Chapter 2 - The Grade Before the Paper
Jacob sat in Principal Ramirez’s office with his mother forty-five minutes later.
Nina Ellis had arrived still wearing navy hospital scrubs beneath her raincoat.
She worked night shifts as a respiratory therapist and had been asleep when the school called.
Now she was very awake.
“She gave him a thirty-five before he submitted the assignment?”
Principal Ramirez nodded.
“That is what the gradebook shows.”
Nina looked at Jacob.
“You finished it last night?”
“Yes.”
“I saw you working when I left.”
Jacob remembered her standing near the apartment door at seven-thirty, keys in one hand, travel mug in the other.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she had said.
He had promised.
He had broken that promise by nearly two hours.
Principal Ramirez placed Jacob’s damp essay inside a clear plastic sleeve.
“We’ve made a copy.”
“Why?” Jacob asked.
“Because the original condition matters.”
Nina’s expression hardened.
“Evidence?”
“I don’t want to use legal language prematurely.”
“Then use normal language.”
Ramirez paused.
“Yes. Evidence.”
Jacob shifted in his chair.
He hated that word.
It made the morning feel bigger than he wanted.
“I just want my homework back.”
Nina looked at him.
“You have it.”
“No. I mean—I just want this to stop being a whole thing.”
Her anger softened immediately.
She touched his shoulder.
“I know.”
Principal Ramirez said, “Jacob, you’re not required to be part of any conversation you don’t understand. If you need a break, tell me.”
“Is Ms. Collins still here?”
“She is meeting with the district’s human-resources representative.”
“Is she mad at me?”
Nina’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
Ramirez answered carefully.
“Whatever Ms. Collins feels is not your responsibility.”
That was not really an answer.
Jacob knew it.
So did Nina.
The door opened.
Counselor Brooks entered carrying another laptop.
“We pulled the grade-entry history.”
Principal Ramirez stood.
“And?”
“The thirty-five was entered at 6:48 a.m.”
“We know.”
Brooks shook his head.
“No. That isn’t all.”
He placed the laptop on the desk.
“Jacob’s wasn’t the only grade.”
There were twelve names.
Twelve students had received grades before first period began.
Jacob recognized several.
Lucas.
Ethan.
Maya Patel.
Ava.
“All for today’s essay?” Ramirez asked.
Brooks nodded.
“What scores?”
“Between thirty-one and fifty-eight.”
Nina stared at the screen.
“Did those students submit online?”
“No.”
“And none of the papers had been turned in?”
“Not according to the assignment procedure.”
Jacob felt something colder than humiliation now.
He remembered Ms. Collins holding out her hand as students entered.
Homework.
Homework.
Homework.
She had glanced at some pages.
Others she had stacked without reading.
Only his had gone into the trash.
“Maybe she guessed,” he whispered.
His mother turned.
“Why are you trying to help her explanation?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jacob looked down.
Nina softened again.
“Sorry.”
Principal Ramirez said, “Sometimes when an adult does something that doesn’t make sense, children search for an explanation that makes it less frightening.”
Jacob hated being described as a child.
But she was right.
Brooks opened another file.
“There’s more.”
Jacob almost laughed.
Adults kept saying that.
There was always more.
“Several of these students are currently listed as ‘not recommended’ for next year’s advanced English placement.”
Nina frowned.
“Who makes that recommendation?”
“The classroom teacher provides the primary academic recommendation.”
“Ms. Collins.”
“Yes.”
Jacob remembered her words.
There’s no point pretending you belong in advanced English.
His stomach tightened.
“I never even applied.”
“You don’t formally apply,” Brooks explained. “Your current performance determines eligibility, then families receive placement options.”
“So she can stop me from getting the option?”
“Her recommendation carries significant weight.”
Nina leaned forward.
“How significant?”
Principal Ramirez answered.
“Significant enough that we are freezing all eighth-grade English placement recommendations from her classes until we complete a review.”
Jacob stared.
This had stopped being about one cruel sentence.
The office phone rang.
Ramirez answered.
She listened.
Then said, “Send her in.”
A minute later Ava entered with her father, Victor Chen.
Ava looked nervous until she saw Jacob.
Then she smiled slightly.
Victor placed her phone on Ramirez’s desk.
“We brought the original video file.”
“Thank you.”
Ava looked at Jacob.
“Are you okay?”
He shrugged.
“Are you?”
She shrugged back.
It made him smile despite everything.
Victor said, “Ava also remembered something from two weeks ago.”
Principal Ramirez looked toward her.
“What?”
Ava rubbed her thumb against her phone case.
“Ms. Collins gave us some flyers.”
“What flyers?”
“For a writing tutor.”
Jacob remembered.
A glossy white sheet with a blue mountain logo.
SUMMIT ACADEMIC WRITING CENTER
He had thrown his away.
Ava continued.
“She said some of us should seriously consider getting outside help before high school.”
Nina went still.
“Which students?”
Ava looked at the grade list on the laptop.
Then slowly pointed.
“Almost everybody there.”
Principal Ramirez and Counselor Brooks exchanged a glance.
Victor frowned.
“Is that important?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Ramirez asked Ava one more question.
“Do you still have the flyer?”
Ava nodded.
“My dad does.”
Victor pulled a folded sheet from his coat pocket.
Ramirez took it.
At the bottom was a contact name.
Program Director: Lauren Collins.
The principal stared at it.
Jacob noticed.
“Who’s Lauren Collins?”
Counselor Brooks answered quietly.
May you like
“Ms. Collins’s sister.”
---
