Grade Up Narrative

“I guess,” I said, mumbling under my breath once she could no longer hear me. I took my seat... it was time to take the test. The teacher handed me my test packet. I took a gulp. I don’t know this. I won’t be able to do this. I told myself, flipping open the first page. I’ll skip this and come back to it… Uggg! I might as well just skip all of them! I went through the formulas, over and over, and in what seemed like no time at all, the teacher was collecting our papers. I gave mine to her and slumped low in my chair.

There, glaring up at me in bold, red ink against the crisp white paper was a C- . Comparing my grades to those of my classmates, it was revealed that they too had received these grades. What had we done wrong?

As I sit on the floor of my bedroom, I prepare myself for a life changing week. My dark black suitcase is right next to me. I have my packing list in one hand and a red pen in the other. I cross out the items that I already have. I make sure that I have everything I need for a week at summer camp. Every summer since 5th grade, I have gone to Skyview Ranch in Millersburg, Ohio. It is a week of laughing until my stomach hurts and powerful words that change my mind forever.

When one enrolls into an honors or advanced English class, there are many worries that come to mind. These worries create thoughts such as ‘Am I a good writer?’, ‘Will I pass?’, or ‘How do I even start a paper?’. My teachers never specifically taught me to write. My teacher that I had for 9th grade English and my 10th grade honors English class always gave good grades. Once I got into my first AP English class, I felt as though my writing was inferior. In my distress, I went to the internet and I found that you do not have to be gifted in academic writing to get good grades on your essays, I found that organization is the key to writing a powerful essay.

assignments. There was a brief moment when I felt like giving up and dropping the class, but then I remembered an old

It was a bright hot summer day here in Little Pine First Nation, where the events took place. The chief and councillor’s had organized a fun filled day with family and friends spending it with one another. As the hot dreadful heat of the day goes by slowly the community is together as one enjoying the music blasted. The bass was pounding on my concession booth the good old country music that everyone likes. Kids are screaming, parents are cheering, cars and trucks are ramming, horses are stomping as they too are getting excited for the big day to start.

I like to think there are four levels of procrastination. The first is false security, the “I still have plenty of time, I can finish this later.” The second is laziness, the thoughts like,“I should probably get this started. Nah.” Next comes denial and excuses such as, “I would start this, but I’m doing something else right now.” and, “I’m just taking a little break.” Then finally the crisis stage, the stage during which you stay up all night long in order to finish the homework assignment you had all day to do. Because of this, the hardest part of my daily routine was the time when I knew I needed to start my homework, but I truly wanted to keep watching shows on Netflix. This wouldn't be as difficult if it weren't

It was just questions of the day and then a few Kahoot games as a review. Next week, the students will be having a quiz on sections 1-2. My cooperating teacher and myself are curious to see if it helps the students do better when it comes time for the tests. There was also a scare at the school. We were going to leave at 3:00pm. However, while I was putting in the grades, I did one class and then I was looking at the grades online and it was extreme different than what they should have been. I had not changed the page, etc. So, when the teacher had gotten back I ask him, and here I was somehow on the page for the grades of the whole year. We did not know if I had changed anything, so we were going through all the classes in different nine weeks. False alarm, we did not leave until 3:30ish. I have Friday and Monday off so there is a nice break and more time to prepare for next

The science test you’ve been dreading has finally come to haunt you. You walk in, and the teacher routinely reminds you of the weight of the test on your grade, 80%. The teacher hands out the test and you blankly stare at the questions that can either build up, or destroy your grade. Unconformities?! What are they? Scrolling through the pages, you finally find some questions you know. The teacher announces that there are only 5 minutes left before you must turn your answers in. In a hurry, you halfheartedly guess most of the test, hoping that you get lucky. Days pass, and you receive your final grade for the test. Next to your score you see an F in bright red. Frantically, you race to the computers to check your overall grade. You log on only to see a perfectly stable B+ plummet down to a D. On the bus home, you are tense, assured that your parents have seen the obvious drop. Walking through the door, your mom asks “How’d the test go?” Stammering, you reply with “Er--well that's a long story”. Confused she asks for the test, and you wearily hand it over. You immediately see the disappointment in your mom’s face as she flips throughout the pages. Your punishment was groundation, and after your mom lectures you, she walks out. You think for a while, and realize that you could’ve prevented all of this if you simply studied instead of playing that game for longer.

“Only an 84? Wow.” I whipped my head around to see who dared to say that. I was happy with my score, for it was a great improvement from my past grade. I knew how much I had worked for this and I felt proud, but my arch-nemesis, Michael Sober, ;;;;;

Tears stung in my eyes as I gazed down at the dreaded product of neglect, already feeling a cold weight tug at my heart. Looking at my practice log, I determined that within the twenty-four hours remaining before it was due, I needed to make up the eight hours of practicing I had been lazily putting off. After informing my mom of this impossible feat, she told me that I would not be staying up past midnight to practicing as a meager attempt to salvage my grade. The next day I turned in my log with a hint of discouragement as I awaited my grade. I didn’t fail the class, but I still had to live with the knowledge that I could have done better. I tried to justify what happened by saying I wasn’t used to Jr. High with its additional seven classes,

The two and a half months of summer ended and I was ready to start 8th grade. I was excited and I found out I was in the same pod with my best friend. I felt confident as I walked into room B5 and greeted Mr. Gill. The year started great and I knew my way to all my classes. I studied a lot more in 8th grade. Nearly every test I studied. And by the end of the marking period I had all A’s and B’s. I brought my lunch from home more often and I participate more in class.

First I think I deserve this type of grade because it’s a good grade. Everyone knows that. Teachers tell me all the time that they are glad I pay attention. They also say its good to just do the work and

Receiving a B has taught me that as long as I try my best, no matter the outcome I should proud of what I did or accomplished. Now when I do something that I do my best on and it doesn't work out the way I want it to I shouldn’t think that I failed, I should be happy because I worked hard on it.

Knowing I didn’t study, I held in my breath and closed my eyes as he handed me the three sheets of scribbles and sloppily circled answers. Slowly I opened my eyes and looked down at my grade, and there it was, 49%. My first failing grade. My cheeks turned as red as the sharpie the teacher used to mark my paper. Embarrassment and shame crashed over me. Page flip after page flip, I scanned my mistakes and then immediately shoved the papers into my folder. Other classmates were gawking at their success and I didn’t want them to see my failure. That grade haunted my mind for forever, it seemed.