After Class

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷

𝒞𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒹𝓎

What determines your worth? For me, it's how much I achieve. How many good grades I received, and how much sleep I lack. Competing with yourself is exhausting, but you make for the best competition. So when I see my grade handed back to me with a sixty on it, my heart plummets.

It means more relentless studying, more coffee that settles in the bottom of my stomach, and less sleep. But I know I'll feel better when my grade gets back up to where I need it to be. Test day rolled around again, and I put all of my efforts into it, all of the trick questions were easy, and the written responses came to me quickly.

The next day the tests are handed back. Once again, my heart sinks, and my nails bite into the skin of my palm. I flip the pages and look through all of the corrections and harsh criticism. At the top of the paper, written in bright red pen, 'see me after class.' The teacher who was a pain in my ass happened to be talking towards the front of the class.

Mr. Santos was leaning on his desks, talking to his engaged students. His hands were clasped in front of him, and his stern words rang through her ears. Do better, study harder. I wanted to scream I was studying, that I hadn't slept all week either from nerves or studying for this class.

But I didn't. I kept quiet and listened to him lecture every student in this class, even if his words felt directed at me. I saw from the other side of the class Allison leaning forward, her test clutched in her perfectly manicured hands, with a big good job written on the front. It doesn't help with my jealousy that she was skinny, blonde, had fucking blue eyes.

It's unfair that she is the beauty standard and got a higher grade than me. I'm not saying that she is perfect, but it isn't helping my festering annoyance. The bell rings, and I gather my things keeping my eyes focused on what I was doing instead of listening to the mindless chatter.

I couldn't understand where I was going wrong; I did everything perfectly. I made flashcards, made a Quizlet, had my little sister quiz me. When I looked up, nearly everyone in the class had filed out of the classroom, besides Allison, who was reveling in the constant compliments she was receiving from Mr. Santos.

Her hair whipped over her shoulder, the curls falling down her back loosely, her eyelashes batted in a flirtatious way. I don't know what everyone sees in him. He's a regular teacher who happened to be blessed with good looks and grades his tests harshly. It doesn't make him a God; it makes him an asshole who takes punctuation too seriously.

I got a point off from putting a comma in the wrong place. The things I would do to talk freely to him, to let him know that he is as big of an asshole if not bigger than I already think he is. I tried to walk towards the door past the talking teacher and student like the cowardly failure I was.

But I stopped in my place, remembering the note on the top of my test. So I sat down at one of the desks at the front of the class and waited for Allison to skip out of the classroom. Which also happened to be exactly what she did all that pep in her step from a fucking good job. I mean, I would be ecstatic if I even received an unmarked test back without the 'good job.'

I sound like I'm being a bitch; correction, I am being a bitch. But at least I'm not voicing my thoughts. It could be a lot worse. Never mind, it is a lot worse because I could feel my anger about to boil over when Mr. Santos finally acknowledges my presence.

"Ms. Clair, please sit," He said, waving at the chair sat in front of his desk. Every movement he makes with a fluid grace that makes me want to break all of his fingers. Maybe then he wouldn't be able to grade his tests. Sounds like a great option in my totally irrational brain.

I get up from my chair, straightening my skirt before walking towards the chair. I sit down and try my best to hide my annoyance and disappointment. "What's going on with your grade in my class? Have you not been studying?" He asks, staring me down, his eyes trying to pick me apart.

"Yes, I have been studying. Day and night, I'm not the problem you are," That is what I wanted to say. But instead, I settled for the respectful answer.

"No, sir, I have been studying. I'm not sure what's been going on," I said in a quiet voice. This is what I don't like about myself. I talk myself up in my head and never say what I'm supposed to. I rely on my respectful words and telling everyone what they want to hear to get myself out of uncomfortable situations.

This is an uncomfortable situation. Being alone in a classroom with the person I want to scream at and admire makes me squirmy and nervous. My hands are still gripping the paper my whitening knuckles squeezing the now crinkling paper in my hands.

He looked down at the grip I had on the papers, and I swear I saw a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. I let out a deep breath, the tension leaving my body and filling with determination. "If your grade doesn't improve over the next week, and I'm not satisfied with your work, we will have to talk about you staying after the fourth period to discuss where you are going wrong," He explains.

"Your a good student, and it seems you are only having problems in my class. I hope it's not from the lack of effort, but the lack of understanding," With that, he gathers his bag from the bottom drawer of his desk and stands up, his jacket hung over his arm. He motioned for me to head to the door, and I do gathering my things and walking out in front of him.

When I get out of the class, I head towards the school exit and the parking lot. When I sat down in my car, my hands now holding the steering wheel in a death grip, I do the deep breathing techniques I found off of youtube that I am one hundred percent sure were meant for pregnant women, and gathered all of my anger and compartmentalized it.

It now set in the back of my mind, and it was going to stay there until I needed it to drive to success. High school isn't that serious, and I chant to myself as I move out of the parking lot; if I didn't put all of my self-worth on my grades, then I would believe that.

But for now, I will do better the rest of next week and shove my good grades up all of my silent hater's asses.