Hoping one question won’t come up—and it does.
HOPING ONE QUESTION WON’T COME UP—AND IT DOES.
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Remember those pristine, color-coded notes at the start of the semester? The highlighters organized, the ambition clear, the promise of mastery unfolding systematically. Then reality hit. Deadlines loomed, ambitious extracurriculars piled up, and suddenly, "Ivy Study Habits" transformed into "Last-Minute Cramming," fueled by lukewarm coffee and the quiet hum of the library at 3 AM. The stacks became a second home, sometimes a confessional, occasionally a place for a silent, desperate tear or two.
We’ve all been there, haven't we? The exam approaching, you’ve tried to cover everything, but there’s that one obscure topic, that niche theory, that specific author you skimmed, silently pleading with the universe, "Please, not that." You rationalize: "It's too specific. They wouldn't put that on the final." You push it out of your mind, focusing on what you feel more confident about.
Then, the exam paper is flipped. Your eyes scan the questions, a practiced, almost surgical movement. And there it is. Question number three. Or five. Or the bonus. The exact, precise, infuriating detail you begged to be spared. The blood drains from your face, your heart sinks, and a wry, bitter chuckle forms in your throat. You look around, wondering if anyone else shares your specific brand of panic. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated Ivy League irony, a shared rite of passage. But you dig deep, summon whatever scraps you can remember, and write. Because that’s what we do. We improvise, adapt, and somehow, we always find a way to finish.
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