The last time I was deeply disappointed in myself was in eighth grade. I decided to try to be accepted into ASB again. ASB, the Associated Student Body of CDM, was the mastermind of almost all activities that occurred on campus. The last time I tried out for this organization was during sixth grade, and I had been rejected. However, this time, I was more confident. I came to school, and I immediately started walking toward my locker, which was near the ASB room. As I was walking, I saw a paper messily taped to the dark blue door of the ASB room. I was certain it had to be the list of people who made ASB.
Nervousness started creeping up my spine like a snake; however, I was wrong. It wasn’t a so-called “cut” list; it was just the schedule for when the…
My body, acting on its own, stumbled up to the door of the ASB room; all I had on my mind was the interview. I noticed the interview schedule still taped to the door. I put my hand on the warm, metal handle of the door, clenched the handle like it was a million dollars in cash, and pulled.
After about 15 minutes of asking me questions, Mr. Almquist said that he would post the list of those who made it on the ASB room’s door in two days. Then, he said that I could go to break. When I left, I found my friends and told them that my interview had gone well. I was relieved that I had gotten this anxiety for the interview off my shoulders, since it had been haunting me for days. Now came the excruciating pain of waiting to see who would be accepted, and who would be rejected.
The day had come. I hastily rushed to the ASB room after taking one step on campus. I walked to the door, and saw the four names on the list. I did not find my name. I had not made it, once again. Not once, but twice had the people at ASB told me that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of their group. My friend, who had been accepted, told me,
“It’s alright. Maybe ASB just isn’t for…
