Living with a Senior

Eliza Yass, Web Opinions Editor

I make my way out the side door, heading to the garage, SAT II prep books in hand. I’m going to my tutor and, afterwards, preparing for another long night of completing useless worksheets and studying for tests with the hopes that I make it to Wednesday, June 19, the last day of finals, mentally stable.

As the sun burns my eyes, which are used to the mild lighting of my bedroom, I am doused with a splash of cool water.

Is it rain? No. I wish.

The water comes from a group of roughly 10, giant, foolish boys roughhousing in my pool. Funny, they thought it would be, to splash Alec’s little sister, blinding me so that they can throw me and my study materials into the pool. As I struggle to rub my stinging eyes and get my sopping wet hair out of my face, my books and backpack fall to the ground.

“IT’S SUMMER!!!!!!,” they scream, as I grab my backpack out of a chlorinated puddle and sprint to the safety of the garage, before they can get me and my stuff and throw us into the pool.

Their howls still echo from outside as I catch my breath and clutch my Gov. study guides for dear life.

This is my life.

Every day, summer is rubbed in my face. I cannot escape my brother flaunting his stress-free, relaxed, committed-to-college lifestyle. I am confronted with the harsh reality that I still have standardized tests to take, finals to study for and essays to write. And it sucks.

Yes, it sucks for all students struggling to push through the last few weeks of the school year. But living with a senior makes it nearly impossible. My home, which is normally the best place to concentrate, is filled with distractions. I can’t sit down at my desk in my bedroom without somebody, whether it be my brother or one of his friends, coming into my room asking me why I even bother studying. I should be outside, they say, the weather is beautiful.  I must fight my desire and instead sadly devote all my energy not to tanning, but to studying for a pre-calc test.

When I finally get a moment alone to focus, I hear the doorbell ring. I walk downstairs to open it and, as I reach for the doorknob, am grabbed around the neck and thrown to the ground. Once my eyes regain focus, I see my brother standing over me, looking as if I almost let in a murderer.

Turns out, I almost did.

“ELIZA ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Do not let ANYBODY in the house, I don’t care if it’s the mailman or your best friend; I WILL OPEN THE DOOR. You almost got me assassinated and I’ve already made it to the third round.”

And he storms away.

How could I forget? A.P Assassination. More fun that my brother is participating in, as I watch from the sidelines.

At night, the craziness of the day has settled down and I take a deep breath, ready to attempt to focus again. My brother strolls into my room at 8:30 and asks me if I want to go get ice cream. And again, I sigh.

I can’t.

I have to be at school in the morning. I have essays to write, homework to do and tests to study for, all before ten o’clock tonight so that I can wake up tomorrow and do it all over again.

There is one upside I can take out of my situation: motivation. I want to reach that wonderful time of year, proud of my efforts throughout high school. The harder I work, the more amazing it will feel when that stress-free lifestyle arrives. One day, I will be frolicking by the pool with my friends in beautiful, late May weather. But sadly, I won’t have any younger siblings to drive absolutely crazy.