HMMT Day
Patrick hits the big leagues.
I set my alarm clock for around 6:25a.m. today and, in classic style, wake up at 4:30. God damn it, I hate it when that happens.
My dad drives me to the South Acton train station at 7:00, and there I meet Alex Kazberouk - I feel the same fear as you do from the name. Next arrival is the ever-effervescent Feiqi Jiang, followed by David "Awkward Kid" Corwin. Seriously, I don't know how else to describe this curious freshman: Something about his posture and his rolling backpack, something about his very presence just screams "AWKWARD!" out at me. I know it's rude of me, but the word just springs involuntarily (though not unwelcome) to mind. Robert is next to arrive, as idle as he has ever been on AIM, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he actually shows up; he has been "snowboarding" all week. Finally, Anandh "Indian" Swaminathan joins us with Samarth. As we decide that the proper mode of transportation is not the Commuter Rail but the personal car, we realize that we number seven and that we lack someone...
Patrick Wu shows up seconds before the arrival of the Commuter Rail, excitedly munching on a piece of bread. He brings an interesting energy to the group and surprising calmness. Patrick, Anandh, AK, and I pile into the minivan with Anandh's dad, while the other four go in Samarth's car. Destination Alewife.
The ride there follows a natural progression: At first, Patrick talks to himself and to David Corwin. Then, Patrick gets into his groove and gets really excited, demonstrating that he has prepared himself far more than anyone else present. I make snide comments while keeping my eyes glued forward. Patrick eventually ends his conversation and begins to scribble furiously, practicing problems. As we go, mostly in silence, Anandh offers to us the sheet indicating our round preferences. We continue, and I debate internally whether or not to whip out the notebook. There is little else to do, but it also requires significant effort and concentration, especially when the highway is as rough as it is. For a moment we're on a smooth patch, and I reach for it... ! But then there's a lurch, and I give up.
Skip a bit to inside the subway. The subway begins to move, and an expectant hush falls over the car, which is mostly empty. Gradually, a rumbling drowns out all sounds except that of a particularly persistent voice speaking condescendingly and excitedly about math. Around my uncrowded person, eight Asians, Indians, and white kids occupy eighteen seats. At first, it is but us and, in the New England spirit, two black people. I try not to stare at them, but the temptation is too great!!! By the third stop, the seats around the block of eighteen begin to fill up, and someone has taken a seat next to our brilliant public speaker and his identically dressed disciple. They strike a comical image: Patrick, talking animatedly, gesturing, pointing widely and caricature-like. Feiqi, wearing the same red coat and pants, paying rapt attention and laughing mechanically with Patrick, trying uncomfortably to avoid the person in the seat next to him. We get off at the next stop.
The racial demographic at Harvard reminds me of Math Team. Asians, Indians, skinny annoying-looking white kids with glasses. There are also many girls here, and hell if I know why - maybe some teams got desperate, or maybe some special-interest groups required some sort of non-discriminatory bullshit. In any case, everyone talks about the test excitedly. I can't decipher whether these people actually care or if they merely think of the incoming tests as a common point of discussion for socialization. I assume that there's a decent mix of the two groups among us. I assume that Anandh actually cares, but he hardly talks at all, while I can actually hear kids behind me saying that half the reason they came was so that they could eat out for a day. I shake my head and considering whipping around and yelling at them. I refrain.
The "general" test, which was the subject for me and Alex, occurs in Science Building C. Science Buildings B, C, and D are all under the same roof. The entirety of Building C is a large lecture hall with auditorium-style seats. The first impression I get of Building C is red. Like a giant Communist flag, the wave of crimson assaults my eyes, blinding me momentarily before I settle with Kaz to find a seat. It doesn't help that Exeter, which sent approximately 62 kids to compete, has clothed all of its members in red as well. As I try to take notes, writing on the red desk, I feel a strong poke on my arm. I look up and find Ashwin Suresh, member of Exeter. I nod my approval, secretly horrified that he also bears the red garb. The building, aside from the bloodlike connotation, evokes another feeling as I enter, observing the people struggling to find the little crappy low-budget desks built into the seats: I remember Men in Black and Will Smith, struggling to find a suitable surface on which to write his test. I might even giggle girlishly as I imagine pulling the coffee-table-like desk from the front of the room toward me to use.
The red stimulus pounds in my head as we take the exam, which consists of a decent mix of problems that I know how to do, problems that I have no idea how to do, problems that I am too lazy to do, and problems that I get wrong because I make a juvenile error. There are twenty in total, worth 100 points, and I think that I get a solid portion of them correct.
Small details are exquisite, and I walk forth in the cold weather and snow to follow the line to "Pierce" building. I'm not sure if "Pierce" refers to the absolutely useless Democrat of the 1850's, and I'm not sure if I care. The guide speaks with an incredible accent - probably German, though she looks Russian, especially in the wintry air. Just as we enter the building, I turn behind me and see, like the Allies liberating the French, two red-coated, khaki-pantsed Asians sprinting toward me. In their wake are Samarth and AK. I stall back a bit to add them to my party, and we continue. Under the roof are several buildings, and as the group progresses through under the guidance of the German or Russian girl, it thins like the Third Reich against the Stalingrad counterattack. But my party is tough; we march on upstairs until we find 209-Pierce. Like the first beautiful meeting between Americans and Russians west of Berlin, we rejoice, stopping just short of hugging and drinking vodka. And we begin the team round, of which we get around fifteen percent.
Lunch. We march to Harvard Square, the World War II allusions and metaphors far behind us. Harvard's campus is quaint and, to be honest, totally unremarkable. The campus is not particularly clean, and crossing streets is a pain in the ass, especially when it's snowing and none of the cars can tell when they should stop. Nonetheless, my party of eight crosses with no casualties, and we dine. Lunch is nothing particularly exciting, and despite my best efforts to maintain an academic attitude, the situation lends itself too well to Spades to be ignored. After lunch, Samarth, Robert, Anandh, and I indulge in a few games of cards. It is perhaps a full half an hour before a black guy appears and tells us to leave. We comply with his demands immediately and book it straight into the street. So what if there are dangerous cars? We want out of that cafe area.
We find a new area in which we can play cards uninterrupted, save for the sounds of white kids playing Pres. Shudders pass involuntarily through our group, but we ignore it and remain dedicated to our cause: to play cards while others are doing productive things.
The "Guts Round" finally starts in Building B, and its visual effect is as immediate as that of Building C - the difference being that upon entering Building B, green chairs bombards my retinas, knocking me backward. Fortunately, Building C has prepared me fairly, and I am even able to sustain the visual stress when the band of bright red Exeters contrasts horribly with the green aesthetics. For such a prestigious university, Harvard really has horrifying color co-ordination. Granted, so does my high school. I guess that just not everyone can have my refined taste.
When the Guts Round starts, I realize the futility in my efforts to solve anything. I resign myself to being totally useless for an hour and a half, except in one instance to tell Samarth a wrong answer. I amuse myself by playing Tetris and by listening to the white kids behind me. They have resigned themselves quite as thoroughly as I have; I hear distinct phrases like "How the hell did we even get any questions right at all?" and "You know what? I'm just giving up and watching the score updates. It's more fun." So I guess I'm not alone... it just feels like intellectual superiors surround me. AB winds up taking ninth on the Guts Round out of around 150 schools. Damn. That's not bad.
Throughout the day, I am one of the biggest advocates of skipping the award ceremony and going straight home. It takes only a few minutes to decide that none of the AB group will receive awards. Instead, Exeter, Thomas Jefferson Academy, and a team called "Quagga" take all of the prizes. It is embarrassing... all around us, other teams gain awards and awards, displaying terrible names in the process. Public notice: Whoever invented the expressions "banana pancakes" and "powerproof girls" is going to die if I ever discover his identity. Seriously, the "powerproof girls" consisted of six boys and two girls. Either those boys had no self-esteem whatsoever, or they were thoroughly homosexual.
It seems like the award ceremony has closed early, and none of my group has won an award, so I go down to the bathroom. Of all the things I've seen on the esteemed Harvard campus, this is by far the most high-tech and state-of-the-art: aesthetically pleasing, motion-detecting, squeaky clean urinals. Somehow, the day's visit feels justifed. I call to tell my dad it's over.
It has been a good day full of kickass math problems and snow, but it's not over. As soon as I return to the artificially green lecture hall, I hear my name. The shock on my comrades' faces is priceless, though I do imagine that if I were to see my own, I would say the same. I skip down the aisle, nearly breaking my neck. I decide that this is probably the single best thing about this lecture hall: running up and down those stairs to the front. I pick a book as my prize and return, and the rest of the story from there is just straight shooting.
Sure, I feel guilty for winning the school's only prize... hell, I took the easiest rounds and even got some wrong. But, damn it, it's a book! The Pea and the Sun: A Paradox - or something to that effect. Looks like something else to donate to Bill's lecture hall on Monday to join the Marines poster.
Till next year, then.
SD
Feb. 25, '06
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