Miss Jones, my fifth grade teacher, passed out the test papers. The smell of duplicator fluid was still fresh as I wrote my name at the top. Then she said, “Begin.” I started the test knowing that I was in no way prepared for it. I hadn’t done the assignments or the reading in the textbook. I didn’t do very well.
When the time was up we exchanged papers with other kids in the class. Miss Jones told us the correct answers and we marked an “X” if the answer was wrong or a “C” if the answer was correct. Then we counted up the number of Cs. Miss Jones wrote a grading scale on the board and we placed the grade on the paper accordingly. The girl’s paper that I corrected had a big A”on it. She always got As.
My paper came back to me with a big D on it. That was hard. I was used to getting Cs but a D was too much for me. Miss Jones gathered up the test papers. As she came by my desk, she looked at my paper and the grade I got. She said to me, “Billy, see me after school for a few minutes.”
I knew I was in trouble then. I worried the rest of the day about what she might do to me. I decided to handle the situation delicately. I avoided it. I ran home.
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