DON'T ASK THE TEACHER FOR HELP
By the time the period ends, my eyes are burning and I feel like smashing the computer screen.
This is so unfair. Kids like Marisol have an easy time with research and writing. Why should I have to do the same amount of work that they do when it’s so much harder for me?
After school, Deja wants to know why I’m in such a bad mood. She offers to help me on Saturday afternoon.
“What’s your topic?” she asks when we’re sitting at her table on Saturday.
I pause. If I show her the picture of Marisol’s sources, she’ll know they aren’t mine.
Opening my laptop, I pull up what I have on sports nutrition. She shows me how to locate additional sources and to find key words in each article. After an hour, my brain needs rest. I suggest we shoot some hoops.
“Fifteen minutes.” She sets a timer on her phone, and when it rings, she orders me back to work. Deja was more fun before her mom died.
“Did you bring your outlines?”
“Outlines?”
Sighing, she opens her binder and removes several handouts.
“Ms. Sabin gave us three different ways to visualize ideas for an essay. The target one will probably work for you.” Deja shows me how to write my thesis statement in the bullseye and branch out from there.
I’m amazed at how much we accomplish in just a few hours. Why can’t I do this on my own? Or could I? After working so hard, I feel I deserve some time off.
