I don’t know how they do
it.
I don’t know how
anyone does it, waking up every morning and eating and moving
from the bus to the assembly line, where the teacher-bots inject
us with Subject A and Subject B, and passing every test they give
us. Our parents provide us the list of ingredients and remind us
to make healthy choices: one sport, two clubs, one artistic goal,
community service, no grades below a B because really,
nobody’s average, not around here. It’s a dance with
complicated footwork and a changing tempo. I’m the girl who
trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the
exit. All eyes on me.
