Coppell Observer is a humorous column about life as a teenager. Please be warned that any and all sass is due to the writers’ similar situation as adolescents (even though we feel so much older). You, the reader, should not take any of these words to heart. Seriously. If this article makes you laugh, leave a comment. 

This year, the nightmare begins with the sharp, citrusy scent of oranges and the Common App portal boring into my eyes. 

7 a.m. 

My eyes are twitching and my shoulders are already aching from the vigorous typing I’ve been doing since the crack of dawn. With much gusto, I take another swig of my matcha tea and steel myself to complete my shameless sales pitch to the jaded admissions officer on the other side of the country. 

7:10 a.m., and I slide out of my seat, making my way to the kitchen sink. Amid the eerie early morning silence in my house, the caffeine in the matcha kicks into overdrive, and my brain belatedly realizes, “Hey, zero hour starts in 10 minutes!”

7:11 a.m., and nothing in all my years of public education could’ve prepared me for the way my instincts shove my drowsiness into oblivion and take off every B day morning. I stumble out of the house, toppling over from the weight of my backpack and the pressure of my expectations, and sprint. 

7:15 a.m., and I quickly realize that I am a very poor decision maker because my breakfast lurches back and forth in my stomach as I run. The humidity clings to my body, and I can feel every single hair at the back of my head with unwanted awareness. The suburban streets seem to slow as I struggle to push myself to ruddy brick walls of Coppell High School, and the air reeks of… oranges? 

At last, I bolt into the building, but alas, I do not meet success there either. I manage to trip up the stairs, tumbling over myself and landing, quite unceremoniously, on my behind. Bruised, pride-wounded and late, I continue my trek of shame to class, where my teacher begins telling us about extended essays and internal assessments and financial aid and other phrases that slowly begin to blur into one long, curse word in my head. 

Come lunchtime, I am thoroughly winded and hoping for a nice meal of curry and rice, but when I open my lunchbox, all I encounter are oranges. It hits me then that the citrus scent I have been smelling all day has been emanating from me and my meal of oranges. As I desperately try not to be run over and run over an unassuming sophomore in the sea of humanity on the way to lunch, I think that in the middle of collegeappibexaminations, enjoyyoursenioryear, running to class and eating oranges, senior year might run me over first-

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

I sit up in the darkness of my bedroom, fumbling for my phone. The time reads 6:10 a.m, which means just an hour before I begin my sprint to school. Another year, another dream a little too close to reality. 

Follow Akhila (@akhila_gunturu) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.