The ACT

I got out of the car and immediately wished that I had Susan's fur coat in Narnia. Not so much because it was the warmest of all of them and the temperature at the moment was -68 degrees, but because it was by far the awesomest and, I admit, at the moment I was not. The awesomest, I mean.

So I entered the building, the school I might have been going to had I not been homeschooled. I gazed fondly at the bleak, empty walls. Ahh, what memories I might have made here. Although technically those memories would be a few years in the future. Wrap your mind around that one. Memoryception.
My sister, my brother, and I hopped swiftly into a line. Mark, who had already been through this experience, was soon lost from our sight. We never saw him again.
Just kidding. He was right around the corner.
But Claire and I thought he was long gone, and when the lady at the table shouted in Spartan tones, "Writing? Or no writing?" we gazed at her mournfully and didn't reply. Apparently this was enough for her - we obviously weren't the poor souls she was looking for.

After they decided that we were certified victims, (and showed the most horrific picture of me in the history of ever to the entire world) we passed the tables and were ordered to wait in a long, dark corridor. It was lined with small metal boxes which I can only assume held torture devices for those who failed to comply. But oh, we did not care, for there was Mark!!! He didn't care either, and was leaning against a box with a disinterested expression.