Private (Private 1)

“As you may or may not know, I work on what some people call

me on the way out the door. “Want to study with me next time? I an unorthodox grading system,” he said as people grabbed up their have this whole flash card system that really works.”

quizzes and either groaned or grinned. “In my class there is no C.

I stared at Mr. Barber as she ushered me out of the room, won-

There is no D. There is only A for excellent, B for satisfactory, and F.

dering how sad and miserable a person you would have to be to tor-You all know what F means. This means that, while quite a few of ture innocent kids like this. He must have felt me watching him.

you have passed this quiz, several of you have failed,” he added. He Had to feel the heat of my glare. But he never looked up from his paused by my desk and the pungent scent of stale coffee enveloped book. His refusal to acknowledge me just made me hate him more.

me. With a flourish, he handed me my paper, face up toward the

But by the end of the day, I started to wonder if Mr. Barber had room, for everyone around me to see. Red marks everywhere,

been right to give me that F. Several of my teachers handed back topped by a big, fat F.

grades from last week’s work and with each one my heart had sunk I took the paper from him, hot tears stinging my eyes. He looked lower. Clearly, here at Easton, I was no longer an A student. But at disgusted as he turned away. “Those of you who have failed might least the other teachers were kind enough to stick to the traditional want to consider spending a bit more time in the library this week.

grading system.

Friday’s quiz will feature double the questions.”

Aside from the C on my art history oral, there was a C+ in

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French, a B- in Trig, and a C on an English paper I had written on Upton Sinclair. Apparently even a paper about one of my favorite authors, written for one of my favorite classes, wasn’t going to save me. My only A was on a biology lab that had been done in class with three partners, and I can’t say I contributed all that much, having CHANCE ENCOUNTER

stayed up late the night before, whispering with Thomas on the hall phone. I was not at all surprised when, upon receiving my mail that afternoon, there was a note from Ms. Naylor to come see her.

I had a feeling it was time to start packing my bags.

On my way to see Ms. Naylor before dinner, I scurried by Gwendolyn Hall, the old class building that had been closed up ten years ago due to problems with its “structural integrity.” I was surprised when a trio of guys stepped out from behind the back wall and hurried off toward the quad, but I kept walking. Until I heard his voice.

“Hey.”

My heart caught. It was Thomas. He leaned back against the

stone wall with one knee crooked, his foot pressed into the rock behind him. He held out his hand to me.

“C’mere.”

A rush of warmth overcame me. I glanced over my shoulder at

Hale Hall, which the students called “Hell Hall” since that was where the advisors and teachers kept their offices. If I hesitated for very long, I would be late. But not even my fear of Naylor could tear me from the mischievous longing in Thomas’s eyes.

I took his hand.

“Where’re we going?” I asked.

He said nothing. He pulled me around the corner and up a set of

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