Briana

Briana skulked around the corner of the student campus building, feeling defeated and elated at the same time.  She just finished writing the MCAT after a gruelling year of studying, a secret she kept from her mother and father.  She combed her fingers through her hair mindlessly, playing with each tiny curl (as she often did),  and she thought of them and how proud they would be if she made it into med school.  She also thought how disappointed they would be if she didn’t.  Cringing at the thought, she gave her head a shake as if her brain was an etch-a-sketch and she could easily remove “that look” from her brain.  It was a look that said “I cannot believe I raised you/I know I raised you better than this” simultaneously.  Briana was on the receiving end of that look many, many times.

She took a look down at the pile of heavy books in her hands, the practice tests, the study guides, and the “dummies guide to the MCAT”.  Briana knew she should hold on to them, just in case. Just in case she needed them again.  In case she needed another shot at that exam.

As she reached the far end of the building where the grass meets the student parking lot, she tossed the books into the garbage and flinched when she heard the thump as they hit the bottom of the can.