Magic in Costa Rica

Type B

After my English class finished working with To Kill A Mockingbird, we were assigned to read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brönte. Mr. Miller gave us a week and a half to read it since it's over twice as long as To Kill A Mockingbird and far more difficult to get through. I enjoyed it, but I didn't connect with Jane's character as much as I did with Scout or Atticus. When it came time to write an essay, I wrote about how the theme of love and family seemed contradictory to the separate theme of autonomy and independence. It frustrated me that a woman as strong and resourceful as Jane was so driven by her need for the love and approval of others. I was happy for her in the end, but couldn't help but think that she would've been better off if she had forgotten about Mr. Rochester and lived her life on her own.

A week after our essays were due, I walked into class to see mine returned on my desk with a big, red B on top. B? I'd never gotten a B in my life. My essay was great! It was five pages, it explored two different themes, and it had no grammatical or spelling errors. I looked over at Carla's desk and saw that she got an A on her paper. I gritted my teeth and sat down in my chair, looking over my paper to check for mistakes. Carla came in and turned to me, excited after seeing her grade.

"Alma, I got an A!"

"Congrats," I smiled, trying to seem genuinely happy. I mean, I was happy for her. Her essay was really good too (we reach each others' the night before they were due).

"What did you get?" She craned her neck to try to look at my paper. I sighed.

"I got a B," I lowered my head in shame.

"You're shitting me!" Carla scoffed. I shook my head. "But your essay was so good! You didn't change it since I last read it, right?" I shook my head again. "Well, maybe you should talk to Mr. Miller about it."

"I don't want to seem like a bratty kid, I'll just do better next time."

"Suit yourself, but I don't think there's anything wrong with asking what you did wrong. I mean he should at least be able to give you an explanation. Don't stress yourself out too much, a B is still pretty good for an advanced English class," she said reassuringly.

"Thanks," I nodded and smiled. Just then, Mr. Miller pranced in and came right over to Carla's desk, practically ignoring me as he turned to address her.

"Morning, Carla! Fantastic work on your essay, by the way. Real A material!" He gave her a big thumbs up before walking back to his desk. Carla gave me a sarcastic smile and I leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Fuck you, Carla," I snarled. She made a fake sad face before bursting into laughter, which made me laugh too, which made Mr. Miller give us both a suspicious glance, which made us laugh even harder. We were finally able to subdue ourselves once the bell rang and Mr. Miller started taking attendance. I spent the whole rest of the class hardly paying attention, trying to figure out why I got a B on this essay, when it was so easy to get an A on the last one. I decided that I would talk to Mr. Miller during lunch to ask how I could improve next time. After class ended I told Carla that I wouldn't be in the library for part of lunch. She made the same fake sad face as she had before.

"I'll miss you terribly. Talk to you later!" she waved before walking away. I snorted and shook my head before heading to my next class, which I also spent obsessing over my paper. When the lunch bell finally rang, I scurried down the hallway to Mr. Miller's classroom, hoping to catch him before he went to the teacher's lounge. I knocked on his door eagerly, paper in hand.

"Come in," I heard from the other side. I opened the door and found Mr. Miller sitting at his desk with his arms folded, almost like he was waiting for me to show up. He pushed up his glasses with his index finger and smiled innocently. "Why, hello, Miss Larson. What can I do for you today?" I walked across the room and laid my paper on his desk, B side up.