Judgment Day

Victoria Pollard

Days like this - the sort that make life interesting. The little events, the big events and all the ones in between. Quirky things said, strange happenings, little gestures of thanks, first times and last times. The stories parents hoard up; ready to embarrass you the next time that boy you like comes round.

The day had come. Judgement day. After each exam, tired and cold from the hall, I would announce "I don't care how I've done. I just want to know, now. I don't want to have to wait." Oh boy, what difference a month could make. What happened today would, effectively, change my plans for life. And not just mine, about 160 000 other teenagers as well.

I couldn't sleep the night before. Worry had me firmly in its grasp. I didn't tell my parents that though, there was no point - what could they do? But my friends found out and the instant messages were pouring in between us all night. Like a choir we recited the same words over and over to each other "there's nothing to worry about. You'll have done fine. Don't panic." Don't get me wrong; we, well certainly I (I can't speak for my friends), meant every word every time I typed it. I had a theory that if I stayed awake all night, I'd avoid the next day all together. It was only when I was forced off the internet by my parents at eleven o'clock that I realised that staying up all night wouldn't help; and tomorrow would still come regardless. So, armed with advice from my friends older than I who have been there and done that, I reluctantly turned the computer off and clambered into bed.

The most popular advice was to read a book. This I did, till I couldn't open my eyes for tiredness. However on turning the light out I immediately woke up. It was no use. I settled myself down to a restless night with lots of tossing and turning, and little sleep. I don't know what time I eventually fell asleep, all I know is that it was after half past one because I heard the clock from downstairs chime that out.

I woke at twenty to seven, and was waiting by the front door, with the door open, by eight. Unlike last night, I was relatively calm to begin with. My mum left me to it pretty much but asked me every time she went up the stairs, was I nervous? And are they not here yet? I know she meant well, but at the time all it did was add to my nerves.

The sun was bright in the sky already and it looked to be a promising day. Which would be great for some, reflecting their emotions, but not for others. At eight in the morning it was already hot, at least by Scotland's standards. Our head teacher always promises that on the day of the Standard Grade English exams it will be sunny and hot. Nature's way of punishing us for having an exam. It was sunny like that. It wasn't overcast like the days before and after, or wet. The ground was dry and the colours of everything were bright. A promising day weather wise, but what about results wise?

It took what felt like an age but eventually the post came. All I can say is that I'm lucky that our post is delivered early - nine o'clock at the latest, I would hate to have been in the position of some of my friends and family who had to wait till one o'clock. It was mum who noticed the post-man first. I hadn't seen him from my sentry post of the second step on the stairs, being too forcefully engrossed in my latest book, "My Cousin Rachel" by Daphne Du Maurier, trying to take my mind off what was happening today, to see the post-man arriving.

"Vicky," my mum said. I looked up, immediately seeing the post-man just as he dropped the mail onto the step at the front door. I jumped up and fumbled with the lock on the inside door that I'd left shut so as not wake my sister up with the noise of the traffic going past our house. It's amazing how you can go from being perfectly calm to sick with apprehension in less than ten seconds. Bending down I grabbed my A4 envelope, ignoring the rest and ran off with it to the kitchen. I think I was trying to open it without my mum standing, watching me; but she followed me anyway.

My breathing was shallow and shaky, I had a pain in my stomach and it felt as though I had been turned upside down and someone was shaking me. My whole body felt weak and was trembling; it felt as though I didn't have control over my body anymore. I couldn't get my fingers to work properly. I didn't open the letter; I ripped at the side, my nervousness making me clumsy. I pulled out the many pages that now make a complete SQA certificate, throwing the letter that the Chief Executive of the SQA claims to have written on the table which my mum immediately pounced upon.

So nervous was I that I couldn't read the certificate properly, I was trying to read too fast I suppose. It took me three attempts to make certain of everything. Pinching myself I looked up at my mum, who was by now crying, and smiled.

"Straight Ones!" I shouted. A stupid, cheesy grin on my face.