Two hundred fifty works to memorize is what we were introduced to, the first day of art history. I felt intimidated. As I flipped through every page of blank lines, each accompanied by a picture I thought how am I going to memorize all of this. But the next words coming out of Mr. Walsh's bearded face made me realize thing have just utterly gone from acceptable to should I just drop this class? Eventually week after week was a distinct group of works to memorize, grouped by their designations. What did help was the Spec Pac where people form groups and you are assigned a work of art of course it has to be hilarious if your group wants to win. Filling out every box had become an autonomous ritual. As each day after that started becoming as similar as the day before the AP test stood in my face, May 2nd.

Did I study as hard as I wanted to? Not really. 11:40 AM, in front of the Valle Vista Recreation Center. The doors were wide open as if inviting me in for my final test, begging, pleading. Inside a short lady, sagging skin, hunched over, led us into the waiting room. After an agonizing thirty minutes off schedule, sitting, my palms sweating, nervous of what was to come. Until finally we were in the gym, the tables were set for two people of course no one had told me that when you're signed in there was a number next to your name that you had to memorize. Now we're in our seats eager to finally open the book and reveal the hidden mysteries in the AP Test. But wait there was something even worse than not studying. It was the voice of the short high-pitched woman radiating off the walls as she read the directions on the form on what to do. While waiting for the other to finish up I hadn't really the person sitting next to me. She had short brown hair, her eyes a mystic blue, and a radiant smile. From time to time I would catch her looking my way. Our eyes met. We had small conversations that went, Are you a freshman? No, I’m a junior, what about you? I’m a sophomore. And how come I didn’t see you in the Spec Pac? Oh, I made my video alone. But if she was in art history she had probably seen my embarrassing adaptation of trying to dance to mask off, and sure enough. For about a week my friends told me, Hey nice dance moves. She was probably the only part of my day that wasn’t disastrous. Well, maybe organic maple syrup too. That stuff was good.