Chapter 84:
meet the bloodbriars
She arrives overdressed for confrontation.
Designer bag.
Sharp smile.
Louder than necessary.
“…I believe my son is being held back,” she begins.
“…By?” I ask.
“…Your rigid expectations.”
“…Define ‘rigid.’”
“…You don’t allow creativity.”
“…Incorrect.”
She stiffens.
“…He says you mark him down unfairly.”
“…For what?”
“…Expression.”
I open his file.
“…Your son submitted an essay,” I say calmly,
“…without structure, argument, or coherence.”
“…That’s his style.”
“…That is not a style.”
Silence.
I slide the paper forward.
“…Please read the first paragraph aloud.”
She hesitates.
“…I don’t see how—”
“…Aloud.”
She does.
It collapses halfway through.
Grammar fails.
Logic fails.
Meaning dissolves.
She stops.
“…Continue,” I say.
“…I think I’ve made my point.”
“…So have I.”
Silence.
“…He will improve,” I continue,
“…or he will remain exactly as he is.”
“…And you won’t adjust?”
“…No.”
Pause.
“…Why?”
I meet her gaze.
“…Because reality will not adjust for him either.”
She says nothing after that.
Neither does her son, the next day.
But he rewrites the essay.
Properly.
Please sign in to leave a comment.