the teacher's pet | d & t

T I A G O.

If the world halts on its axis today, it's because I've fallen so far back in my seat that even the Earth knows something's wrong here. With any other class, I could have swallowed my pride and accepted the score. But Chemistry Three? I hold the paper close to my chest as I read the notes in my responses. I'm a three-digit-score kind of chemistry student but with our recent exam, Mr. Mendeleev only has ninety-three to give me. And that's including the challenge question worth an extra five points.

Everyone else has a smile on their face when Mr. Mendeleev mentions that the test scores were very high. Of course, everyone else is happy about just passing. None of them have plans to be one of District Five's most highly esteemed chemists. One of the girls in our class, Camilla, looks over my shoulder as she passes by to her seat. Malice in her heart, she pulls her desk closer to mine. "Nineties aren't so bad, Stem. You'll live." Obnoxious how she can speak just loud enough to let everyone else in on the joke. Girls like her know how to agitate me and get under my skin. It's like poking a bear that is three times shot. Of course, she'll get a reaction out of me. "Fuck off. It's not even-" I stop myself, knowing better than to work myself past a boiling point. People like cracking the shell of someone who's so well put together. They can't handle success, so they pierce you with any whiff of failure.

Mr. Mendeleev draws a box-and-whisker plot on the chalkboard, detailing the range of scores. I'm in the highest quadrant still, which is fine. Usually, I'm the whisker all the way at the end of the line. I know that I shouldn't consider it a failure, but the stinging itch on the back of my neck doesn't make that reassurance any more believable.

As soon as the other students start to ask questions about how the math works out for the test scores, to waste time as always, I dive deeper into the corrections. With a second look, I start to realize that the errors aren't mine, they're his. I've been in the chemistry field long enough to have memorized almost every relevant chemical compound. Mr. Mendeleev premised the question asking for sulfurous acid, H2SO3, which I have on my paper. He marked it as incorrect, writing the correction of sulfuric acid, H2SO4. That's wrong. There are a few other similar mistakes, which I'm honestly willing to chalk up to all the alcohol he's been drinking after his divorce.

The class bell rings and everyone rushes out. Chemistry is the last class of our day, discounting any extracurriculars. The Science Olympiad team meets in about an hour, so if I really wanted to, I could get the mistakes on my exam cleared up…

I approach Mr. Mendeleev at his front desk, passing the wave of kids trying to go the opposite way. I've got the paper in hand, thumb on either correction I need him to look at and fix so I can get back to that one-hundred at the very least. And maybe he could look at the challenge question while he's–

My heel turns back at the ridiculousness of my prose. I'm that guy, aren't I? The one that hurts everyone else's grades by trying to maximize his own?

Shoes halting against the tile, I turn back. I have to get it corrected, even if it means being "that guy." Am I going to ignore mistakes and let them slide when I'm managing an entire chemical plant in five years? No! I'm going to get it right, even if it hurts someone's feelings. I stand awkwardly in front of Mendeleev's desk now, waiting for him to look up and acknowledge me.

"Mr. Licroix, what can I do for you today?"

"Yes! So I just had a few questions about our test, um…"

"You got a ninety-three because you got the questions wrong, Tiago. It'll be fine if you continue reinforcing your study habits."

"I know! But I don't think that I was really, like, you know," I don't want to tell him that he's wrong, but there seems to be no other way through.

"Everyone makes mistakes. Even someone with as many trophies and ribbons as you. I drop the lowest test score, so you'll still get through the class with a perfect score."

"Would it be possible to sit down and talk about my test? It'll be really quick, I promise," I sit down in the student's chair beside him, flipping through the stapled pages to where I want to start.

"Tiago, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me!" I snap, rubbing the denim on my pants to prevent myself from making more of a scene. "Please. I insist."

Sure enough, Mendeleev realizes his mistakes and apologizes for them rather begrudgingly. He promises that he'll fix my score in the gradebook. I nod, the bookbag around my back suddenly lighter from a burden lifted.

"And Mr. Licroix," he says as I'm approaching the door. "Mr. Licroix!" I've got one foot in the hallway when he pulls me back by my polo shirt and shuts the door entirely. "Tantrums over a test score… how old are we, twelve? Do you expect an employer to take you seriously if you pout like that? Get over it and grow up."

Even in private, this moment feels humiliating. "Okay," I whisper in agreement as I leave the room for the day. I walk down the hall, wishing I could hide away to save myself from acknowledging sweat beneath my hairline. All this over a test score! Fuck.

I pull down on my locker, the combination for my lock already prepared from my last trip. I always put the combination in beforehand to save myself time if I'm ever in a rush. I bury my head in the confines, a long huff and a muffled groan echoing from the metal on either ear.