When Mom brings me to the SAT testing facility Saturday morning, I turn to her and say, “Only students are allowed on the testing day.” I pull out the confirmation letter Dad gave me. I knew this was a rule, but also that I wouldn’t tell her until the last minute, when she’d be flustered and more easily convinced not to try and make an exception.
It works. She stares at it and peers into the room.
“Please don’t get me disqualified,” I say. “We’re just going to be taking the test.”
She hesitates. “All right. I’ll wait here in the hall.”
I need her to go home. Bennett’s car is already waiting for me to bring me to his plane. I have to get away. It’s been so hard not to text Blitz about our plan, to beg him not to do anything crazy on television. I have to leave now. I can’t take it any longer.
“Mom,” I say. “You’ll be so uncomfortable. Why don’t you just come back in a few hours?”
“I couldn’t do that,” she says, heading for a wood bench a little ways down. “Your father would come and then there really would be a scene.”
She settles down with her book. I look back in the classroom. There is only one way out, other than the windows. I’ll do it if I have to. I’ll go right out one of them.
I’ve left the letter propped on my mirror. No one will think to look there until I’m gone. I’m not taking anything more with me than the few items I’ve stuffed in the backpack I’m holding. It’s the biggest risk I’ve ever taken in my life.
I head inside and get my materials from the proctor. Bennett said the car would wait for me however long it took to get away. Seated at a desk, waiting for the proctor to give us instructions, I’m not sure how I will make my escape. It seems I might be taking the test after all.
By the time I’m through the first section of the SAT, I don’t have any better idea how to get past my mother. I could just leave, I guess. I don’t think she would tackle me and hold me down.
But I’m not sure.
I’m not as distracted as I had imagined I would be. I felt like the test would be wasted.
But once I’m involved in the questions, my brain kicks into gear. Blitz, the finale, the escape, and the plane ride all fade away.
During the first break I check on Mom, still sitting on the uncomfortable bench.
“How is it going?” she asks.
“Great,” I say. “Just the math and the essay portions to go. You sure you don’t want to go somewhere more comfortable? I’m just going to be in there.”
She shakes her head and opens her book again. I head back to the room, feeling anxious. I’ll do the math portion, and before the essay starts, I’ll just escape.
My throat feels thick. Lying. Running away. It’s all happening again.
We take our seats and I have to work a little harder this time to focus back on the test. At the next break, many of the students turn in their papers and gather their things. Only the essay students will remain.
Then, life cuts me a break. The biggest break of my life.
“Essay students, we’ll be moving to a smaller room,” the proctor says. “Remember, do not turn on your cell phones or any electronics during this transition. We’re just moving to a room around the corner so another group can use this larger one.”
We’re moving. If I do this right, I can get away.
Everyone picks up their bags. Students who aren’t doing the essay portion head on out. The rest of us cluster together for a moment, waiting on the proctor.
When he moves out, we follow.
“Are you done?” Mom asks, checking her watch as other students file past.
“No, we’re moving to a room down the hall,” I say. “Just fifty minutes to go!”
“Okay, let me know if you need a snack. I have some in my bag.”
“I’m good,” I say, my heart sinking a little as I realize I’m about to hurt her. She really did try to be a good mom through all this. She forgave things that seemed unforgivable. She has been a role model despite the adversity.
Impulsively, I reach down and hug her.
“Well, okay!” she says, a little taken aback. “Write a good essay!”
I’m afraid of saying anything else. I might give myself away. I head down the hall quickly, catching up with the other students.
As soon as we turn the corner away from Mom, I run.