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Excerpt:
She pushed open the door to the classroom and spotted Mr. Simmons sitting behind his desk, bent over some papers.
Alex cleared her throat, and he looked up at her.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked.
"Yes, I did. Thanks for coming." Mr. Simmons flashed a smile that made Alex's knees go weak. She steadied herself as he gestured towards the empty desks before him.
"Take a seat," he instructed.
Alex obliged and settled herself in one of the desks in the front row.
"I wanted to talk to you about the test paper you did this morning," Mr. Simmons said, producing the paper in question and handing it to Alex. In the top left-hand corner in neat red pen was the letter C accompanied by a plus symbol.
"Isn't a C plus okay?" Alex asked.
"C plus is great," Mr. Simmons admitted. "Most students in this class would be thrilled with a C plus."
He looked over at Alex, studying her.
"I sense a
but coming," Alex admitted.
"But, you're not most students. You almost got an A."
"Almost an A?" Alex echoed.
"Your work is all accurate. In fact, you even wrote the correct answers to all the problems. Then you crossed them out and changed them a few numbers off."
"I got the answers wrong, big deal." Alex tried to feign indifference. She bit her lip and looked out of the window, envious of the students who were heading back to their nice houses and their complete families.
"The point I'm making is that I think you got the answers wrong deliberately," Mr. Simmons suggested, his tone soft and nonconfrontational.
"So what? You think I'm doing the opposite of cheating? Like failing on purpose?" Alex said, trying to make the suggestion sound preposterous. "Why would anyone do that?" She said.
"You tell me," Mr. Simmons asked, still keeping his same, gentle tone.
"I can't tell you because that's not what's happening. I got my answers wrong; it happens. I'm not that good at math."
"But I think you are. In fact, I think you're very good at math."
"I'm not." Alex shook her head and, feeling uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, folded her arms protectively across her chest.
"I think that you hide how smart you actually are and pretend to be some dumb blonde cheerleader just because you want to fit in." Mr. Simmons stood and came to lean against his desk, shortening the distance between them.
"Are you insulting me?" Alex hugged herself tighter. "Because it sounded like you called me a dumb blonde."
"I said you're pretending to be a dumb blonde," Mr. Simmons corrected her.
"Maybe I'm just dumb," Alex protested, getting agitated.
"Or maybe you pretend to be because you want to fit in. But as someone older and hopefully wiser, let me tell you that fitting in isn't as important as you think it is. There's more to life than being popular."
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