He tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the table as he stared down at the paper in front of him. A small, crooked smile flash across his face. He quickly suppressed it. He pursed his lips, trying to keep a straight face. Despite his efforts, however, a short chuckle escaped from his mouth.
The girl sitting in the desk nearest the window looked up from her work, and worry suddenly overtook her. She bit her lip. “That one’s mine,” she thought to herself nervously, “He hates it. He’s laughing at it.” She looked around. The other students busied themselves finishing their assignment. She had already finished hers. She had been the first to complete it. Looking back at the teacher sitting at the table a few feet away, she wished that she hadn’t finished. It only meant she was left to worry about her horrible essay.
She chewed the end of her pen anxiously, just waiting for him to crumple up the paper and throw it in the trash. But he didn’t. He slid that essay to the side and moved on to the next. “That couldn’t have been mine then,” she thought, feeling somewhat relieved. She kept watching him as he graded.
This time, he didn’t seem as amused. He furrowed his brow some, and uncapped his evil little red pen. He made mark after mark on the paper, his brow growing a bit darker with each one.
She clenched her fists. “Oh no,” the terrified voice in her mind worried, “It’s mine. It’s gotta be.” He looked incredibly displeased with it. She tapped her pen furiously on her desk, anxiety overcoming her. She knew it. She knew that essay was terrible. She would probably get fail or maybe get a D at best. All she knew was that it was terrible. How could she even hope to get a good grade?
Suddenly, the bell rang. The teacher looked up from the terrible paper. “Alright, uh, finish that up for homework. Read chapters twenty-one through twenty-four and uhm, that’s it.” The students rushed out of the classroom, excited to start their weekend.
She lingered, walking over to him. “M-Mr. Beaver?” she said nervously.
He looked up. “Hey Meagan, what’s up?”
“Uhm, I was just wondering if you had graded my essay yet...”
“Oh uhmmm...” he began rifling through the papers strewn across the table. Finally, he snatched one up and examined it quickly. “Yeah, here it is.”
She hesitantly took it, terrified to flip it over. Slowly, she turned it. At the top of the page two red digits read: 94. Her jaw dropped slightly.
“Nice job,” Beaver said looking back down at the other essay.
Her face slowly lit up. “Thanks,” she said with a smile.
“Have a good weekend!” he replied.
“You too!” she chimed back in a bubbly voice. And with that she bounced out of the room.
