Ah Tuesday, so much quieter than Monday. Yesterday we had a new heat and air system installed. It was time and the system needed to be replaced. But it did mean that Monday featured men banging around through all the air vents. They were a talkative crew, which was good for inadvertent eavesdropping, but little else. o hopefully today will be a day where I can hear myself thing. And actually get some work done. Shall we kick it off with a morning writing prompt? Good. Let’s go then.
I know this is going to be a cheating scandal, I’m just not sure what form the fall out will take. I may have to think about this one before proceeding.
Tuesday, May 24th: The task was incomplete.
The task was incomplete. He stared at the page, the ink marked in bright red for all to see. The task was incomplete. ‘How?” he asked himself
He walked back through the list, reading off each item and mentally checking it off in his head. He remembered each and every component. He reached the task marked with a big red x and labeled incomplete. His frown deepened. He knew he completed that essay. He remembered it, remembered having to hunt down one of the books because he hadn’t taken down all of the information needed for the foot note.
He knew he completed every task on the list. He waited until the bell rang, signaling the end of class. He let the other students’ race towards the door, hanging back, knowing Mrs. Watson would wait around in case anyone had issues with their grade. Paul had never had to question his marks before. This time he was the only one who paused. The room emptied and Mrs. Watson looked at him and smiled.
“Questions?” she asked.
“Yes, It says that my task list is incomplete, but I know I turned in my final essay,” he said. He held out the page and the paper shook slightly. She took the page from him and scanned down the list, eyes coming to rest at the bottom of the page.
“What was your essay topic?” she asked.
At the start of the semester each of them had chosen their topics from a collection of slips taken from a hat. The topics ranged over their semester’s course work and were varied so as to minimize cheating. He gave her his topic and she lifted an eyebrow.
“Tell me about your conclusions,” she asked as she reached into her bag and rummaged through the papers. She came up with an essay and flipped through the typewritten pages. She paused now and then to ask him questions, he answered each ones, including the details about his foot notes.
“I see,” she said. “Well I will take that under advisement. I will have to have a conversation with one of my colleges but we may be revising your grade. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
Paul nodded, feeling relief. He knew he had written that essay. He walked out of the classroom, feet moving at a faster clip than usual as he had to catch his bus home. Mrs. Watson’s was the last class of the day and one of the reasons that no one stuck around afterwards. As Paul went out of the door he reviewed his homework and the contents of his bag. He had everything he needed with him and wouldn’t need to stop by his locker. Still there was little time to lose. He hurried out of the school and huffed and puffed, getting into the back of his bus line as the line surged forward to load the bus.
He climbed in and settled himself in one of the few remaining seats. It was next to Herman Henderson. Herman gave him a scathing look over his glasses when Paul settled into the seat next to him, but seeing no place he could tell Paul to go and having no real objection to him, Herman looked away. He pulled a book from his bag and did his best to pretend that Paul and the rest of the kids on the bus, didn’t exist.
Pretending others didn’t exist was Herman’s strong suit.
Paul leaned back in his seat trying to catch his breath. He hated running.
Ten til Midnight 