughter exploded all around.

In the background, ISFP’s phone alarm went off: “Study Bio – 4PM”.

She looked at it. Then shut the screen off with a decisive tap.

— ISFP: “Too late. Fate has spoken.”

And the four of them burst into laughter again, as if they were immune to failure—or maybe just too tired to care.