Progress-Report

Progress Report for Elzbeth Jameson
Trigonometry- Failure Notice
Advanced Art- Failure Notice
Honors English- Failure Notice
Physical Education- Failure Notice
Zoology- Failure Notice
Government/ Economics- Failure Notice

I looked at the progress report, feeling mildly queasy. I thought to myself, I’m failing everything? What a way to start off the weekend. Something tickled the back of my mind but I ignored it due to more pressing matters at hand.

I knew Mom and Dad would ground me until I died of old age, so I quickly stuffed the dangerous slip of paper into the recesses of my backpack. I was hoping, in a very small part of my mind, that the report would just sit in there and rot, but you know how these things go. I knew it would be found and screamed about later at home. There was no one to hang this on except myself. I knew that, and yet I couldn’t help but feel that everyone else was to blame.

“Elzbeth Jameson,” The secretary’s voice came on over the intercom, “Please report to the Main Office. I repeat, Elzbeth Jameson, Please report to the Main Office.”

I sighed and went; there was no point in delaying the inevitable. I stopped outside the door that led to the principal’s office, worried. (The secretary had waved me on by her without so much as a blink.)

Without receiving any notification that I was there, I heard the principal call, “Come in Miss Jameson.”

I entered meekly and stared down at the floor, knowing something was to come and yet was unable to do anything about it.

He sighed, “Elzbeth, what are we to do with you?”

I looked up surprised, for this was not his usual tone of voice. (His normal tone was one of anger due to my every day array of practical jokes.) He gave me a look that made both my stomach and heart drop.

“I don’t know, Mr. Celeste,” I replied, training my eyes back on the floor tiles.

An awkward silence began and ended in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sorry Elzbeth,” He said, (I know he was giving me a kindly look because I peeked at him from behind my curtain of hair.), “but I have no choice. I’m sending you to the library to receive tutoring from Ms. Freeman.”

I forgot my apprehension and gaped at him in shock. It was well-known Ms. Freeman severely disliked me. No, it was a proven fact that she absolutely hated me. My friends figured that it was either because she was jealous of my ability to read so fast, or she didn’t believe that I was reading all of those books that fast and she thought I was just a liar.

The principal returned my gape with a rueful grin.

“Sorry, but her tutoring is infamous for working extraordinarily well,” he explained. “No one she has tutored has ever failed.”

I couldn’t help but let my mouth get the best of me by saying, “That sounds ominous.”

He flashed me a warning look; that sass was part of the reason I showed up in his office so much. All I could do was smile apologetically and shrug.

He shoed me out of his office and I made my way towards the library with a slip of paper, which explained my predicament, clutched in my hand.

I awoke the next morning and was unable to remember the ending of the previous day. The last thing I could recall was walking into the library; I had no knowledge of what transpired afterwards.