I stare at the paper in my hands, the bright red B in the corner mocking me.
I don’t understand how this could have happened. I understand The Scarlet Letter. I read it five times in high school and then again when my professor assigned it for class. This paper was the easiest one I’ve written for a class. It should have gotten me an A.
Instead, the professor gave me a B.
I’m tempted to tear the essay in half. It’s not like I need it anymore. It’s worthless. An A, I would have saved. But a B belongs in the trash.
I’ve never gotten a B on a paper before.
College is harder than high school; I understand that. For the most part, I thought I was killing it, the same way I did in high school. The grade on this paper proves I’m not as good as I thought.
My stomach sinks, and my mouth tastes acrid. Was coming to NYU a mistake? The classes here are challenging. I’ve been doing well in my English Literature class so far, but my general education classes have been hard. Of course, I haven’t gotten a B in any of those classes yet. The only B I’ve gotten so far has been in English Lit, and that’s a course directly relevant to my major.
Damnit. Does this mean I’ve chosen the wrong major?
I love English; I’ve always had my nose in a book. When I told my parents I wanted to focus on English Lit, they said they already knew I would based on my love of the written word. Of course, they’re worried about my potential job prospects after graduation, but even with that concern, they agree it’s the only major that makes sense for me.
But if I can’t even get an A on a paper about a book I’ve practically memorized, then maybe I’m wrong about majoring in English Lit. Maybe I’m wrong about everything.
Uncertain, I blow out a breath and toss the essay on my bed. I’m embarrassed that I didn’t get a better grade on the assignment. I thought my assessment of Hester’s impossible choice was a novel, unique take on the book.
Picking up the paper again, I read over the first page. It’s well written, or at least I thought it was. In it, I talk about how Hester thought her husband was dead, so she made the choice to fall in love with someone else, but it wasn’t an easy decision for her. I think Hester knew her husband could return, which is why she kept her affair as secretive as possible.
Hester made all kinds of choices that made sense for her personally, even though the townspeople didn’t understand them. Everyone makes choices, often out of pressure from others. In my paper, I praise Hester for not caring what the townspeople thought.
Maybe that’s the problem with my paper. When The Scarlet Letter was written, going against the norm was a punishable offense. Hence, the scarlet letter Hester was forced to wear.
Maybe I should wear a letter on my breast too. A “B” for boring because the paper I thought was exciting clearly didn’t have the same impression on my professor.
Holding the paper up against my chest, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look ridiculous. The sight makes me laugh to myself, which is a lot better than the self-pity I’ve been wallowing in since my professor handed back our papers.
“What the hell are you doing, crazy?”
I look up to find my roommate standing in the doorway to our small two-person space. I was so distracted by the paper that I didn’t hear the door open.
Jessica is looking at me like I’ve lost it. I suppose it’s not normal for someone to be holding a paper against their chest while laughing maniacally.
“I got a B on my Scarlet Letter essay.”
“So?” Jessica asks, still staring at me. “I got a C. A B is a good grade, Mari.”
“Not for me!”
Jessica rolls her perfect blue eyes. Not only is she my roommate, but she is also my best friend and has been since elementary school. Since we both were accepted to NYU, it’s only natural that we share a cramped dorm room so small that our beds practically touch.
“You care way too much about your grades, Mari. You’re stressed all of the time. A little fun would do you some good.”
“Your version of fun isn’t my version of fun. We both know that, Jess.”
She just laughs. “That’s true, but come on, Mari. You’re freaking out over a B. Do you know how happy I would be if I got a B on a paper?”
“You could do well in school if you tried,” I say with a wry smile.
Jessica shrugs.
“I just don’t see the point. My dad made a fortune and he didn’t even finish high school. As a result, I don’t want to waste time on stuff that I know is pointless.”
Of course she doesn’t. Jessica and I might have grown up together, but we have had vastly different lives. My best friend comes from a rich family with a bulging bank account. My family isn’t poor, but we’re not nearly as well off as the Krists. Her house in Queens has a pool, whereas my house is so close to the neighbors that I could hear them doing things that you do not want to hear your neighbors doing.
I suppose my living situation prepared me for a dorm room at NYU. Jessica’s parents originally wanted her to live in a cushy off-campus apartment, but she nixed that idea. We both wanted to experience living on-campus our freshman year, even if the food is bad.
But maybe next year, we’ll take her parents up on the offer. I thought living in a dorm would be fun, and it’s been okay. There are a lot of social activities, and someone’s always awake if you need company.
But I would love to have my own room. Or at least a bathroom that Jessica and I don’t have to share with an entire floor of girls. The other ladies are nice, but some of them are just not hygienic, to put it delicately. I definitely didn’t need to see Elmira Budd washing her crotchless panties out in the shared sink last week. Ugh.
Shuddering at the memory, I turn to my buddy again.
“The point is that I don’t want you getting kicked out of school,” I say.
Jessica rolls her eyes.
“My grades aren’t that bad, I promise. I have a C average. I’m safe from academic probation.”
“For now,” I say ominously.
Jess just rolls her eyes again.
“It’s fine, don’t worry. Besides, we’re talking about you right now, not me. You’re the A student who got a B on her paper. So what went wrong?”
I can’t resist. Taking a deep breath, I launch into a long-winded description of my essay to Jessica. She’s in the class too, so it shouldn’t be Japanese to her. I don’t think Jess read The Scarlet Letter, though. If I’m being honest, I don’t think she wrote the essay that got her a C either. Allegedly, there are ghostwriting services that you can hire on-line, and I have a feeling Jess had someone do this assignment for her.
“It sounds like you don’t really have a thesis,” my friend says wryly.
I look at her askance.
“What do you mean? My thesis is that the choices we make should be based on ourselves and what we want, not on the people around us.”
Jess looks flummoxed and a bit disinterested.
“Oh okay. That makes sense. My paper was just about the symbolism of the scarlet letter.”
“That should’ve been my angle, too, I guess.”
“Please. You could never take the easy way out.”
Jessica has a point. I have a bad habit of making things more difficult than they need to be. The original draft of this paper was a seven-page rant about how backwards the townspeople were in their treatment of Hester. It took me a week to clean it up into something coherent with a clear thesis.
But obviously, I still failed.
“Don’t you think the professor’s so unfair?” I whine a bit, indulging myself. “I swear, he has a stick up his butt.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jess yawns. I can practically see her back molars because her mouth is open so wide. “You know what I can’t believe?”
“What?”
“Zoey and Peter broke up last night.”
My eyes widen.
“Wait…are you serious?”
Jessica nods. “Zoey called me this morning freaking out. That’s where I was all day. She needed a shoulder to cry on for a few hours.”
My mouth falls open.
“Shit. I can’t believe that! How is she doing now?”
Jess shrugs.
“She was better when I left. Heather came over to take the next shift of listening to Zoey sob about how awful Peter is for dumping her.”
Zoey, Peter, Heather, Jessica, and I all went to high school together. We were the Fab Five, and by the time we started at our respective colleges, Zoey and Peter had already been together for three years. They were practically married, come to think of it, and I had secret dreams of being a bridesmaid in their wedding. Apparently, that’s not going to happen now.
“Do you know what happened?” I ask, still aghast.
Jess shrugs.
“From what I gathered between sobs, Peter wants to see other women.”
“Really? But they’ve been together forever.”
My friend nods.
“Yeah, that’s the problem exactly,” Jessica laughs. “I can’t believe they’ve only slept with each other. Wouldn’t you die? I know I’d go crazy wondering what I’d missed.”
I gulp. Jessica is much more promiscuous than me. I’ve only slept with one guy in my life, and that was when I was sixteen. It was messy and only lasted a couple of minutes. Three years have passed since then without so much as a prospect. I’ve made out with a few guys, but nothing has come of it.
Jessica, on the other hand, has no problem finding guys to sleep with. In our few short months at NYU, I’ve been relegated to the common room at least twice a week so that she can enjoy some alone time with her flavor of the day. She’s tried to give me pointers in the romance department, but I’m too awkward to use them. I don’t know how to seduce a guy. I’m just not that kind of a girl.
“I feel so bad for them,” I say. “Zoey and Peter have been a package deal for so long. It’ll be weird to not see them together.”
“Tell me about it! Until today, I don’t remember the last time I saw Zoey without Peter by her side. I was worried they might morph into one.”
I laugh because it’s true. They’d taken all of the same classes in high school. They both go to Columbia now, and while their schedules aren’t identical, they’re pretty close. That’s going to suck for Zoey. I would hate having to see my ex in class almost every day.
I’m also sad because if Zoey and Peter couldn’t make it last, then what are the chances for the rest of us? After all, their relationship has always made me envious. I want someone who looks at me the way Peter used to look at Zoey, with adoration in his eyes. I would love to be in a stable relationship where we hold hands and attend events together. At nineteen, I still have plenty of time to look for love, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever find it.
“You look mopey. Stop that,” scolds Jess.
“Sorry.”
“What is it now?” she asks.
“Just lonely, I guess.”
My pretty friend immediately brightens.
“Let me set you up!”
I shake my head.
“Absolutely not. That never goes well.”
Jess pouts.
“It was one time, Mari. You can’t let one time color your judgment.”
I stare at the floor.
“One time was enough,” I mutter. “Tommy was hella freaky. I’m scarred for life now.”
Jess rolls her eyes.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. That was James’s fault. He told me Tommy was a great guy, and I swear, I didn’t know about the weird doll thing. You know that I broke up with James for not telling me.”
I sigh. I still think the guys had been playing a trick on us. Jessica was hooking up with James and asked if he had any friends so we could double date. James introduced me to Tommy, who had seemed fine until he’d given me a ride home. We got to his car and I stopped short, trying to conceal my horror. The backseat had been filled with porcelain dolls. There were big ones, small ones, tall ones, thin ones, and they had an assortment of eerie smiles on their faces. When I asked Tommy what was going on, he merely shrugged and said he was a “collector.” I was creeped out and ended up taking the bus back. Only a serial killer would have a porcelain doll collection.
I hope it was just a prank, but I still keep an eye on the news in case I see Tommy’s face on a “FBI Most Wanted” poster.
“So, Zoey and Peter are broken up. What else have I missed from the old high school gossip mill?”
“I don’t think there’s anything else.”
Jessica had been the queen bee at our private New York City high school, and she has kept in touch with most of our relatively small graduating class through social media. It’s fun to know what our classmates are up to. At least five have been arrested for dealing drugs, which is pretty much par for the course for snooty private school kids.
My best friend sits next to me on my bed and picks up my B paper.
“You know what you have to do to prevent this from happening again, right?”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“The essay, what else? I swear, Mari, what did you think I was talking about?”
I sigh. Jessica can switch subjects so fast I get whiplash. That’s probably part of the reason why her grades are in the toilet. That, and the fact that she would rather party and socialize than do homework.
“Right. What do I have to do?”
“Go to office hours, girlfriend. Get to know the professor, and next time, he’ll give you a better grade.”
I smile sourly.
“That’s not going to help.”
I’ve been to office hours for other classes, once when I’d been worried about a math exam. The professor had helped me work through some problem sets, and I’d gotten an A on that exam.
What’s the point of going for an English class, though? We talk about the books in class. I don’t think discussing The Scarlet Letter with my professor will change my understanding of the book.
Thinking about my B brings tears to my eyes. I can’t believe this has happened. I had almost forgotten about it until Jessica brought it up again…
“I’m serious, Mari,” Jessica continues. “Everyone at NYU is smart. They don’t just let in random people off the streets, you know?”
“Trust me, I know.”
I’d worked my ass off in high school to get the grades I needed to get into this school. Even homework-averse Jessica had had to put in some effort to get accepted, though she had relied more on extracurriculars like cheerleading and yearbook committee than her actual grades.
“So that means that all of the papers the professors see are probably fantastic. No one is turning in shitty papers at NYU.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
“Okay, true. But you know what I mean. There’s a pretty high caliber of work crossing the professor’s desk every day. You have to do everything you can to stand out.”
“I don’t see how going to office hours is going to make me stand out.”
“Because it gives the professor a chance to know you, obviously. He’s going to give better grades to the students he recognizes. That’s just science.”
I don’t trust Jessica’s definition of science. I know for a fact she has nearly failed every science class she’s ever taken. In fact, the only reason she passed them is because she got a tutor to help her with her homework. And from what she’s told me, he’s helped her with a lot of other things, too.
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“You need the professor to like you. If he likes you, he passes you. It’s just human nature. Didn’t you learn anything at St. Augustine?”
I smile sourly once more.
“I learned never to trust you.”
Jessica laughs. “You might think I’m full of it, but just consider what I’m saying.”
“You are full of it. Everyone gets the grade they deserve, regardless of whether or not the professor likes you. There’s no deep conspiracy here. It’s just a normal class. My paper was B material. Next time, I’ll make sure it’s A material.”
It pains me to say that, but it must be true. If I’d earned an A, I would’ve gotten one. The professor clearly felt my paper deserved a B.
Jessica looks exasperated now.
“Come on, Mari. This is the real world. People are less likely to judge if they actually know you. That’s just how life works. With problem sets in math, yeah, you get the grade you deserve because there’s a specific answer to every question. It’s not as cut and dried with a soft subject like English Lit. Your grade is directly influenced by how much the professor likes you.”
I stare at my best friend. What she’s saying feels wrong, but on some level, it makes sense. I hate that.
Jessica grins. “You’re coming around to my side, aren’t you?”
“I don’t want you to be right.”
“I know, but that’s life, baby. If you want to survive in this academic world, you have to adapt.”
“I don’t want to adapt. I want to earn grades based on the merits of my writing, not based on the professor’s opinion of me.”
Jessica’s face falls in sympathy. “I know, and I’m not saying that getting in with the professor is a guaranteed way of getting good grades. I just think it would help you out a little. What’s wrong with giving it a try? You could go to office hours a few times and see what happens. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Okay. You’re right. I’ll give it a shot. I don’t like it, but I also don’t want to keep getting B’s on my essays.”
“That’s my girl! You’ll see, it’ll work. How do you think I keep my grades up?”
“You don’t.”
“Well…true. But they’d be way worse than they are if I didn’t take the time to get to know my professors.”
I bite my lip. This feels like cheating. Then again, is it cheating when all of the students have the same opportunity? Office hours are open to everyone, not just me. I’m simply utilizing a resource.
“There’s one more thing,” Jessica says. “You have to dress sexy when you go meet Professor Boynton.”
I gasp. “Absolutely not!”
“Trust me, Mari. This is how the world works.”
“You keep saying that...”
“Because I know it’s true. Dressing hot makes the male professors like you. Ask anyone.”
I don’t need to ask anyone; I know it’s true. I’ve seen the way some professors look at Jessica when she comes to class in a short skirt and low-cut shirt. But that doesn’t make it right.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m one-hundred percent sure.”
It sounds so sleazy and superficial, but what if Jessica’s right?
I stare at the big red B still mocking me on the front of my paper. I can’t take another grade like that. It’s far too stressful.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll go to office hours dressed a little more like you. But this better be worth it.”
Jessica smiles in response. “It will be. I promise.”
I don’t know what worries me more – that it won’t work, or that it will.