Expectations

by Bailey Benson

Slowly, so slow it seemed as if my world had been put in slow motion, the hand let the paper fall onto my desk upside down. Closing my eyes, I reached out and turned it over. Cautiously I opened my eyes a crack, then a little more until they were completely open. Slowly, I let the breath I had been unconsciously holding in out and stared down at the paper as if it were a disgusting little bug…a B. Closing my eyes for a quick second, thinking I must be seeing things. I reopened them and looked down at my desk. There it was, that nasty, disgusting, putrid thing starring up at me, asking why? Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you do better?

Suddenly I remember that there were other people around me. I quickly glance both ways like a wary child about to cross the road for the first time. Glancing back down at that…that thing, I casually opened my binder and slid the test in between random papers. Quickly I snapped the binder shut and pushed it away from me as though it might bite me if my hand lingered on it for too long. Trying to look casual I looked around me to see if anyone had seen me. Did he just glance away? Is she staring at me? I whirled around to glare back at them, but feel foolish when they just smile back.

Slouching as far as I could possibly go in my desk, I crossed my arms across my chest. I tried vainly to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, but it all seems to blow past me like a strong wind carrying words that seem foreign and strange. The teacher is writing on the board now, but it looks as if the letters are dancing with one another and will not stay in one place so I might try to read them. They just grin wickedly at me, that is if they can grin. Can letters grin at people? I found myself thinking absently. Stop that! scolds the sensible voice inside of my head, your being silly. It simply must be a mistake. That’s right. It probably is just a mistake. If I go talk to the teacher she’ll sort it all out.

People around me are getting up and walking out the door. Tentatively I approached the teacher like a frightened animal. There must be some mistake, I hear myself asking. No, no mistake, she replies going back to shifting through a stack of papers on her desk. Either she doesn’t notice that I’m still standing there or doesn’t care. Is there anything else? she asks exasperated. Doesn’t care I conclude silently. Shaking my head I answer, no, nothing else.