cursor

There I was, in front of a clunky, beige computer, surrounded by the sounds of students clicking away. The green cursor flashed on its black screen, goading me. It was a race to pick the right answer and I was pitted against my friend. 

As I sat in the corner of the classroom, I felt like melting out of the navy blue plastic perched atop its three metal legs and dripping into the hardwood floorboards below. Math was an indecipherable mystery - a case never to be cracked. 

The noises coming from the desktop seemed to scream at me after each wrong answer. My cheeks were red hot. I had to get at least some right. I couldn’t graduate fourth grade without passing this test.