Laura Stoddard, AZ
Laura was born in Idaho, and spent her formative years running amok in the great outdoors. She received her bachelor’s degree in english from Arizona State University, and in the ensuing years has embraced both fiction and nonfiction writing. In 2014 her debut novel, The Dreamosphere, (a Middle-Grade adventure) was published, and over the years her journalistic pursuits have included the roles of staff writer, freelance writer, editor and content director for various publications. Aside from writing, Laura loves volunteering, travelling, being outdoors, doing DIY projects, and laughing whenever possible.
As a Story Terrace writer, Laura interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better by reading her autobiographical anecdote below.
I’ve Made a Terrible Mistake
As the large auditorium filled with students, eager butterflies fluttered in my stomach. This was it! My very first university final exam. I studiously pulled out my freshly sharpened No. 2 pencil and crossed my legs, foot bouncing confidently. I’d loved my Spanish 101 course, so this test would be a cake walk. I sat up straighter as one of the professors approached the lectern.
“Hola! Bienvenidos amigos!” he rang out.
“Hola!” came the response of several hundred students.
After relaying some general rules Professor Rojas finished, “You will have two hours to complete the test. Once you’ve finished, bring your exam up to the stage and deposit it in this box, then exit through one of the doors—quietly, por favor.”
With that, he motioned us to begin, and I flipped my exam booklet face up. I flew through the multiple choice questions, breezed through the short answers, and confidently penned the final paragraph-style questions. I looked up at the clock and could barely believe it. Only an hour had elapsed, and I was the first one done! My confidence bloomed to arrogant proportions.
I yawned and stretched loudly, collected my things, then noisily clomped down to the stage placing my materials into the proffered box with a flourish. I could almost feel the glares of the other students on my back. Suckers, I thought. Then with a smug grin I turned and walked through the nearest door.
I’d barely taken two steps when I stopped dead in my tracks. This was all wrong. As the door slammed shut behind me, chemical smells assailed my nostrils and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Oh no. No! Dozens, if not hundreds, of students had just watched me not exit the auditorium, but instead, strut straight into the maintenance closet.
The next few moments were agony. Should I swallow my pride and go back out or wait and hope to flee once everyone else was gone? I took a deep breath, eased open the door, and tried (unsuccessfully) to tiptoe to the nearest exit door. Chuckles reverberated around the hall and someone called something out. Cheeks flaming, I willed myself not to look back as I rushed through one of the actual exit doors into the coolness of the evening.
As my heartbeat gradually slowed, I started laughing hysterically. Even I had to admit that I’d had it coming.
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