Shane's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Third period was still going when Shane crouched behind the green dumpster and lit a cigarette. The essay was folded in his back pocket. He pulled it out and smoothed it against his knee. A red F sat in the top corner, big enough to see from across the room. The teacher had circled words on every line and written SEE ME three times. Shane needed to pass English to walk at graduation. Graduation was six weeks away. He took a drag and read the corrections. Off topic. Off topic. Rewrite. His handwriting looked like someone else's, slanted and rushed, done at two in the morning after his shift at the gas station. He remembered typing the last page with his eyes half shut. He had turned it in anyway. He had thought a D was possible. A D would have been enough. The brick wall of the school pressed cold through his hoodie. From here he could see the flagpole and the front doors, the beige block trim, the neat windows lined up like the place was proud of itself. He had gone to this same building since kindergarten. His mother had a photo of him on the front steps in a dinosaur shirt. She kept it on the fridge. She had already bought a frame for his diploma. He heard the side door bang open. A woman's voice called his name, sharp and tired. Ms. Alvarez, his English teacher, stood on the concrete step with her arms crossed. She had seen the smoke. She waited. Shane thought about running. Instead he stubbed the cigarette on the dumpster and walked over, essay in his hand. She looked at the paper, then at him. She said if he skipped her class one more time, she was done. She said the essay could be rewritten by Friday, one chance, and if he missed it she would fail him for the year. She said it flat, no room to argue. Then she went back inside. Shane stood on the step with the door shut behind him. Friday was four days. He had never rewritten anything in his life. He folded the essay in half, then in half again, and walked toward the parking lot instead of back to class. He had work at four. He would have to write it tonight, after close, at the kitchen table, sober. He had already decided he would try.