The black folder
“Your
turn’s next, Brainy Smurf.”
I
rummaged through my back. My notes are in there somewhere. I know it. I can do
it! I just have to find those notes.
“That’s gonna
be a fun one. Won’t it, Bill?”
I know
they are in there. I put them there last night. Deep breath. It will be fine.
Just find the notes…
“We will
make it fun, Clint.”
My hands
get hold of the black folder. That’s it. I can do it. I take the folder out of
my back and put it on my desk. Then I take a moment just looking at the folder
cover. A moment to calm my nerves. The black folder has a simple white sticker
about three quarts up. The sticker says simply Paul Smith, history. It’s stuck
a bit too far to the right, what makes it look odd.
“Starring
at our book, aren’t we?”
“Shush.
The bookworm just can’t help himself. He loves
his books.”
I
finally get the courage to open the folder. My note papers are exactly where I
left them. Neatly put into a clear file in the black folder with the out of
place name tag.
“Hey,
bookworm. Ready to fail?”
I can do
it. I can. I really can.
“He never
talks.”
“He has
to. In a minute anyway.”
I stare
at my notes. My hearth is pounding loudly. Can they hear it? They must, it’s so
loud. There’s a steady boom boom in my ear, together with a swoosh. I feel
dizzy. But I can do it.
“Can you
see his face from back there?”
I can do
it. It’s just a presentation. Not even a long one. I just have to walk up front
and talk. Up front. Talk. To the
whole class. My legs start shaking and I’m not even up yet.
“He’s bright
red. Like a tomato.”
A
presentation? That’s easy. I can do it. Talking to the class. Come on. I can do
it. I have to. I…
“Oi,
little tomato. You know that we’ll have to beat you up, if your presentation
wins?”
I can do
it. I won’t win anyway. Just five weeks of work. That won’t be enough anyway.
I’ll just get up and…
“I think
he needs a little reminder. What do you think, Olly?”
“Nah,
our bookworm is smart. He’ll recall yesterday. Don’t you? You’re a smart one. You
recall yesterday and what happened to your lunch money.”
I keep
looking at my notes. They are not even good. Just some work on some
presentation.
“Paul
Smith. It’s your turn.”
I really
tried. But… Why take a chance? I do
remember yesterday. I remember it all too well. My stomach still hurts.
“Sorry,
Mrs. I must have left my notes a home.”
The
black folder disappears bag in my back where it belongs. Back to safety. Back
here next to my safe seat.
“You
know, that I have to fail you then?”
“Yes,
Mrs.”
I close
my bag.
Work
Count: 500
