Ellie Menton: A warm reminder that we’re all in this together

I was in Irish class when it happened, writes Ellie Menton

There were three of us sitting up the front, dredging up the most obscure vocabulary imaginable in preparation for our impending oral exam. We chosen three would face our fate the next day.

Or so we thought.

I was halfway through my lengthy opinion of our school uniform when there was a knock on the door. A face appeared and informed the boy beside me that he was up next. I blinked. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that if number 18 was being called, then I, number 20, had roughly an hour until my first real Leaving Certificate exam.

The funereal silence that swept through my class told me they had come to the same conclusion.

I swallowed the frog in my throat and it plunged down to the depths of my butterfly-infested stomach, and meekly announced, “I, um, suppose that means I should go too.”

Now, school has never been a place I could quite get my head around. I have tripped my way to my seat every single day, I can’t make eye contact to save my life, and God forbid you catch me off guard because I won’t be able to formulate a coherent sentence offhand. I have chastised myself over and over for being so damn awkward and often wonder how it was I managed to form a friend group at all.

So when that empathetic silence crashed into my ears, and when my teachers and classmates repeatedly told me I was okay, I was ready, that was what rolled around in my mind, not my inevitable doom. All at once this incredible sense of comradery emanated from the people I had stumbled and stammered around for two years.

My hands shook as I gathered my stuff and set off on the short journey to the geography room. My heart was making a decent effort to leap right out of my chest, and my feet were in active protest. But I made it, sat down, and fished around in my coat pockets for some chewing gum to settle my jittery nerves, only to be told that number 19 was the final candidate for the day.

Still, I didn’t really care; that sense of companionship and support was there 24 hours later when it really was my turn. I stuttered and stammered and barely held eye-contact when I told people how I got on afterwards. I was congratulated all the same, and actually managed to wish people luck in their own exams.

With so little time left in the building I spent most of my adolescence in, I was really grateful I got to make some peace with how awkward it made me feel. People don’t actually see these silly follies in me that I think stand out like neon signs. And if they do, no one cares. At this point, as a great Disney film once said, we’re all in this together.