First day of high school.
And before the first bell even rings,
three kids are in handcuffs.
Being dragged out of the gym,
sneakers squeaking against the polished floor,
while the principal keeps talking about respect,
about safety,
about opportunity.
about the start of our futures.
The echoes of unrelated chatter grow.
His voice keeps going.
But I’m still watching the light glint off the cuffs.
Still hearing that squeak.
Still feeling that moment settle in my stomach like a warning.
If this is how it starts-
if the first thing that happens is the kind of thing you hope never happens-
What does that mean for the rest?
If the first page of the story is already wrong,
Does the ending even have a chance?
Can you even fix something that’s broken from the beginning?
The hallways are loud.
Too loud.
Not just sound.
Weight.
Weight that settles into your ribs and stays there.
A thousand voices climbing over each other,
bouncing off more voices,
slamming into each other,
until my thoughts scatter like dropped marbles.
I keep checking PowerSchool.
Refresh.
Refresh.
Refresh.
It’s the first day.
There shouldn’t be grades yet.
I know that.
But what if there are?
What if I already failed something?
What if there’s a number sitting there with 2 digits or one, not three.
already pulling me down?
Already changing the narrative.
Already shutting the door.
My math teacher doesn’t like me.
Not really.
Not yet.
She thinks I care more about the number on the screen
than the knowledge in my head.
(She’s right.)
Because that number isn’t just a number,
It's a door.
And I have to keep it open.
If it closes,
if I let it close,
if I watch it close and do nothing-
I’ll never get it open again.
I know I’m a freshman.
But in my head I’m already a senior.
A senior who didn’t study enough.
Didn’t prepare enough.
Didn’t get in.
Didn’t make it.
Standing there with the rejection letter in my hands.
Who knew that one paper
could carry more weight than a stone?
Hearing the silence after the plan,
the plan I've been preparing for since forever,
just stops existing.
Four years sounds like a long time.
It’s not.
It’s already passing.
Every step in the hallway is a countdown.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Every assignment is the first domino in a line that ends with me failing.
Every quiz is a trap I might fall into.
Every test is a minefield,
and one wrong step could ruin the rest.
And the thought doesn’t stop.
It doesn’t quiet down.
It loops.
It circles.
It grows.
It grows more heads,
Each line of thought I shut down, 2 replace.
If I fail one thing, I fail the year.
If I fail the year, I fail the plan.
If I fail the plan, I fail the future.
If I fail the future, then what’s left?
People say it’s only the first day.
I know that.
I know that.
I know that.
But I can already see the whole thing.
The end of it.
The envelope in the mailbox.
The thin one.
The heavy one.
The one that means no.
The one that means that
every late night,
every panicking spiral,
every perfect test,
none of it mattered.
And I keep seeing it.
Not just in flashes.
In full detail.
The light in the kitchen when I open it.
The way the air feels wrong, sharp, even before I unfold the letter.
The sound of paper tearing.
The sound of my heart beating too loud in my ears.
The sound of something ending.
It’s the first day.
And I’m already there.
Already at the drop.
Already falling.
Already wondering why I ever thought I could climb high enough to make it.
High school is supposed to be the start.
But I can’t see the start.
I can only see the ending.
I can only feel the weight of the letters-
A.
B.
C.
D.
[Please not F]
how they stack on top of you until you can’t breathe,
until you can’t move,
until the only thing you can think is how heavy one single grade can be
and how impossible it feels to carry it for four years straight
without dropping it even once.
Because if I drop it once, I drop it forever.
If I drop it forever, it’s over.
If it’s over, then I don’t get in.
If I don’t get in, then the dream is gone.
If the dream is gone, then what am I even working for?
If I’m not working for something, then I’m just working for nothing.
And if I’m working for nothing, then why am I even here?
I think about this while the teacher talks about rules.
About dress code.
About the bell schedule.
About how we’ll have our first quiz next week.
I listen, but am I really hearing her?
No.
Not right now.
Right now?
Right now, I’m hearing the countdown.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And I’m thinking.
don’t fail,
don’t fail,
don’t fail-
until the words stop meaning anything.
Until they’re just sounds.
Until they’re just noise.
Until they’re just the background
Of everything in my brain,
like static,
like the sound of a fan you stop noticing
until it turns off
and the silence feels odd.
But it never turns off.
Not for me.
It’s the first day,
and already I feel like I’m drowning in the last day.
Already I feel like I’ve skipped the whole middle part.
Already I feel like I’m holding that letter.
And I’m reading it.
And it says no.
No.
No.
No, you didn’t get in.
No, you’re not enough.
No, you can’t fix it now.
No, you can’t go back.
No, you can’t redo it.
No, you can’t explain.
No, you can’t breathe.
No, no, no-
until the word stops sounding like a word,
until it’s just a sound in my head,
until it’s just the same as the hallway noise,
until it’s everywhere.
"No"
"No" footsteps pounding through the hallway.
"No" the bell ringing too loud.
"No" my own heartbeat.
"No" my own thoughts.
"No" the seconds keep passing,
too fast,
too fast,
too fast.
And faster means closer.
Closer means I’m running out of time.
Running out of time means I’m out of chances.
Out of chances means it’s already done.
Already done means I can’t undo it.
Can’t undo it means I failed.
Failed means I failed.
Failed means I failed.
Failed means I failed.
It’s the first day and I failed.
It’s the first day and I failed.
It’s the first day and I failed.
It’s the first day and I failed.
It’s the first day and I failed.
Failed the year.
Failed the plan.
Failed the dream.
Failed myself.
Failed everything.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
and it’s over.
Except it’s not.
Because it never stops ending.
It ends again when I see my name missing from the acceptance list.
It ends again when I see the ghost of boxes in my room I'll never get to pack.
It ends again when I see everyone else leaving for something bigger,
and me still here,
still counting the days,
still running in the wrong direction.
It ends again when I think maybe I could have tried harder?
Ends again when I know I did,
and it still wasn’t enough.
Ends again when I remember it’s only the first day,
because if this is the first day,
and I already feel the ending,
then there’s nothing in between worth saving.
And maybe that’s the worst part?
that the ending isn’t one moment.
It’s a hundred moments.
A thousand moments.
Every second another ending.
Every second that passes on the clock,
All pulling me towards the same place.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Again.
again.
again.
Until the numbers and the no and the failed all blend together.
Until I can’t tell if I’m still in the hallway
or in the kitchen with the letter in my hands
or somewhere else entirely,
some place where all I can hear is the end.
Where all I can see is the end
Where I am the end
And the end isn’t quiet,
peaceful,
A break,
No,
The end is the fire alarm
The end is the intercom, say "code red, initiate lockdown,"
It’s the sound of my own voice, repeating how I'm gonna fail.
over
and over
and over.
And it's Powerschool, refreshing
Refresh
Refresh
(I need grades)
[Grades aren't everything]
(Liar)
The click of the handcuffs I was too far away to hear
And yet I heard
The sound of the principal, as he talks about “opportunity.”
It’s the bell ringing.
The pencil breaking.
The paper tearing.
The sound of a door closing
just before I can get to it.
It’s not just a no.
It’s a never.
Not now.
Not later.
Not ever.
It’s the empty seat on the bus home
because everyone else got off somewhere that wasn’t here.
It’s watching their lives go forward,
while mine freezes on the same frame,
the same hallway,
the same first day that never ends.
The ending is heavy in my hands.
The letter isn’t just paper.
It’s failure.
It’s the key to a door that doesn’t exist anymore.
It’s a map that only leads me back here.
Back to the first day.
Back to the handcuffs.
Back to the gym.
Back to the bell.
It keeps replaying.
louder,
faster,
closer.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And maybe that’s the real trap.
Not the grades.
Not the plan.
Not the dream.
But the fact that I’m still here in the first day,
and the first day is already the last day,
and the last day is already here,
and there’s no middle.
No chance.
No chance to turn it around.
Only the fall.
And the drop feels endless,
except I keep hitting the ground.
And every time I hit,
I’m back at the top.
And it starts again.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One-
fail.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One-
fail.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One-
fail.
Until it doesn’t even feel like counting anymore.
Until the numbers blur into no.
Until no blurs into failed.
Until failed blurs into me.
Until I can’t tell where the thought ends
and where I begin.
Until I am the thought.
Until I am the word fail.
Until I’m nothing but that one word on loop.
Fail.
Fail.
Fail.
[ stop ]
I can’t.
I can’t stop.
If this is the start
and I’m already behind
then there’s no catching up.
No breathing.
No rest.
No way to fix it.
It’s already written.
Signed.
Stamped.
Mailed, and opened by the version of me
who’s ghost is standing in some dorm room that doesn’t belong to her
because she didn’t make it in,
and I’m there now,
watching her watching me watching her.
[ Stop ]
The bell rings.
I don’t know if it’s the first bell
or the last one.
It all sounds the same.
The fight is over.
The cuffs are gone.
The hallway is loud.
Too loud.
Too loud.
I refresh the screen.
Again.
Again.
There are no grades yet.
There can’t be.
It’s the first day.
(But what if there are?)
Again.
Again.
Again.
[ stop ]
The numbers on the clock blur.
4 years.
3 years.
2 years.
1.
Gone.
Fourfourfourfourfour-
One.
The end isn’t out there anymore.
It’s here.
It’s in my room.
It's in reality.
It's in the present.
I can taste it.
And it tastes like the fluorescent light of the gym.
Like the metal of the cuffs.
Like the paper of the letter.
Like the first day.
Like the last day.
Like the only day I’ll ever get.
/ fail / fail / fail /
Until the word has no sound.
Until the sound has no shape.
Until the shape has no me.
Until I’m not here.
Until there’s nothing left to fail.
Fail.
fail
fail
f a i l
a
letter
on
a
screen
a letter that holds my life in its hands
a letter that weighs more than my own bones
a letter pressed into my lungs until I can’t breathe
A.
A.
A.
It means everything.
It’s all I am.
It’s all I can be.
It’s all that matters.
Not the learning.
Not the knowledge.
Not the so-called “growth.”
(Grades are all that matter. She’s right.)
A.
A.
A.
The hallway noise is in my blood.
The clock is swallowing the years.
The floor is tilting.
I’m tilting.
This is the start.
This is the end.
This is the first day.
This is the last day.
This is every day.
And I’m
goinggoinggoing
gone.
I open my eyes.
The bell rings.
1st block or 4th?
4 blocks.
4 years.
Four steps to the door.
Four thousand to graduation.
Four million to the future.
Four ways it could all go wrong.
One wrong class.
One wrong grade.
One wrong answer.
One wrong move.
and the present snaps.
1st block turns into 2nd.
2nd turns into 3rd.
3rd turns into 4th.
4th turns into a year.
A year turns into all of them.
And all of them turn into that one moment-
the envelope.
the letter.
the no.
The hallway sounds like screaming and anxiety.
I can hear every second ticking past,
loud enough to hurt.
Each second means I’m closer.
Closer means I’m running out of time.
Running out of time means there’s no time to fix it.
No time to fix it means-
Failed.
Failed the class.
Failed the year.
Failed the plan.
Failed the dream.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The bell rings again.
The day is over.
The year is almost over.
The years are almost over.
It’s the first day.
And it’s already gone.
Freshman becomes sophomore.
Sophomore becomes junior.
Junior becomes the one where it’s too late to change anything.
Application deadlines.
Recommendation letters.
Essays I write
and delete
and rewrite
and delete
and rewrite
until the words are back at the first draft.
The kitchen light is still too bright.
The air still feels wrong.
My heart is still too fast.
I read it.
No.
No.
No.
No-
And the moment the word leaves the page and enters my mind.
everything starts running backward.
The years peel away like bark.
Senior becomes junior.
Junior becomes sophomore.
Sophomore becomes freshman.
Freshman becomes first day.
Three kids in handcuffs.
Squeak of sneakers.
Principal talking about opportunity.
I blink.
The bell rings.
1st block or 4th?
4 blocks.
4 years.
And I can feel all of them at once.
Stacked on top of me.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Goinggoinggoing
Gone.
I open my eyes again
The bell again
1st block? 4th?
The hallway- the kitchen- the letter- the no
No
No
N O
I failed
F a i l e d
Ifailedandtheresnothingicandoaboutit
[ It's the first day ]
(It's the last day, and my hands are bloody and the pages are bleeding)
If the first page is already wrong,
Does the ending even have a chance?
[ If the first page is already bleeding, ]
[ Do I even want to see the ending? ]
I close my eyes and try to hold the pages together
But the blood is slippery and there's blood on the book and there's blood on my hands
Is the book bleeding? Am I?
[ I think maybe you're overreacting? ]
(tell that to the letter in my hands, already telling me no)
And i'm falling again, blood dripping around me
I hit the bottom
Pain
Then i'm back at the top
And i'm falling again
Falling
Falling
F a l l i n g
And
The
world
Turns
Sideways
And
All
I
Hear
Is
The
Bell
And all i see is my screen
Refresh.
Refresh.
Refresh.
There's still no grades?
But I'm a senior, I've already gotten the letter, unopened in the mailbox
[ you’re a freshman, it’s the first day. ]
( I’m a freshman and a senior and everything but nothing in between )
Was there anything in between worth saving?
The letter is already in my hands
The paper is sharp
It was my blood
A bright crimson color
I unfold the paper and read the no again
Hear the bell again
This time, i know which bell it is
Not the first or the forth
The last
The one that says the fall is over
I'm at the bottom
The dirt under my nails wont help me up
I'm trapped
Its ended
I
f a i l e d
E v e r y t h i n g
The letters still get sent
And they fall
Down
Down
Down
And I check powerscool
Refresh
Refresh
Refresh
No A’s
No grades
No screen
Error
Error
Error
[ don’t panic ]
(like that’s gonna help)
[ breathe ]
(how?!?)
From the bottom, it ends again
It ends, it ends, it ends
Its o v e r
I'm goinggoinggoing
G o n e
I'm out of the hole
The bell rings
I walk to class
My days are numbered
My footsteps are numbered
I am a number
100
99
98
97
96
95
94
93
92
91
90
Fail
Fail
Fail
Fail
The word is everywhere
The blood is everywhere
My thoughts are everywhere
And so are their words
“Grades aren't everything”
“You have so much potential”
“Take a break”
“You could do anything”
“Breathe”
“She’s a gifted child”
Gifted
Gifted
Gifted
Cursed
Potential is a lie
The sneakers squeak again
The handcuffs click again
Not on the wrists of those students who fought
No
On my wrist
Shackling me to my grades
To the number that defines me
100?
( 0 )
A?
( F )
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