(All characters in this story are eighteen years of age, or older)
Chapter 1
You have to do something about your grade in History class
You see a reminder about your meeting with Mr. Peterson, your History teacher.
Aw, shit...
Mr. Peterson had agreed to meet with you to discuss your grade, which has been slipping recently. Just thinking about it got you steamed. You always did well in his class and (usually, mostly) turned in your homework on time. You just couldn't stand his authoritarian teaching style, and you feel like he had been punishing you for talking back in class. Somehow, you knew he was docking points off your papers and tests to get back at you for being such a brat. Unfortunately, there was no proof.
I need that grade back up though, if I'm gonna have any chance at that scholarship
.
The thought of your coveted scholarship got your feet moving in the direction of Mr. Peterson's classroom. You didn't really care that much about a college education, but that scholarship was your ticket out of your crummy town. Your other grades were good enough to get you in the running, but your last History paper had pushed your grade in that class down to a C. Any grade below a B-, no matter which class it was in, was an automatic disqualifier.
You arrive outside the door of the classroom. On the door, Mr. Peterson had hung a poster of the Founding Fathers, standing around doing some important shit like drafting the Constitution or whatever. The old men look out at you from the poster, as if questioning your right to be there. All of a sudden you get cold feet.
What if there's nothing I can do? What if I really am getting the grade I deserve?
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you pull the door open and step inside. You
have
to do something. Besides, you've always excelled in History class. The problem isn't you. It's Mr. Peterson.
Your History teacher looks up from his desk as you enter the room. All around the walls of the classroom there are posters of kings, emperors, generals. Men who spent their lives controlling, dominating, shaping history in their image. The oppressive weight of their male authority fills the room. You realize you're standing awkwardly in the middle of the classroom as Mr. Peterson clears his throat. "Why don't you have a seat in front of my desk, Miss Murray?"
On the surface, his voice sounds like a nerdy middle-aged History teacher, but there's a commanding edge underneath that you hadn't noticed until now. Before you realize what you're doing you've sat yourself in the chair right in front of his desk. You blink, trying to remember what you wanted to say.
He sighs. "I take it you're here to discuss your grade, Miss Murray?" His hair is dark, shot through with gray, and has a slight curl to it that makes it stand out from his head. His full beard frames his narrow face, and his dark eyes bore into you. He's only a little taller than you are, but sitting behind his desk he exudes an air of confidence and authority. "Well? Speak up, Miss Murray."
You blink stupidly, suddenly feeling very unsure of yourself. "Um, I, yeah... my grade..." You clear your throat. "I just... I don't understand why my grade is... the way it is?" You wince.
Christ, I sound like an imbecile. Get it together, RC!
