High School Is Over

Sometimes while trying to get the hang of a character (especially characters I make up) I write little drabbles in their voices.  These usually have nothing to do with the plot I ultimately place them in; it's just a way for me to become comfortable with that voice before I start the main work.
Here's a drabble I wrote in the voice of Linda Laurent, teen detective, the main character of the first book I ever wrote.  The Linda Laurent of this drabble underwent some serious changes by the time I, at last, finished that book.  She became far more crass and sarcastic than the following Linda Laurent:
 

            I’m sitting here waiting for my last final.  I wish Mr. Foreman would hand it out.  He’s droning on and on about testing procedures.  Make sure you bubble in all the circles.  If you need a number two pencil, raise your hand and I’ll provide you with one.  Come on Mr. Foreman, we’re seniors.  Seriously.  We’ve been in high school taking finals for four years—we know we need to completely bubble in our answer sheets and bring number two pencils.  Stop treating us like we’re freshman.

            Charlotte Spencer is staring out the window, probably at the kids who are rushing out of the school.  If you have last period study hall, you get to leave early.  They’re already done, but we’re still stuck here, listening to Mr. Foreman’s babble.

            “And I wish to remind you,” he continues, “that just because this is your last graded high school assignment, that’s no reason to slack off.  This counts just as much as your other finals have—“

            Our last graded high school assignment?  I guess it is.  I didn’t think of it that way.  The strings binding me to high school have been snapping one by one over the past four years, and now this is the last one left—a psychology final, just barely tethering me to an entire phase of my life.  As soon as I turn in my scantron to Mr. Foreman, the last fine thread will break, and this era of my life will forever be behind me.

            Oh God.  I don’t want it to be behind me.  I mean, I do of course.  I don’t want to remain in high school, and in any case, whether I take this final or not I’ll be done with high school.  Even if I got a zero on the final, I’d still pass the class, and even if I didn’t pass the class, I’d still graduate.  The end of high school is coming no matter what I do, a line in the sand that I’m approaching against my will.

            Or maybe the line in the sand is approaching me.  I don’t know.

            Suddenly I can’t breathe.  Mr. Foreman is passing out the exams, Ashley Wolfgang passes me a scantron and whispers, “good luck.”

            Ashley Wolfgang and I used to share a mat together in preschool.  After I take this final, we won’t be attending the same school anymore, for the first time in our lives.

            Oh God.

            I start bubbling in my answers without even thinking about it.  I know the subject and I know how to take a test—after four years it doesn’t even require thought.  I know I’m acing the exam, but I’m not happy about it, not happy in the least.  It just seems the exam is very far off, unimportant.  How I do on the exam, it doesn’t matter in the face of that incontrovertible truth: high school is over.