The Grade

Shadows cloak Veronica's dim bedroom, where the 18-year-old high schooler hunches amid chaos: textbooks sprawled, notepads scattered, tissues balled up, crumpled sheets everywhere—including that brutal term paper Mr. Pullman just returned, slashing her efforts with a fat red F. Gutted, she slumps in the bed's center, boxcutter gripped tight, blade skating teasingly over her pale skin, daring the edge. A knock rattles the door. Her mom's voice filters in, gentle, coaxing her out. Veronica snarls a vicious 'no!' Mom begs, urging her to unlock and head downstairs—it's just one semester to redo, maybe summer. 'Leave me the fuck alone!' Veronica snaps, swiping tears, snatching the paper to glare, then shredding it savagely. 'No goddamn way I'm tanking this year because of you,' she hisses. Across town, a kettle shrieks. Mr. Pullman, lounging casual at home, yanks it off the heat, brews his tea. He hollers to his wife he's holing up in the study for some 'quiet time'—endless papers to mark. Settling on the couch, stack of essays primed before him with red pen and laptop, tension coils...