While the day before the ACT looks different for everyone, for Josie Goldberg (’27), it was a careful balance of calm and focus. People often say junior year is the hardest year of high school, and for good reason: balancing AP classes with ACT prep can feel like a full-time job.
Josie woke up that Friday determined, knowing it wouldn’t be a typical Friday. Normally, she would spend her classes thinking about hanging out with friends after school, but with the ACT looming, her mind stayed quietly alert. Still, she refused to let it shake her nerves; she was ready to push through the school day and approach the test on her own terms.
Breakfast, being the most important meal of the day, was on Josie’s mind from the moment she opened her eyes from her deep slumber; she needed something that would fuel her without upsetting her stomach. After a moment of thought, she settled on a simple but reliable choice: yogurt topped with fresh berries and a generous handful of granola. It was the perfect combination—filling, energizing, and gentle enough to get her through what she knew would be a long, mentally demanding day.
By the time she arrived at school, the morning meditation had begun, and with it came the steady countdown to the ACT. In just a day, she would be sitting in a silent classroom, pencil in hand, bubbling in A’s, B’s, C’s and D’s that could shape her future. Throughout all six of her classes, she stayed focused—taking notes, asking questions, engaging in discussions–while still keeping that test quietly tucked in the back of her mind. She didn’t let it consume her, though. Instead, she found her rhythm, balancing preparation with presence and excelling in each class like the dedicated student she is.
When the final bell rang at 3:11 p.m., Josie knew her real work for the evening was about to begin. Grammar rules, math formulas, and timing strategies were waiting for her at home—none of which would appear magically on the test. But first, she needed a pick-me-up. Naturally, that meant a quick stop at Dunkin’. She and her mom, both loyal Dunkin’ fans, headed to the drive-thru for their favorite drink: Matcha. With her matcha in hand and her determination still strong, Josie was ready to dive into her final day of prep.
Between the drive from Dunkin’ to her house, Josie yanked on the straw of the earthly-looking drink—she treated it like a sacred ritual two or three times a week—until the straw made that tragic end-of-drink slurp.
“Alright,” her mom said, “now that you’re done guzzling that matcha, it’s time for you to officially lock in.”
With that, Josie marched inside, plopped into her designated kitchen chair—the one that practically had her name engraved on it like a throne for the academically doomed—and turned out every sound in existence. She pulled out her notes and started reviewing the math formulas that haunt every ACT taker’s dreams.
Tne thing about the ACT is that every test is basically the same thing wearing a different wig—same formulas, new numbers, officially dressed up in confusing word problems pretending to be originals. It’s like the test makers think, “Lets throw the same question at them, but give different names for the people referenced and hope they panic.”
Once the math formulas were all memorized, practice problems were completed, Josie began to look over information related to the English section. Once again, rules lined the papers in front of her. However, this time around, rather than equal signs and numbers, apostrophes, transition words, and redundant phrases hogged up the spaces on the page.
As the clock hit 7:00 p.m., Josie felt that it was unnecessary to continue looking over all the material; she did not want to tire herself out before the big day. Then her stomach let out a loud rumble. The refrigerator only a few feet away called out her name. Then it hit her: pasta. “Carb up before you show up,” as the runners always say. Most athletes eat pasta before their performance—so she thought to herself, why not join the trend before the ACT?
Her mom, her favorite cook in the world, whipped up warm, delicious pasta: noodles perfectly coated in buttery sauce, a sprinkle of seasoning, and just enough cheese to make it melt in her mouth. After finishing it, she drifted into a cozy food coma, which was exactly what she needed for a good night’s rest.
She hit the hay and woke up the next morning at 7:00 a.m., on the dot. There was plenty of time for a full breakfast, topped with a touch of chocolate—her moms good-luck tradition. With all the studying she had done, the calm, rested feeling settled over her: she knew she was ready.
She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her pencils (sharpened within an inch of their lives), and headed out the door with the confidence of someone who had eaten pasta, conquered matcha, and reviewed more grammar rules than any human ever should. As she and her mom drove to the school, the building looked a little less intimidating than usual—as if it, too, knew she had put in the work.
When Josie finally sat down in her testing room, she took a deep breath. The desks were squeaking, the fluorescent lighting was aggressively bright and someone was already tapping their foot like they were auditioning for a musical, but she didn’t let it faze her. She straightened her papers, twirled her pencil, and felt that same calm focus she’s been building for the last few mothers settle right back in.
At the end of the day, no matter how many formulas, apostrophes, or trick questions the ACT threw at her, Josie knew one thing for sure: she had done everything she should. She was prepared. She was steady.
The proctor said, “You may begin,” and Josie smiled to herself. Showtime.
