Dear Dakota | Academic Rivalry Story

Ten | Blank

N Y L A D Y L A N S

The little white envelope is shaking in my hands as I refuse to open it up until lunchtime.

I am impatiently waiting for our lunch bell to ring so I can get out of here and with the group. The envelope I am holding has my student transcript for this year inside of it. I find it weird that they are giving it to us so early in the semester since there are two months left.

I slide the envelope into a random folder of mine and continue my work with Dakota. If he says the character was annoying one more time...

"Irresponsible, annoying, and untrustworthy."

I am taken aback by all those harsh words coming out of his mouth. Who knew he loved analyzing texts so much?

"Dakota we are talking about a nine-year-old boy! It's not like he did it on purpose. Like I said yesterday he is naive, gullible, and credulous. It isn't his fault that his mother was being mean to him for accidentally burning his cinnamon rolls. He didn't know any better!"

"He should've been mean back."

"Okay, so you're agreeing with me. Put your mama's boy personality to the side and actually think to yourself for once. Was he at fault?"

"Yes."

I shake my head ever so slowly. "No, he wasn't."

"He almost burned his house down."

This boy... "You're inferencing that! You don't know for certain. Did it state that in the text?" I ask and he responds with a quiet no. "Nice, end of discussion."

Subconsciously, my pencil was tapping against the wooden table and his hand pressed my palm flat. "Quit that."

"Didn't you do this yesterday too?"

"On purpose yeah, you're doing it by accident."

"Now why could that be so bad?"

"Nyla, just put your pencil down, and let's finish this assignment. I call writing."

I look over at his half-completed worksheet and let it slide. I wasn't remotely close to finishing it anyway. I take his paper in my hands and squint my hands trying to figure out his handwriting. "Is that a G or Q?"

"The seventh letter in the alphabet but lowercase."

Dakota, shut up with your extraness and just answer my damn question.

"So a G?"

"No, Nyla. It's a Q."

I erase the ugliest G I have ever seen and rewrite the letter in my handwriting before sliding the paper back to him. What happened to the whole partner, half and half work ethic we are supposed to be implying? I tell him my answer. He nods, acknowledging it, but then writes his own answer down.

I am fully aware I shouldn't do this but I am awfully bored and just want to take part in this assignment.

I grab my water bottle from my bag and take a few sips. Maybe the crunching of the plastic will annoy him... nope. I act like I am checking my forehead temperature in hopes he will notice my hand movement.

Hold on, since when did he take my pencil?

I put my head down on my desk and whisper just so he could hear. "I feel like I am going to throw up."

Just like how I imagined, his head whips to me. The worried look on his face is quickly replaced with his lips in a line and the most serious are you joking right now has taken over. "Really Nyla?"