Students gathered around the podium, pens flying. Some drained faces at the end. Girls clustered on one side and boys on the other, with their teacher behind the podium. The class had finished, but the looming work kept them there. This time, the kids didn't want to grab their bags and run out of the room. Although some who didn't want to be there had already left.
The teacher who had started not long ago thought his knowledge of marking their sheets would be enough. First, he went through all their work and then assigned points based on what he felt was best. It's not easy, which is the reason most professors have assistants assigned.
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Multiple kids with their sheets in their hands blocked his view.
"This is enough. All the marks are final."
The kids still kept insisting: "Please check here and there, there is a mistake."
"I think this is right."
It was the teacher's fault that he engaged with the activity at the start and then changed to suit the students' desires. There was no turning back.
"I'll do it tomorrow." The teacher while packing his stuff.
"And please, sir, I have no mistakes, but you still gave me 9 out of 10."
All the kids who were on the precipice of changing their results saw her and looked at her as if "why is she even here". She had mistaken the situation, but to her this reaction felt odd since all of them were also doing the same thing. But she had misread what was happening.
"Sorry," the teacher said while moving away. "I never give a perfect score."
22 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3111: perfect score
