I remember one time in third grade. I was in my homeroom, and we were doing a writing assignment. Of course, in third grade, we had to get the writing checked. Well, I took my crudely formulated passage to the front, standing in the line with the rest of my third grader friends to talk to the teacher. I stood there, page in hand, right behind my crush and his friend. He was the cutest boy in third grade. Some of my friends would have argued, but it was true. He had curly brown hair and a natural tan. I was in pure, unadulterated third grade like. The next thing he did, I will never forget. He turned to a boy sitting in the front row (we had assigned seat, so I was somewhere in the back), and started making fun of the poor kid. My heart throb crush and his friend, who I would later come to know a lot better, were teasing this boy for not finishing his writing. You remember what it was like, learning all the rules of English grammar and cursive. The concentrated turning and loops of the letters combined with the overwhelming anticipation of what letter comes next. That is arduous, even without the added pressure of two boys laughing at you. What they did was just cruel. And, of course, they went in to celebrate by high fiving, and, being the offended young girl I was, I stuck my hand up to block their triumphant gesture. The only downfall to my plan to destroy thier rejoicing? My teacher. The dreaded Mrs. Simon, who was actually quite fond of me, had seen only the last bit. She saw only the three-sided high five and sentenced us to our seats without chance of a writing check! Needless to say, I felt scandalized. He was the one making fun of the kid! Why was I getting punished? I just had to stick my hand right in the middle of it. I sat back in my seat, hurt and deprived of getting my paper checked, my cheeks burning.
