Gemotions

He paced his dorm room, phone clutched in his hand. The “D” on his Calculus exam felt like a physical blow. He kicked his discarded backpack across the room. He knew this material; he helped other students. How could he have failed so badly?

He pictured the professor’s smug face. Mr. Henderson, with his perfectly pressed shirts and condescending smile. He’d probably enjoyed giving the bad grade. He’d show him.

He picked up the exam again, tearing off a corner, crumpling it into a tiny ball. He would go to office hours. He would challenge the grade. He would get to the bottom of this, and he wouldn’t rest until it was rectified.