IB Tests, In Legos!

A few nights ago, 5 and the Senior Boys all went over to Meg's to play Wii Tennis and swim. And build things out of her little brother's legos.

Me: What should I make out of legos?
SB#1: Hell!

Roi: Ha!
SB#2: AAUUUUUGHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOO HOW DID I MISS THAT SERVE????

So there you have it. Hell represented in lego form. That's (from left) Roi, me (that is a mouth, not a mustache), and Ex (yes, a cyclops flower) taking our IB tests. The Test Invigilator has the machine gun to prevent TESTING AREA CONTAMINATION, which may be a bit of an exaggeration, but not much.

My First IB Test

Yesterday was the senior's last day of school! Good luck and we'll miss you.

IB tests are, essentially, very big finals at the end of senior year that test everything you learned (or were supposed to) over the last two years, without actually asking – they’re very, very broad essay questions. They, along with CAS and the Extended Essay, are the Holy Grails of getting our IB Diplomas.
I took my first one on Thursday, as a junior, because the Psychology class my school offers is only SL (Standard Level – one year long). I’ve spent all of high school watching the seniors deal with IB tests, and it usually goes through four stages:
1.) Oh dear Lord, did we ever actually learn any of this?
2.) Of course we did. This stuff is easy. We’ll do fine.
3.) We really couldn’t care less about our IB tests at this point.
4.) Oh dear Lord, the test is TODAY! Did we ever actually learn any of this? That’s okay, I’ll bet we do just fine. Like we care anyway.

I’m happy to say that because Psychology Teacher is one of the most amazing teachers I’ve ever had, that the Psych test was really stress-free, at least for me. We started reviewing in class a week before the test, and I stayed every day for after-school study sessions. They really were more “review” than “study”, as we spent all year learning this stuff and most of us had no real need to go back and re-learn or cram any of it.
The day of the test, all of us were excused from all of our classes. The test started at 12, and we were to spend all morning in the Psych room reviewing. When we got there at 7:45, Psych Teacher had a whole table of sugary breakfast snacks set out for us. After completely demolishing the food, we filled up the chalkboard completely with empirical studies (the one thing we were all shaky on) and jumped around on sugar highs, yelling and trying to focus and memorize a bunch of names, dates, and experiments. That lasted about twenty minutes, after which we sat sprawled on the floor listening to iPods, throwing gummi fruit at each other, and studying various notes. If you had walked into the room around 8:30, you would have seen a bunch of jittery but lethargic teenagers lying on each other’s stomachs, surrounded by a huge mass of papers spread all over the floor, shouting out random facts, questions, or song lyrics.
By third hour we had been exiled to the second floor of the library because Psych Teacher had a class. The attitude by that point was “if we don’t know it by now, we’re just not going to talk about it on the exam” so we (me, Roi, Goa, Geo, Ex, and Duckie) spent the last two hours before the exam talking, snacking, and generally relaxing. Meg and the senior boys made an appearance during lunch because the seniors were under the impression that there was free food. Upon discovering that the food was back in PT’s room, and that we weren’t going to go get them fruit snacks, they left.
When we got to the testing room at 11:45 (fifteen minutes early so the Test Invigilator could make sure our pockets were empty and all that), it finally hit us that we were actually taking an IB test. Cue frantic last-minute studying. After getting yelled at for “contaminating” the front of the room, we all picked up our answer sheets, went back and got the right ones (so sue me, no one told me they had our names already on them!) found seats, turned our pockets inside out, exchanged wide-eyed silent “good luck” looks, and prepared for our tests. The Test Invigilator opened the plastic-wrapped exams in front of us so we could rest assured that nobody had tampered with our tests (that really does keep me up at night, you don’t know) and handed them out.
They were relatively painless, too. I blanked completely on one question at first but calmed down a little and aced it. I’m a big believer in karma and all that, and I really don’t want to jinx myself – but I’m also not going to lie. I feel really confident and I’m pretty sure almost everybody else does as well. In the language of IB – we PWNED that test! Great job everyone, and a huge huge huge thank-you to PT for everything – the teaching, the food, the relaxation, the all-around awesomeness. We really couldn’t have done it without her.

In IB, This Is Totally Normal

A few little announcements for the people at my high school who read this…

1.) Happy Birthday! to one of the senior boys. Happy 18th, Tilapia, much love and have fun in California!
2.) This is kinda late, but good luck everyone on their IB tests! With a little luck the IB Graders in Kenya or Mexico or Mars or wherever will have mercy on our souls.

Now onto our previously scheduled update.

In IB, This Is Totally Normal:

~Hearing “don’t forget to take your cocaine packets home and do them!” as you leave Psych class. (our teacher was, of course, referring to packets of PAPER with questions about cocaine use)

~Calling the White House from your second hour class. (while watching All The President’s Men, I asked if just anyone could really call up the White House. History Teacher looked up the number and we called and talked to the switchboard operator)

~ Finding out that some classmates of yours started a new political party. (And realizing that they’d probably do a better job running the country than the people who are trying it now)

~ “Ted Kennedy killed your mom!” jokes. En Espanol.

~ Having your locker attacked and crammed randomly with ten-year-old Mac software CDs.

~ “Just dump the bodies in the back of the room” (referring to the Psych drawings immortalized in a previous entry)

~ “So, it really means nothing?” “Yes, which is why it means something.” (Discussing Going After Cacciato)

~My mother: Sal! Why are there always so many towels on the floor of the bathroom? It’s like they appear there by osmosis!
Me: Uh, osmosis is the diffusion of water through membranes and has nothing to do with why Bro can’t clean up after himself.
Mom: So they appear by spontaneous combustion?
Me: Try spontaneous generation, Mom.
Mom: Well are you going to pick up the bathroom?
Me: No.
(My mother is actually a very intelligent woman – she just doesn’t remember the how-does-this-apply-to-real-life-at-all vocabulary lessons)

~Participating in a prank with the senior class that requires your entire class to go to a different classroom on the other side of campus, and realizing that every single classmate of yours is there before the late bell rings. (as Roi put it, “you know it’s IB when everyone’s in the wrong classroom on time.”)

~Ex: Well if Duckie got a B on his oral, then everyone’s obviously going to do well.
Me: Hey now, that’s not good self-efficacy for Duckie JANE ELIOT 1968!
(when studying for the Psych IB final gets to be too much)

IB Party (of the century!)

The reason it took me this long to blog the IB Party of the Century is that this all happened the same weekend as the Group 4 Project From Hell (which is redundant), so I had no time to write it down. Now that school’s almost over and I have exams all next week, I suddenly have time to devote to CI.

It’s noon, Sunday, in March. Today is one of the biggest events to hit the universe since Woodstock.
That’s right. It’s the first “International” IB Party. Held at my house. The general idea is to get as many people involved in IB as possible (that would include teachers, students, and parents) to cook food from their country of origin and bring it to my house to RAISE THE ROOF. Obviously, latkes + my counselor + everybody’s moms + warm soda + tabouli + my backyard = party of the century!
I’m sure you can all tell where this is going.
It’s one pm. Roi, Red Dog, Meg, and Geo are over (Goa couldn’t make it), as well as my counselor, a couple of senior IB guys, Ex’s friend’s mom, and some random people (sophomores and their families? I don’t know). We’re all standing around under the olive trees in my backyard drinking warm soda and eating latkes with our fingers. I’m trying to convince the senior guys to try the tabouli. My 14 year old brother is trying to determine his odds of a hot makeout session with Geo or Roi.
Happily fed (and much more worldly for it!) my friends gravitate toward the volleyball net I (was forced to) set up earlier. Badminton is the game of choice, but due to a lack of racquets, a hybrid volleyball/badminton game begins. I’m sitting out because my hand-eye coordination is about the same as that of a drunk toddler, without the cuteness. I am, however, participating in the volley (haha, pun) of “shuttlecock” jokes. In front of my counselor.
“Aw, look at little Minnesota girl soaking up the sun!” my counselor exclaims. (At the risk of disclosing my location, I live in one of the hottest parts of the country.) I look out at Meg, a tiny, pale-skinned, blond Irish girl who moved here from the Midwest a few weeks before school started. I can already see three thousand new freckles appearing on her bare arms.

“Uh, Meg?” I yell. “You’re wearing sunscreen, right?”
“No.” Every mother in attendance suffers a mild cardiac arrest. None of us natives gave any thought to sunscreen since it’s early March, but Meg’s complexion and lack of experience here mean that she’ll fry within fifteen minutes.
“Yeah, that needs to happen.”
Skin cancer narrowly avoided, we move to the pool deck. The girls, all of whom brought suits (or fit into mine) attempt to swim, but discover that although the weather is already scorching, the pool is still the temperature it was in January. The boys throw us into the pool a few times, then get bored. Red Dog and my brother wrestle on the cement. The seniors sit on each other’s laps.
We make a third migration, this time into my bedroom. Geo takes my papasan chair, RD takes one of my desk chairs, I sit on my big desk, my brother and one of the seniors sit on my bed, and everyone else sits on the floor. We call Goa, take photos, and end up playing catch with my stuffed animal from AstroCamp (4th grade overnight, heck yeah!) The innocent game of catch turns quickly into a game of “how many IB kids fit on my twin bed?” (Answer: all of us in attendance, plus my brother).
So when anyone asks how the IB party went, we’ll say there was food, games, scantily clad girls, shirtless wrestling, and a mass of people on a bed. It’s the truth, right? That’s the talent we use to pass exams.

Tape This To The Fridge!

IB kids are self-motivated! We're A+ students! We're perfectionists! We expect only the best from ourselves!

Except, of course, when we don't.

The above are some photos from Psych class of the posters that my friends and I made for an in-class project. The assignment was to draw a body, and then label all the parts with how they are affected by stress. As you can see, we took it very seriously. The sloppy, you-should-be-a-doctor handwriting belongs to yours truly. I would advise against trying to read it. (There have been reported cases of blindness, hysteria, erectile dysfunction, spinal injuries, and death as a result of to read my handwriting.) The eyes on the large drawing are also my work. Someone commented after Roi drew the (horrible) mouth that our person had no eyes, so I remedied the problem quickly. Very quickly. Too quickly. The result had us rolling around on the floor in hysterical laughter (to our credit, we were on the floor already, working on the posters). Roi drew the beautiful heart. Those yellow things are kidneys, and the purple things are the adrenal glands; not to be confused with the bruise on the right arm. The brain melted as a result of sitting in an SAT room for 300 hours, the stomach (yes, that lime green thing) is trying to digest the lungs, the intestines are disconnected from the rest of the body, and the spleen deflated. Stress is really bad for you! ...says the IB blog.

The smaller purple person (the "exhaustion" stage of fight-or-flight) was drawn by Goa and another friend. It came out all wobbly because they were laughing at the eyes I drew. Not quite sure what the story is behind the horns, or what the "resistance to infections" is pointing to... (stress makes your thighs infected?) The smaller green person (the "alarm" stage) was drawn by me, which you can tell because the handwriting is a combination of Korean, Elvish, and ASL.

So, yes. This is what IB kids do in class. As assignments. And the thing is, we'll probably get full points for it.

A Day In The Life Part 2

Fifth Hour – Biology

Red Dog (the male associate of 5) has changed his Birthday Song from second hour from a Chinese one to a “Communist Leader” one. Problem is, he can only come up with those two and one other Russian guy, so he’s sitting in Biology class trying to think of some more.
RD has this little quirk – attention deafness. It’s like the opposite of ADD. When he starts paying attention to something, he REALLY pays attention to it; and is literally oblivious to anything and everything around him. I proved this once before. He was two feet away from me talking to Biology Teacher. I said his name 4 or 5 times, getting louder every time, then I half-shouted “I want to make hot, passionate love to RD!” The entire class heard (I had some explaining to do, since most of them didn’t hear my buildup of trying to prove that he couldn’t hear me). He turned around a few minutes later, completely oblivious, and asked “What'd I miss?”
Anyway, so this attention-deafness kicks in. The following exchange between me and him:
“I can’t think of any more Communist leaders!”
“Joseph Stalin.”
“Man, I know there are more.”
“Jo-seph Sta-lin.”
“More Russian guys.”
“JOSEPH STALIN.”
“Can you think of any?”
“Yes. Joseph Stalin.”
“Right, Stalin! What was his first name?”
We then proceed to get into a class argument about whether or not Boris Yeltsin was communist or not. When I get a pass to go to my locker to get a worksheet I forgot, RD comes with, and we detour to History Teacher’s room. We walk in on him standing at his podium lecturing a bunch of freshmen.
Red Dog: Are you busy?
HT: ….
RD: We have a question. Was Boris Yeltsin communist?
HT: Yes. He was democratically elected, but he was a communist first.
RD: Thanks!
(RD and I are leaving and are halfway out the door)
HT: Wait! What the heck for?
RD: I’m writing a Birthday Song –
Me: - Inspired by your second hour today.
HT: Aren’t you two supposed to be in Bio right now?
RD: Yes.
On the way back, we decide to add Lee Harvey Oswald to the list, broadening the scope from “Communist leaders” to “famous people who were probably kind of communist”.

Sixth Hour – Language Arts
We’re starting Going After Cacciato. After an argument about how to pronounce “Cacciato”, we start reading aloud. “Oyster” is mispronounced. Swear words are read. A deep literary discussion ensues about whether or not a “roach” only refers to marijuana or also a hand-rolled cigarette.

Seventh Hour – Pre-Calculus
For the annual writing project, we were assigned to write songs, poems or short stories with three trig concepts in them. One boy from my class wrote three love songs to our math teacher, and performed then on guitar with vocal help from his friend in calc. (Side Note: Both performers were also members of the Nads.) The songs are priceless, with lines like “I want to be adjacent to your hypotenuse” and “together we can defy the Law of Cosines”. (If the two brilliant minds who wrote the songs want to send them to me, I’ll happily post them here) I comment aloud that I think the district kind of frowns on that. Math Teacher has to leave, and a sub oversees while we sit on the floor and discuss music, religion, our criteria for the opposite sex, and global warming.

A Day In The Life

Strange as it may seem, this isn't an anecdotal compilation or anything. This all happened in one school day (Thursday, April 26). And while today was a little more colorful than most, this is pretty much what it's like to be surrounded by IB kids all day. I'm stretching it out into 2 posts because it's long. This is also your formal introduction to 5, Red Dog (*eyeroll*) and Ex.

First Hour – Psychology
Today we’re working on a worksheet that gives us situations in life and has us write down all the parts of the brain that it takes. At the end, you have to come up with a few examples. Since Psych is the smallest class we have, personal discussions have a tendency to become class discussions. This causes some tension between Roi, who sits behind me, and her ex-boyfriend, who has a tendency to make inane or obnoxious comments, to which we respond with an irritated snarkiness fueled (at least in my case) more by amusement than any true grievance. So for one of my examples, I wrote “Ex makes a stupid comment, and you get annoyed”. Roi and I find this incredibly hilarious and share with Goa, another member of 5 (our 5-girl ‘clique’ composed of me (Sal), Roi, Geo, Goa, and Meg). One of Ex’s friends reads it and informs us that we are being “bitchy” about the assignment, to which Roi replies “so?” which cracks me up again. Later on, Ex is having a conversation with another of his friends across the room, and says “but retarded people are always happy!” I turn around, looking confused, and say “but you get into bad moods all the time!”
“I’m not retarded!” he snaps back, and right on cue, Ex’s friend shouts “That’s not true!” in response to Ex’s original statement. The overlapping banter keeps us amused for a while.

Second Hour – History
It’s Meg's birthday today, so History Teacher calls her up to the front. We sing to her. “Spanish!” the class shouts, and despite the genuine Spanish-speakers protesting that the version we learn in Spanish class “isn’t even the real song”, we perform a rousing rendition anyway. After singing it a third time in French, a girl who knows Farsi sings that version. Then History Teacher gets into the act, demanding multilingual versions of the Birthday Song from all the bilingual kids in class. We hear it in Albanian, Japanese, Romanian, Chinese, and Hindi, even though “Hindi doesn’t have a birthday song!” The +1 Guy member of 5 - who is henceforth referred to as "Red Dog" (don't look at me, he chose it) - decides to write his own Chinese version and starts singing “Mao ze Dong, Chiang Kai Shek” to the tune of the Birthday Song. Then we talk about the JFK assassination.

Third Hour – Spanish
We’re working on the skit for the Cinco de Mayo skit competition. Our skit is a life-size re-enactment of the board game Clue. You may remember from your childhood that one of the weapons is a lead pipe. What you may not know is that when you try to make a long, cylindrical item like that out of a large piece of cardboard, the outcome is, as Spanish Teacher put it, “wrong”. Add that to the fact that the Spanish word for pipe is “pipa”, pronounced “pee-pah”, and you’ve got a problem. We decide to change the weapon to poison in a chalice. The problem is, the kid playing the pipa just won’t let go of the idea, and insists that he cam find a way to make it work. What he ends up doing is making a long cardboard thing that attaches to the front of him. To kill the victim, a tall, muscular football player, instead of hitting him over the head with a long piece of cardboard, he sort of… jumps at/on him a few times.
We start working on the chalice.

Fourth Hour – Lunch
We eat outside, at a table adjacent to the IB Seniors. One of them explains his “Homie don’t right-click” t-shirt to Meg. A “nerdy t-shirt” discussion follows. (Favorites: “I wish I were DNA Helicase so I could unzip your genes”, and one that says “Schrödinger’s cat is dead” on the front and “Schrödinger’s cat is not dead” on the back.) Food is thrown. I am informed that “emo kid” (from the scavenger hunt) goes to our school and was spotted in the hallway that morning. More food is thrown.

Target does not like Scavenger Hunts

Last night, a couple of the senior boys set up a scavenger hunt for a bunch of their friends (almost all in IB), and it was hella fun! Proof that IB kids really can have a killer time, stay out till curfew, and annoy Target employees. We divided into two teams of four (which were later added to as more people arrived) and had an hour to drive around town taking photographs of team members with the items on the lists. We did this three times with three different lists of ten items.
Some of the things just required luck and a bit of attention, such as “tagging” (which we jumped a fence to get to, as we couldn’t park on the highway, so we parked in the parking lot of a sex-toy store right near my school and laughed at the couples coming out with shopping bags) and “a painting” (which we found in a closed Starbucks, so we took a photo of a group member pressed against their window). Others required a little bit of ingenuity, like “three things mentioned in the title of a movie” – we used a toy penguin, a Finding Nemo toy, and a Cinderella Barbie; and “all group members holding things that rhyme” – we used a lock, a clock, a sock and some baby blocks. Still others took balls. For “guy in a pink shirt”, we gave up trying to find one and instead went into a clothing store, grabbed one off the racks, and asked a man waiting for his girlfriend to try on clothes to model it for us, which he agreed to. An “emo kid” also let us take a picture with her, and a mother let us photograph her baby. We got shot down by a Target security guard who wouldn’t take a photo with us for “person in uniform”, so we got some Target employees out for a smoke break in the background of a photo. We cheated on a few – for “construction vehicle” we used a toy Tonka truck, but for others we were serious – for “every team member on a swing set”, we all squished onto two swings (at this point we had 5 team members) and held out the camera at arm’s length to take the photo.
Other highlights: These things were al about speed – we all piled into someone’s car and zipped around our town looking for things. At one point, for the “arrow” sign, my friend and I jumped out of the car as it was stopped for a left turn into a parking lot, and darted onto the median. (On the way, we got whistled at by an old guy in a pickup truck – gross!) By the end of the night, our team had two girls in walking casts, but we still made good time, thanks to powerful cars and piggyback rides from the two guys on the team.
Upon asking someone in Target to take a photo of us all holding “things that begin with the first letter of all team member’s names”, one of the employees (who has a history of following my friends around in the store) told us that we couldn’t take photos in Target! Why, I’m not quite sure, but the other team got the same scolding as well.
For “barbed wire”, we stopped outside of a juvenile detention center and took a photo of the security fence, which aroused the interest of the security guards, so we left.
Disclaimer: We did nothing illegal (with the possible exception of take photos in Target?) or dangerous; just mildly irritating and stupid.
We never actually tallied points, but I’m pretty sure our team won. Afterwards, we all went to a nearby 5&Diner and had ice cream and made a lot of noise.

Group 4

The Weekend Before Group 4 Due Date: A Daily Breakdown (no, really.)

Saturday: spend all afternoon at the house of one of my male classmates, in my, uh, second-choice group that I switched into after some drama with my previous group. Hang out with him and 3 other guys in the group (mucho testosterone). Watch them play guitar hero. Create an entire PowerPoint presentation. Edit the report. Stress. Share a Tucker Max story; hate myself in the morning. Deal with ridiculous amounts of innuendo. Try to make MS Paint do what I want. Fail. Delete all files stored on my flash drive; pray that the computer is still alive when I get home. Stay much later than planned. Drive home with group members 1 and 2. Endure half-hour athletic conversation between 1, 2, and my brother.

Sunday: Set up for the IB party. Begin IB party. Chill with most of my friends and some senior guys. Discover that last year’s bathing suits don’t fit very well. Swim involuntarily in freezing water. Play volleyball/badminton. Take ridiculous photos. End up in my bedroom playing catch with a stuffed animal. Go back to group 4 house. Stress. A lot. Try to explain project to group members 3 and 4. Finish PowerPoint. Fight over DJ-ing rights. Deal with more innuendo. Avoid watching The Descent. Get home too late. Remember Psych paper due Monday morning. Do Psych paper.

Monday: Wake up. Do homework that was neglected due to Group 4. Print report. Carry report, suit, Psych paper, and 21 lbs of books back to school. Hand in psych paper. Stress. Barely make it through day zombie-style. Change into suit after getting sub to let me out of math class 20 minutes early. Sit in the lecture hall until 7pm watching other people’s presentations. Eat Girl Scout cookies. Stress. Pass notes. Give presentation. Break teacher’s laptop. Go home. Eat dinner. Finish Psych paper that my teacher gave me an extra day to work on. Consider dropping IB and changing career ambition to cashier. Fall into a deep stress-induced coma.

Thursday: Remember that the calf liver from Group 4 is still in the fridge. Try unsuccessfully to bribe brother into throwing it out for me. Decide that the meat scissors entombed along with the liver in the double-Ziploc bags will just have to be sacrificed for the cause. Wonder what “the cause” is. Fall back into stress-induced coma.

GO NADS!

IB kids have a lot to be proud of. Even if we’re at the bottom of our individual classes, we’re still at the top of the school for the most part. We are constantly seeing our names and our friends’ names in the local paper, hearing them over the announcements, and spending our evenings dressed up and receiving certificates for various accomplishments.
However, it’s not often that IB has something external (read: that anyone else cares about) that we can really get behind and take pride in. Recently, though, we’ve been kicking major butt in a few things more important to the “real world”: SPORTS.
That’s right. IB kids are owning, schooling, and dominating the world of sports at my high school. Our boy’s tennis team is almost completely made up of IB kids, and they have a great record right now. IB also makes up a large part of marching band, which consistently receives superiors at competitions. However, last night was the crowning glory for this year’s IB class.
Last night was my high school’s Dodgeball Tournament. Any group of 6-8 people could sign up, for a fee, and would play against other teams of students and teachers in the tournament. It was a typical athletic bracket, with winners playing winners until the final playoff for first place.
A few boys from my junior IB class and their friends decided to create a team called Nerds Attempting Dodgeball. The acronym for this is, of course, NADS. They managed to get the crowd chanting “GO NADS! GO NADS!” for about 30 seconds before we got it. The jerseys were pink with lettering in my school’s coloring, saying GO NADS on the back along with each player’s nickname. You know it’s the team of IB kids when they come up with a pun like that. This is why I love IB.
Now, the team wasn’t exactly your scrawny-taped-glasses “nerds” – three of the members were football players and they are all in-shape and athletes of a sort. Nevertheless, they are all IB, poking fun at themselves with their team name (“Nerds Attempting…”) and nobody, especially them, expected them to make it past the first round. We all came out to show our support for the NADS, expecting to have a good laugh watching our friends get pummeled and then go home and work on our Group 4.
Well. The NADS made it past the first round, beating out a tough-looking group of kids, and came back for the second round to go against Old School, a team of teachers, most from the Language department. When they beat Old School, we were thrilled and amazed at the same time. Nobody, most of all the NADS, expected them to make it past the first round. The tiny section of IBers was screaming louder than anyone (to our credit, we were shouting “Go Nerds!”) in support.
I had to go home early with my ride, but it turns out that the little underdog let’s-join-for-kicks team made it all the way to the finals, coming in second place after losing to a team of varsity baseball players called HIV. (Yes, HIV beat the NADS. Please don’t think too hard about that.)
Anyway, I know it’s silly, but I was really really proud of the NADS. We’re not exactly the most revered group of kids on campus, especially in terms of athletics. The guys who went in there as the NADS were the class clowns, the athletes/actors who like making people laugh and thought they’d represent IB in all its non-glory by being completely pathetic. That’s the point of a team of “Nerds”, after all. All of us were so thrilled and proud of our team for, well, not being pathetic. And thanks to them, IBers all over campus held their heads a little higher today (actually, that was just us looking to the sky and praying for a comet to obliterate all life before we have to present Group 4 tomorrow.)
So, as I leave to work on my Internal Assessment/Group 4 project, I leave you with 1 final thought:

GO NADS!!!!!