You Asked for Perfect(38)

“I can definitely believe it. Your music is great, and so are you.”

Sook grins, then scoots forward. “I think I’m actually nervous. Thank god we have practice tonight. You didn’t forget, did you?”

I had, in fact, forgotten.

Crap. Dinner at Amir’s. Practice. And then this pile of homework. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Of course not. What time again?”

“Hmm, think you can be over by seven?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, really.” Sook meets my eyes. “You’re an awesome friend, Ariel.”

The bell rings. Mrs. Rainer walks into the room jingling. There are little bells on the fringe of her scarf. I try and fail to bite back a yawn. I’m already tired at the thought of being tired.

We go over college essays again. I pull out my phone and put a double asterisk next to mine on my to-do list. I’ve really got to get that done.

At the end of class, Mrs. Rainer hands back our Crime and Punishment essay tests. I’m always nervous turning over a grade, even for a class with an assured A. I take a tight breath and flip over my paper.

Seventy-eight.

I got a C.

But everyone told me this is the easiest AP class ever.

I grip the edge of my desk, pulse thudding in my ears as the bells rings. This isn’t right. This can’t be right. I brought up my calculus grade. Everything was supposed to be okay now.

“Ariel, coming?” Sook asks. She slips her purse over her shoulder. Her essay sits on top of her desk. Ninety-two. She barely studies anymore, devoting all her free time to the band, and she got a ninety-two.

For a moment, I hate my best friend.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be there soon. I’ve got to check some emails.”

“Okay.” She grabs her books and leaves.

I slide my phone out of my pocket and stare at the screen, waiting for the room to clear. My vision blurs. I rub my eyes hard.

Finally, it’s Mrs. Rainer and me.

I walk over to her desk, shoving a shaking hand in my pocket. She slips off her reading glasses. They dangle on a chain around her neck. “Ariel, I’m glad you stayed. Let’s talk.”

“Is this…” My voice falters. “Is this graded right?”

I feel ridiculous asking the question, but I have to. I’ve found mistakes in the past, debated my way through unclear multiple-choice questions and exceptions of grammatical rules. Sometimes the A doesn’t start as an A. Sometimes you have to argue your way up from a lower grade. Teachers here are used to it. Maybe there’s room to negotiate.

“Ariel,” Mrs. Rainer sighs. “This isn’t a difficult class. I don’t want to teach a difficult class. But to understand literature, one needs to read and participate. It’s obvious you didn’t finish the book.”

I did. Okay, I didn’t. I read most of the book. And the SparkNotes. Though switching back and forth between reading and audio did get a bit confusing. Still, I read more than enough to write a competent essay. “I read it,” I lie. “I promise.”

“Not closely, then. And you never participate in class conversation. You barely listen. You were on your phone again today! And it shows in your essay. This isn’t some blow-off class. English is an integral part of everyone’s future. If you can’t read and write competently, you won’t get anywhere.”

I bite back the fact that I got a perfect verbal score on the SAT. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been a difficult start to the semester, but I care about this class. I love English. Is there anything I can do? Rewrite the essay? Any extra credit?”

I practically hold my breath waiting for her to answer.

Finally Mrs. Rainer says, “I want you to succeed, Ariel. So I’ll help you out. But promise you’ll dedicate yourself to this extra work, not rush through it for the credit.”

“I promise.”

Relief sweeps through me. I push hair out of my eyes.

“All right.” She grabs a thick book from her desk. It must be at least five hundred pages. “This is one of my favorite contemporary novels. It was published last year, so I doubt you’ll find summaries and study guides online. Read it and pick another twenty-first-century novel, and then I want a twenty-page comparison essay.”

My stomach lurches. “Twenty pages?”

Our final paper for the class is only fifteen.

“I’m trying to prepare you for college,” Mrs. Rainer says. “You’ll be writing essays that long for your courses there. And if this class is important to you, you’ll make time.”

Make time.

My vision blurs again.

I’m already taking six AP classes, sacrificing lunch, a full night’s sleep, and a normal social life, so sure, I’ll just make time.

“Do you want the extra credit or not?” Mrs. Rainer asks.

“I—” My voice catches. “Yes, I do. How much will it be worth?”

Mrs. Rainer sighs. “All about the grades.” Well, fucking obviously. “If I find the essay satisfactory, I’ll add five points to your final grade. All right?”

Five points. That’s good at least.

“And don’t dawdle with it,” she continues. “I expect it on my desk within a couple of weeks.”