My Power of the Pen Stories

Week Six Story

PROMPT: Disillusion
TITLE: The Grade
RANK: 1
WEEK: 6
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I take a deep breath as the stapled math test slides into my desk. The black ink glares up at me threateningly, taunting me. I look up as the teacher folds her hands and clears her throat. "Good luck," she says, and I swear I see a smirk flash across her lips. "You have 40 minutes. Begin."

I write my name across the top of my paper quickly, nervous but eager to start. My eyes rest on the first question. Easy enough, I think, smiling to myself. This test should be a piece of cake.

I breeze through the first page and scan the paper, checking through my work briefly. Then, I quietly turn the page, well aware that mostly everyone is almost done. It's okay, I reassure myself. You're just being more careful as opposed to speeding through. And all is well for a couple seconds until I read the next question.

I think I know this, I hurriedly repeat in my mind. Then I look at the expression printed on the paper, marked number one, and I chew on my lip. I don't know this. Panic flows through my veins and I feel myself start to sweat a bit. I turn my head slowly to the left, my heart racing in my chest. Please, oh please, be on the same page as me, I pray. I study their test paper, the white sheet blinding me, as if warding me off. The words blur in my eyes, making it impossible to cheat. As I slump down in my chair, I can hear whispers, as if I did something wrong and everyone is noticing. I look behind me only to see kids minding their own business, reading silently.

Stop freaking yourself out, I think. You can do this.

And I do.

I catch on to what I'm supposed to do and finish my test in time. As soon as I turn it in to the almost full bin, the bell sounds, and I hurry back to my desk to gather my stuff. And, for some reason, I feel confident.

"How was the test?" my best friend asks as we walk to gym class.

"Easy," I reply, smiling. It really was easy. I was just not focused. If you worry too much, things just won't go your way.

As the day passes, people flood me with "Was the test hard?" and I reply every time with, "No way. It was made for preschoolers." I think of all the questions as a sign I did well, and carry that confidence home and to bed with me, dwelling in my pride until I'm passed out.

"I graded your tests last night," says the math teacher, picking the stack off her desk and making her way to the front.

"Some of you did excellent," she says with a gleeful tone. "And that's great. But.. the majority... won't be so happy with their scores." I see a lot of kids fidget uncomfortably, frowning, and I bite my lip.

The majority of us did poorly? What if that's me? My mind begins to wander until it is cut off by the teacher.

"Here were the people with perfect scores."

I hold my breath, but she says two names.

Only two names.

And that's when everyone explodes.

Whispering fills the room and is quickly quieted after the teacher shushes us. At that moment, it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

"When you hear your name, come get your test." And one by one, she calls names. I get impatient, and watch people. Most frown. Some rejoice. I am interrupted by my name.

I stand up, the teacher's eyes glued to me, my eyes glued to the floor. My feet should be moving faster, but I feel like I'm walking through water, slowing me down. Then the test is handed to me, face down. She flashes a small smile and calls the next name. But I don't hear it.

I don't hear it at all:

I slide back into my seat, my heart pounding. This can't be correct. I was doing so well. I thought I had it. I don't even lift my gaze as the teacher begins to explain a few questions.

Because on my paper I was so confident about, there is a big, fat, red F.

Tears form in my eyes. My first F. What will my parents think! I shove it in my desk, trying to ignore the sadness building in my chest. I am not crying. Not here, not now. And the bell rings.

"What did you get?" my friend asks as soon as I emerge from the torturous classroom. I look at her, smile, and say, "An A+."

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I like this one, and I also like the ending. (This is a real experience.. Stretched a little, but for the most part.. Real!) Not my favorite still, but it's up there! What do you think? The question of the chapter is: What is the lowest grade you have ever gotten on a test? Comment!

-Olivia