Vicious is My Middle Name by Kevin Dunn

Author:Kevin Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Regal House Publishing
Published: 2022-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

When I admitted to Granny the following afternoon that I hadn’t spoken to Mr. Snead yet, she kinda went off on me. I tried to explain that I hadn’t even had English that day, but that didn’t matter to her. Not wanting to experience her wrath again, I approached Mr. Snead at the end of our English class the next day.

As the other students were piling out of the class, I walked up to his desk. He was sitting down, going through one of the side drawers, trying to find something.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Snead.”

I swear he grimaced when he looked up and saw it was me.

“Yes, Miss Talcott. Can I help you?”

“Well, it’s about the midterm report that went home this week.”

He returned to his search of the drawer. “Mm-hmm,” he said distractedly.

“Well, it’s just that I was a little concerned about my grade for this class.”

“I imagine you would be. You seem to be performing quite poorly so far.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think you’re being fair to me.”

He slammed the drawer shut. Okay, maybe he just closed it. But it sure felt like he was slamming it shut. “Fair? And how exactly am I being unfair to you, Miss Talcott?”

“Well,” I said, feeling a little unsure of myself. “I thought the poetry appreciation paper I did was pretty good.”

“Ah, yes, your analysis of the pop song. Did you happen to read over your paper before you handed it in, Miss Talcott?”

“Um…”

“Exactly. There is a thing called proofreading. I suggest you get familiar with it. Moreover,” he continued in a patronizing voice, “you may want to be more discerning on what you choose to write.”

“See! I knew I got the bad grade because you didn’t like my taste in music!” I shouted indignantly.

Mr. Snead sighed so heavily that a paper on his desk shook. He looked down at it with surprise and picked it up. I guessed that was what he had been looking for in the side drawers of his desk. “I can assure you, Miss Talcott, that I could care less about whatever type of garbage you choose to cram into your ears. You can pick your own poison. But don’t try to pass that trifle off as literature. In order to analyze poetry, one must begin with a poem. Not something made up entirely of la-la-las.”

I was angry. There were no la-la-las in that Lite Brite song. Sure, there were plenty in their other songs. But not in that one.

Mr. Snead stood up from his desk with the newly discovered paper in his hands. “Meanwhile, I suggest you purchase a good dictionary to help you with your writing.”

Okay, that stung. Mostly because I knew there was some truth behind it.

“Well, Shawn has agreed to help me with that in the future.”

Snead narrowed his eyes at me. “Shawn? Shawn Tucker?”

“Yeah, Shawn’s a friend of mine. He said he’d help me with my writing.” Suddenly I felt a panic. Maybe that wasn’t allowed at this school. “I mean, if that’s okay.

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