Mr. Fry, I Can’t

By Shay Denise

Pressing hard and shading in a circular motion, the number two pencil lead snaps and leaves an ugly smudge mark on the blue-and-white test grid. He glances at the time on the crooked wall clock. Jesse’s hands are shaking as he licks the head of the eraser and sweeps back-n-forth over the charcoal mark, only making it worse. Tears welling up, he snaps the pencil in half and hurls it onto the floor. He shoves his chair back and causes a disturbance in the silent classroom. Avoiding startled stares, he grabs his book bag and races out into the empty hallway.