I walk into the barely crowded room, already feeling my pulse start to rise. I try to mentally calm myself down, but nothing can stop the evident anxiety that's clawing at my chest, begging to be let out.
I didn't always use to be like this. When I was little, I was always the life of the party. But when I went to junior high, my parent's started putting all of this pressure on me.
"Getting good grades gets you money for college, meaning I won't have to take out a kidney for your sorry ass." My father would tell me at the dinner table.
"Wesley, you know colleges would like to look at all the A's you will receive from now on--not your football scores." My mother would tell me on our way to school.
I listened to them, because their adults and they would know better. I mean, neither of my parents went to an actual university. My mom went to beauty school and my dad took classes at the local tech school.
Neither of them have high paying jobs; my mom a beautician and my father a truck driver. I didn't know what luxury was, hell, the A/C unit in the living room was luxury in the summer for me.
I knew I wasn't going to be able to pay for college, but I didn't know my parent's were going to be on my ass in sixth grade.
"Wesley, how is school." My mother would ask me. I would reply with the same kind of stuff I have been saying since I was eleven.
"I've been doing all of the extra credit I can. I even got into the one hundred percents in _____." You fill in the blank with whatever subject I was "excelling" in.
The crowded room was filled with many higher ups; my principal, counselor, and college reps. I was in the lead at school for valedictorian, I didn't have any social media to jeopardize my future, and I had an almost five point GPA. I should be fine.
But with the constant worrying about my future, my body likes to make a fool out of itself. I tripped on the way into the cramped room, groaning internally at what the authorities would be thinking about me right now.
If he's tripping up now, how's he going to do at a huge university.
My hands were clammy with nervousness at the situation at hand. I didn't want them to think of my any differently with my damp hands. I didn't even want to think about my armpits, which are wet with perspiration--I could feel that much through my navy blue polo.
"Hello, my name is Wesley Michaels." I introduced to the two men and three women. I shook hands with each of them, watching their faces for the eventual grimace that would appear any second now.
As I suspected, three of the five persons met my face with a hidden grimace. All of those a college rep. Damn't, I'm already off to a bad start.
"Take a seat Mr. Michaels, we are to discuss your plans for the next school year."
And so the important stuff began.
---
Two long, gruelling hours later, I walked out of the condensed room with my three layers of clinical deodorant sweated off, and my clammy hands shaking like they had low blood sugars right about now.
I knew the college reps didn't like me, but I thought I had at least one person on my side. My counselor seemed to be the only one, but that's it. My principal didn't even give me a second glance after the initial greetings.
I tried to control my breathing but it was too hard right now. My parents were going to be disappointed when they learned that I didn't get into any good college, and that they put all of this hard work into a prototype that just went kapoot.
