太好了！

"Laoshi," It's monday and I've arrived at the classroom 15 minutes early and nervous as hell. I don't want to be stuck in Chinese 101 for my only term in Beijing, and class changes end tomorrow.
"I've studied Chinese for a year. This class is going to be completely review for me, and I was wondering if you could move me to the next level of class," I really wish I knew how to say this in Chinese.
"Oooh, the class is too easy for you?" I can't tell if she's serious or if she's about to spout of a whirlwind of Mandarin that I can't understand and then tell me to take a seat.
"You study for a year. How much time every day?" I don't know! I just know that if I have to learn how to say/write "I, you, they" for the next week I will probably be trying to escape out the window by tuesday.
"Um, maybe, an hour a day," I lie through my teeth, "But that's not really the point. Do you want to see the textbook I've completed"? She doesn't seem to care. I keep trying.
"There are three people studying here who took the exact same classes as me in America and they are in the next level class," I try to explain. "I've seen what they're studying and it's the right level for what I've done,"
"Oh, so you think your Chinese is better than your friends?" Why must this woman determine my future??!
"No! I think it's the same as my friends!" I am not going to quit. This is ridiculous.

And then she conceeds.
"I can move to you the next class but it will be hard," She doesn't seem very confident in my abilities.
"That's fine. Hard is good. It's just that this class is for people who have never studied any Chinese ever," The students arriving for their class smile at me sympathetically. My teacher reluctantly fills out the piece of paper to move me. I thank her in Chinese and then flee the room.

I have no problems in the next class.