My Fox Ate My AP Exam

I stood in line waiting to enter the sixth floor gymnasium, twirling a pen in my hand as I struggled to remember the AP Zoology facts I spent hours cramming into my merely human head last night: octopus neurons can edit their own RNA, pigeons have magnetite crystals in their beaks, and ugh, foxes, what did I study about foxes? This is why every teacher says not to study the night before the test—especially not at 2:59 a.m. when your brain begins telling you that cephalization has “main character energy.”

The line began moving and I walked into the newly air conditioned gym. My eyes scanned the room: gray steel chairs were arranged in columns, mocking the nervous swarm of students scrambling to take a seat. It reminded me of the prison mess hall my uncle used to tell me about. He was part of a criminal organization that used animals as distractions to carry out their dirty work, and he got arrested for sneaking a polar bear, whom he named Barney, into a bank. He got into the group by getting a five on the AP Zoology exam and always pushed me because I could use my scores there even if colleges didn’t accept the credit. Sigh. It’s only natural that I should take the AP. I grew up on a farm, visiting zoos and birdwatching in my free time before I moved to the city, so zoology has always been in my blood, I guess.

My proctor walked up to the front of the room wearing a rather expensive looking white satin dress and gold rimmed glasses. A necklace of pearls sat comfortably around her neck and I could see the red bottoms of her black heels, which appeared to be Louboutin. So that’s where our AP exam fees are going! No wonder they ask for $99 per test.

She cleared her throat. “Please open your Chromebooks, sign in to Bluebook, and complete the check in. The school code is written on the board, 334070, and the room code is F-R-I-E-D. I will announce the start code once everyone is seated and ready to begin.”

I drew a quick breath and typed my login credentials into the laptop in front of me, trying to ignore my shaking fingers and sweaty palms.

The proctor took control of the room again and began to read the instructions. I zoned out until the last part, which piqued my attention: “The final section, Section D, is the newest addition to our exam. We added it last night, and it will last an hour. We will bring out three different animals, which may or may not be vaccinated or even legally allowed in this state. But don’t worry—they’re approved by College Board! Their standards are much lower. You will then describe it in thorough detail, including country of origin, native habitat, dietary restrictions, gestation period, and favorite position to hibernate in, if applicable. Good luck, and you may begin!”

My heart hammered in my chest. Four sections? We had only been prepared for three! I did finish the first three sections feeling pretty good about my test, since it was exactly what I studied for, but when Section D came…

“I can’t do this. I don’t feel so good,” a student behind me moaned. I then heard what sounded like water sloshing onto the floor. I whipped my head around, only to find the guy vomiting his breakfast onto the polished wood floor and his shoes. Yikes.

The proctor rushed over to help him up. “Oh my god, are you okay? Come with me.”

“No, no, my AP exam. I have to get into Harvard!” he coughed desperately.

“Oh, no school even takes credit for AP Zoology, come along now,” replied the proctor. She tried pulling him to his feet, but her efforts were only rewarded with vomit on her satin dress. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I just convinced my husband to buy this for me after I lost his Rolex. I don’t get paid enough for this. You’re on your own, kids!” She immediately dropped the nauseous boy from her arms and stormed out the door.

Suddenly, the intercom beeped, and an overhead announcement blasted into the room, “Congratulations, students! You will be our guinea pigs for our newly piloted Section D of the AP Zoology exam. Your first animal will arrive shortly; please stand by,” the speaker crackled. A cart then wheeled into the gym without anyone pushing it. From the cart, a small orange fox leaped out and began sniffing its surroundings.

“Aw, it’s adorable! I know so many things about foxes. This should be easy,” a girl said, smiling as she began to scribble away. Her writing, however, was interrupted once the fox leapt onto her desk, hissing and snarling into her face.

“Oh my god! Get it off! It’s a savage beast!” she shrieked. The fox began tearing at her paper, stuffing it into its mouth and chewing furiously.

“It looks like it calmed down,” she said. She spoke too soon. Other kids began to panic too. The fox jumped across desks as kids ran screaming from their seats. At each desk it stopped at, it made a point to lick the running student’s FRQ papers before swallowing them whole. And they say dogs eating homework is the oldest trick in the book. Maybe it’s finally met its match, just as 69 did in the face of its rising foe, 67. You will be missed, our fallen warrior.

Just then, the announcement speaker beeped back to life. “Apologies, students! It seems as though our first animal was not properly trained. Fear not, we have prepared well for your second acquaintance. Enjoy!”

Terrified, I looked around the room with everyone else to find the fox gone. All the kids who didn’t get their papers eaten hurriedly jotted down their final responses. The cart it had arrived in was replaced by a dome-like enclosure covered by cloth, which flew off as soon as I noticed it. Inside, we found not one, not two, but 23 yellow canaries.

A kid stood up, and I recognized him from my AP Soap Opera class. At least, before I dropped out. His eyes lit up excitedly. “Yellow canaries are singing birds! I wonder if we can make them perform for us.”

My eyes widened. “Okay, let’s not! How about, get this, we all just thug it out for the next two animals, hand in our AP exam, and walk out of this room in one piece. Sound like a plan?”

The kid shook his head. “No way, dude. I’ve always wanted to be a Broadway director,” he said. “Think of what my resume will look like if I write that I conducted yellow canaries for my AP Zoology exam. Juilliard, here I come!”

Oh no.

“Five, six, seven, eight, and SING!” he went. The canaries simply flapped their wings furiously and pecked at the floor of their enclosure. It wasn’t until the boy started tapping the glass dome that they began squawking in sharp, high notes. “Sing like you mean it! Put in passion, effort, anger! Think of someone you hate! Think of your mother-in-law! More passion! More energy! More footwork!” He looked extremely pleased with himself, although I don’t know why because I wouldn’t exactly call that conducting. This lasted for all of three seconds until one of the birds managed to pick the lock of its enclosure. It only took two more seconds for every single one of those 23 birds to fly out of their cage.

“RUN!” I interrupted as the birds began to descend and peck at students’ hair, fingers, shoulders, and anything they could get their beaks on.

As we were defending ourselves from the birds, the intercom interrupted with a final announcement: “Well, children. This has been quite the event. I’m as glad to get this over with as you are. Now, your final animal is also going to be the hardest, not to judge, but to tame. I have no clue if College Board actually approved this. I can’t remember what they asked in that voicemail they left me—I was too busy watching Boyfriend on Demand. I will say though, favorite hibernation pose trivia will certainly be of use here.” Just like that the announcements went dead for the final time.

AP Soap Opera kid cleared his throat, “So, what do you guys think we’re up against now?”

Before I could answer, a resounding crash echoed from behind us, accompanied by a thunderous roar. For some reason, the canaries were no longer in sight and had disappeared as quickly as the fox had. Strange. I turned around to face my next assignment, and there it was: an enraged, 11-foot-tall polar bear. It had just busted a hole through our brick gymnasium wall.

I stood shaking with fear as I stared into the polar bear’s eyes. That was until I noticed an extremely thin collar around the bear’s neck. There was no charm, but the rope was the same color and brand my uncle kept in our farm. Oh gosh, Barney? Wait, wait, this was a good thing. I looked back up at Barney to see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. I smiled, immediately thinking of ways to get him out of the gymnasium safely before my frantic planning was interrupted.

“Do something!” a kid screamed in desperation.

I whistled sharply and waved my hand in front of Barney’s nose as I backed away towards the door. Barney followed obediently. I bet he was hoping for a treat after all this effort. He’d be disappointed to find out I had nothing on me. College Board unfortunately lets us starve mid-exam. We were almost to the entrance of the gymnasium when I heard another crash, but much quieter.

I turned to see that a SWAT team had broken down the door of the gym. They didn’t even have to put in much effort, considering how the polar bear had already wrecked the majority of the room. And Yoko Tawada tried passing these creatures off as loving and circus-ready. What in the propaganda? I looked to my left and saw that a student had retrieved his phone from the bin the proctor had collected our phones in and used it to call 911.

The leader of the SWAT team looked concerned. “Wait, what is a bear doing in here?” he asked. “College Board approved a hare. A snowshoe hare. A rabbit, for god’s sake!”

I swallowed nervously. “The mysterious announcement guy said he was too busy watching Boyfriend on Demand when he got the call,” I explained.

“Oh, that explains it,” the leader said, nodding. “Jisoo’s acting was beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please let’s focus on the current mortal danger.”

“Right, right, everyone follow me,” the SWAT leader said, putting his arms up and directing us out of the room. “We’ll take care of the board.”

Uh oh. I locked eyes with Barney and signaled toward the gaping hole he had left in the gym wall. C’mon, boy, you need to run! Barney seemed to understand immediately and sprinted out of the gymnasium as fast as his legs could take him.

The SWAT leader panicked. “Woah there, wait! Guys, go get him,” he shrieked, before turning back to face me. He took off just then, racing after Barney. It’s okay, Barney’s definitely faster. He’s trained his whole life for moments like these.

Anyways, I never did get to submit my AP exam paper. Hopefully my score won’t get cancelled. I’m pretty sure I can still get a five without finishing my analysis of Barney. Although, if they asked, I could give a pretty concrete one. I never did find out how Barney ended up in that exam room, though. Was my uncle trying to steal from the school? Regardless, I’m so very certain that College Board won’t be administering a Section D of the test ever again. 

I got home and turned on the news, expecting to see an apology from College Board and the removal of the fourth section of the AP Zoology exam, but they had a different announcement prepared instead.

“Good evening, this is the lead representative for College Board’s AP Zoology exam writers. It is with a heavy heart that we have to announce the AP Zoology exam will no longer be offered or taught in future years. AP Biology or AP Environmental Science may be a nice substitute. Thank you for your continued cooperation.”

Huh. So much for college credit for AP Zoology. I wonder if my uncle’s gang will accept nepotism as a valid form of entry…