Crossed Out, Except Noah

They told us in ninth grade that we were the “future.” They separated us into special classes,

gave us harder tests, and promised it would all pay off later. We believed them.

Ten years after graduation, we started running into each other. The valedictorian—full

ride to MIT—now builds custom keyboards in his garage and says he’s never been less stressed.

The girl who skipped two grades and spoke four languages works part-time at a library because “pressure

gives her migraines.” A few of the rest burned out completely. No big failures, just quiet exits

from the lives everyone expected them to live. Then someone asked about Noah.

Noah was the one teachers pulled aside like a secret. Early college credits. Perfect scores.