“A C-plus?! Are you kidding me?”I stared at the marked sheet of
paper in front of me, struggling to digest the letter grade that
was about to taint my long-standing track record of As and cause
my 7th Grade progress chart to take a nosedive. Literature hasn’t
always been my strong suit, but I could’ve sworn on my own life
that I was going to ace that test. I made sure I pored over the
passage repeatedly, forcing my brain to comprehend and absorb
each and every word as though they were the Ten Commandments
themselves. I made sure I answered the literary analysis prompt
as thoroughly as possible, strategically extracting evidence from
the text to delicately craft a concrete pillar for my well-
structured thesis to lean on. I even made sure to triple-check
every detail perfectly; not a single component of my literary
jigsaw puzzle was to be left out or fixed in the wrong place. The
moment I placed my response on the chipped, weathered oak desk
stationed at the corner of the classroom, I genuinely (and
naively) thought I had written the best essay of my entire
schooling life. Apparently my teacher didn’t share the same
sentiment.