She drooped her head and let her dirty blond hair touch the desk. “What’s wrong?” her friend asked, ducking under her head and tried to peer at her. “I got an 82 on my test.” she said with a voice full of sorrow. She sniffled and pushed away the test. I had to force myself to not roll my eyes. I looked down at my test and saw a glaring red 35. “Yeah, you’re stupid too.” I mentally told my test. I walked over to the pencil sharpener and deliberately made sure to pass her desk where two more people counseling her surrounded her. I threw her a nasty look, but she was too busy telling her pity story to even notice. As I ground the pencil into the sharpener, I wondered what it would be like if she had gotten my 35 instead of her 82. I smirked and walked back to my desk and felt the grade boring a hole into me. I shoved it into my backpack and waited for the class to end.
All day in my classes, I couldn’t stop thinking about her stupid reaction to a decent grade, how her face was red and puffy just like the red marks scribbled all over my page. When I came home from school, I crumpled up the test and tossed it into a corner of my room. I opened up my French notebook and took out a worksheet that the teacher handed out to help us practice the future tense. To be, to have, to eat. It was an endless list of verbs that we needed to conjugate. My eyes started blurring and the verbs started to shift. To maim, to stab, to kill. I furiously rubbed my eyes, but the verbs stayed the same. I scanned further down the page and saw, To kill, to torture, to burn. I crumpled up my assignment and the next day, my teacher scolded me. I looked to my left where she usually sat, but she wasn’t there which was odd because she never missed a day of class. My teacher handed out more worksheets to practice the imperfect tense and when I reached for my pencil, my hands were stained with a crimson red. The verbs on my sheet read, to be fulfilled.