She could not find it. It just kinda disappeared from thin air. Her homework was GONE! But where did it go? Where did it run off to? The answer her History teacher yearns for, but there is no clear answer.
Monday, 2:30 am – she had just finished it. Finally, 17 pages, double spaced, 11 pt font, with accompanying foam core poster board. An 11th grader’s exhaustive knowledge of the color of George Washington’s white horse. Her bibliography is another three pages long. She drags her exhausted body over to the bed and falls into a deep, dark, desolate sleep, dreaming of George Washington and that gosh-diggity-dong cherry tree.
Monday, 3:52 am – “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. We have to get out of here. Let’s run away together to the city, to the Bronx. It is time to start our inner city lifestyle.”
Monday, 7:48 am – The Big Day – The day she presents her teacher with the most glorious research paper to exist about the color of George Washington’s white horse. The hours of hard work, the grave amounts of academic dishonesty: AI chatbots, plagiarized essays from her siblings all together in one big beautiful, stunning, ravishing, delicious foam core poster board. In addition to her poster board, 17 pages of work, all carefully placed in her backpack in the dark hours of the early morning. As she walked to school, her backpack felt strangely light.
Monday, 8:23 am – First Period – She opened her backpack, getting out her math homework from the night before… And then she noticed there was no posterboard wedged between the mildly crushed folders and crumpled hall passes. In those folders, 17 pages of impeccable research had evaporated into thin air. What happened?! Did her dog eat it, just like last time? She would never forgive that poor little dog for eating all of those missing math assignments. Her teacher should never have given them liver flavored graph paper. What is she going to do? Her next period was History, unfortunately, not HER story which was lost to all of womankind. The investigation had to be a short one.
Monday, 8:24 am – Just seconds later – She tore her math homework out.
“If you ever want to see life without bars again, you’ll tell me everything you know about what happened to my history project.” Unfortunately, the math did not have the answers to that equation.
And then she went to her science homework: “What happened you miserable collection of elements, where is my history project?!”
“Why should I tell you?” the science homework responded.
“Because if you don’t I’ll have to throw the whole book at you!”
The science homework revealed nothing.
Monday, 9:06 am – History (unfortunately not HER story) – She walked into class, a serious case of melodrama moving into her belly. The bell rang and the teacher asked all of the students to get their assignments out. What was she going to do?
