Ninety-eight.
The classroom is cold.
Ninety-eight.
The teacher nears me
Ninety-eight.
A packet of papers slaps onto the desk next to me.
Ninety-eight.
The boy beside me greedily snatches for it.
Ninety-eight.
The boy beside me smiles.
Ninety-eight.
My tights itch.
Ninety-eight.
The teacher walks away.
Ninety-eight.
Another packet drops onto another desk.
Ninety-eight.
Another student frowns.
Ninety-eight.
My heartbeat is louder than classroom chatter.
Ninety-eight.
The teacher nears me.
Ninety-eight.
The teacher passes by me.
Ninety-eight.
I play with my nails.
Ninety-eight.
I try to act like numbers don’t matter.
Ninety-eight.
The teacher drops a packet on my desk.
Ninety-eight.
I don’t look.
Ninety-eight.
Numbers do matter.
Ninety-eight.
I look.
Ninety-eight.
There are two red numbers and a smiley face.
Ninety-eight.
The classroom is hot.
Ninety-eight.
One number is a nine.
Ninety-eight.
The other is an eight.
Ninety-eight.
My eyes scan the questions.
Ninety-eight.
There is a red circle on the second page.
Ninety-eight.
The answer was a, not c.
Ninety-eight.
I should have known that.
Ninety-eight.
I got an A.
Ninety-eight.
A’s are good.
Ninety-eight.
The boy beside me glances at my paper.
Ninety-eight.
My boots pinch.
Ninety-eight.
He asks, “What did you get?”
Ninety-eight.
He smiles.
Ninety-eight.
“Good job.”
Ninety-eight.
I ask, “What did you get?”
Ninety-eight.
He shows me his papers.
Ninety-eight.
There are three red numbers.
Ninety-eight.
The first is a one.
Ninety-eight.
Then there are two zeroes.
Ninety-eight.
I force myself to swallow.
Ninety-eight.
I force myself to smile.
Ninety-eight.
I will do better next time.