“F? I got an F? Do you know how hard I studied for this test?” Dylan said shaking his test in his teacher’s face. He really hadn’t studied as hard as he said. In fact, he didn’t study at all. But what would his father and mother say? Dylan didn’t care about his mark, but the parents always did. He planned that he wouldn’t show them the test. He didn’t even tell them there was going to be a test. Hopefully, that would work.
“Dylan, how was school today?” His mother asked when he returned from school in the afternoon.
“Uh…Well, I only had three detentions today." He said, trying to advoid talking about his classes.
“Well, that’s a start,” his father said, walking into the room, " You usually have five." Dylan laughed as he stroked the back of his head.
While Dylan sat in bed that night, thinking about the test he had the next day, he wondered how he could do better. He had already blown the chance of studying for it. He decided to play sick.
Five minutes into sleeping, he quickly sat up.
“I’ll steal that answer sheet! Yeah. But the school's closed and the test is tomorrow. I guess I’ll just have to break in.” He hopped out of bed and put a sweater on. He peeked out the hallway to see if his parents were still awake. His father was snoring. Good. He tipsy-toed down the hallway and out the door.
Smash! Dylan threw a rock at his classroom window. Perfect. Slowly creeping in, he spotted
“Here are you test back everyone. I was surprised to see who had the highest score.” Dylan’s teacher handed him his paper. Dylan felt there was no need to look.
“Peter, please stand up. Everyone, please give Peter a big hand for the highest mark in class.” Dylan stood up in the middle of the applause.
“What? What? Peter, of all people, got the highest mark in class? I think your fooling with me. I got the highest mark.”
“Did you look at your paper? You had answers that had nothing to do with the unit. Go ahead, look.” Dylan glanced at his paper. In red ink, there was a large ‘F’ printed on the top of the page.
“But I took the answer sheet! I remember. Last night.”
“No Dylan, you took the grade seven’s unit test questions that were used in their last unit. You’re in grade eight. It’s called studying.” The whole class began laughing and clapping. Dylan’s teacher called to the office for Dylan to get a talking to. “Maybe you need to go back to grade seven.”
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6 comments:
Oh, my poor Dylan. This is fiction, right?
Good to read your writing again after your brief break.
Yes, it's fiction. I had a good time writing it. I was trying to make it into a story for the contest but I couldn't find a way to tie the picture with story.
Yes, he does read my blog sometimes, but it isn't based on anyone. I just picked that name.
You described the teacher embarassing him very well!
Dylan is going to need years of therapy.
BTW, this reminds me of a real story. Back when I lived in Buffalo, I had a neighbor who was one grade older than I was. He had a best friend up the road in his same grade, so I was often the third one out. Anyway, this friend felt that he was going to fail 8th grade, no question about it. So my dedicated neighbor decided that he would purposely fail to stick with him.
One of my last memories before moving that summer back to Pennsylvania was the two of them standing at my door. Both of them made pretty patterns on their final test papers instead of trying to answer correctly. Unfortunately, the kid up the road did his art too well. He passed. Meanwhile, my neighbor, who would've passed but for intentionally blowing it, did indeed fail. Oh, the irony!
Life is very sweet sometimes.
No way! That would be too funny. I don't know what I would do if my friend thought they were going to fail for sure.
Take a lesson from history, then, and pass!! :D
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