When I was in 6th grade I read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH for a book report. I loved it very much.
I wrote a lot (in BIG loooooopy handwriting with heart dots for I's), how much I JUST LOVED IT, and how she should read it because it's the best book ever and she will also love it!! I turned in my report and waited for Mrs. K to clasp it to her chest and beam at me, telling me with breathy dramatic gratitude how much her life had changed since I recommended it to her and then do that A+++++++ thing all across the chalkboard.
Instead she handed my paper back to me with an E on it. I was horrified. I waited after class and asked her why, barely able to look at the bitter lines on her face, instead focusing on her
fingernails; long and fakey thick, bright red and squared off, drumming the paper.
"Did you even read this book?"
I was stunned. I think I cried a little.
"YES! I read it and I loved it!"
"It looks like you just read the blurb on the back. You haven't put in anything about the plot at all."
I know by then I did cry. Right in front of the dragon lady. That pinchy gulpy kind where trying to stuff it back in just makes it worse.
"I didn't want to spoil it for you in case you haven't read it yet!"
Then the Dragon Lady actually smiled. I turned in my report the next day. I got a B+ because it was late.
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