What the eff.

"I want to see you after class."

I stare up in surprise at my English teacher, wondering what he could possibly mean. He hands me my formative essay, and quickly realise that he hasn't bothered to grade it. Before I can ask, he already moved on to someone else. Next to me, Eva's guarded look turns into detached incredulity. She raises both brows.

I blink a couple of times, and start leafing through my essay. Here and there, he underlined some of my prettier sentences and wrote, in the margins, "Where did you get this?"

And I suppose I can tell that he would be slightly upset. The essay was supposed to relate Karl Marx's ideology to the setting in Brave New World, and I had, just a little, winged it. Mostly because it was formative (it didn't count for actual marks) and I hate philosophical assignments. So maybe I hadn't followed a clear structured outline or been very clear in my points. Truth is I simply didn't care to. I'd done an okay job and hadn't bothered with more.

Oh, and I'd been flowery at a few spots in my text. Because hey, you can't take the metaphors outta me, even for the dry stuff.

Anyway, I got to the end of my essay and saw he'd written that 'I don't know where you got this material, but I simply cannot grade it.'

I'm not the type to panic, so I don't. All I can do is purse my lips and frown. What the hell does he mean, he can't grade it? He graded Eva's text, and it was way worse than mine. Hell, I corrected it for her to make sure she didn't have any mistakes. I mean, sure my text wasn't structured and all, but is that really such a good reason to decide to not grade me?

And then I wonder if maybe he accused me of taking a reference from somewhere when the assignments was based on our personal interpretation of Karl Marx and the Brave New World. Which is ridiculous because I hate referencing anyone, so why I'd do it when I'm especially not supposed to is out of the realm of the absurd.

But then it clicks. The comments, the underlining of a few sentences, his wording... 'where you got this material'.

He thinks I cheated! Plagiarized!

In case you hadn't figured, I don't plagiarize. I don't copy other peoples' works. EVER.

What an affront.

At the end of the class, after simmering in my seat for two hours, I come up to him and ask, "Can we talk now?"

He looks at me and removes his glasses. "Yes," he says, very seriously.

I hand him my essay with the ungraded front page. Carefully, I first try to determine what he's accusing me of. "So, you refused to grade me. On what basis?"

He sighs through his nose. "Do you understand the accusation, CM?"

I blink, and slowly, I try, "I think... you said that I copied my work, sir?"

He presses his lips together and looks at me meaningfully.

Incredulous, I try to keep my calm and I ask, "Again, sir, I don't understand what made you think that."

He looks mildly exasperated. He flips to one of the middle paragraphs and reads aloud, " 'society in the Brave New World is quite like a stagnant pond as opposed to a flowing river'. End quote. Where did you get this material, CM? A 'stagnant pond'? I mean, really?"

Stunned, I say the truth. "I took it off the top of my head, sir. It seemed a cool thing to say at the time."

He stares at me flatly. A few students are peering at us curiously. "CM, can you define 'stagnant' for me?"

My jaw drops, literally. "Of course I can define it, sir, or else I wouldn't have used it. Do you really think I stole that material off Internet, sir, when it's so clearly against the rules and I have the vocabulary to write my own stuff?"

He calmly asks, "Where did you learn English, CM?"

"In kindergarden," I splutter, still reeling from the shock of his accusation. "By accident!"

He raises a brow. "In kindergarden." He flicks a finger against my essay. "This vocabulary is beyond what any student in my twenty years of teaching at college level has ever used in a formative essay, and I don't think―"

"I've been writing on my own time for eight years, sir," I say, flushed with anger. "And I think that if anyone knows what 'stagnant' means, I do."

He blinks owlishly at me. "Eight years...?" Suddenly he pales a little and tries to compose himself as I try to bring myself back under control. It occurs to me that he unknowingly complimented me. "Really?"

I laugh, incredulous. "Of course I have! And I've read twice as much as I've written."

And guess what?

He apologized.

As we parted, I took my essay and asked him if he'd grade it now.

He took one long look at it, then said, "I don't think that'll be necessary."

And I've been laughing since.

Love,
CM