The Comment Beside the Essay

The Comment Beside the Essay

1During Thursday study hall, I slid my laptop toward Dalia. My essay argued that our school should start later, and tomorrow our class would choose one essay to send to the principal. I had pictured my name beneath the chosen title. Across the table, Dalia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and began reading.

2The room smelled faintly of dry markers. A chair scraped behind us while Dalia scrolled. Her finger stopped beside my sentence about students arriving tired. Then she typed a comment: “What about families whose work schedules begin early?” I watched the small gray box expand beside my carefully arranged paragraphs.

3I reached for the laptop, ready to delete her comment because I feared it would weaken my chance of being chosen. “That isn't what my essay is about,” I said. Dalia moved her hands away from the keyboard. “My brother waits with me before school because our dad leaves early,” she said. “Where would we go?”

4My fingers hovered above the keys. The blinking cursor disappeared, returned, disappeared. I could close the comment and keep my smooth ending. Instead, I read my final sentence aloud: “A later start would make mornings easier for everyone.” Everyone. The word sounded larger now than it had when I typed it.

5“I don't know where you'd go,” I admitted. Dalia pulled a notebook from her bag. “You could ask about a supervised room before classes.” We spent the remaining study hall listing questions, not pretending we already had answers. I kept my argument for a later start, but changed the ending to ask the principal to consider early-arrival arrangements too.

6When the bell rang, I saved the new draft. Dalia's comment remained in the margin, marked “answered.” Tomorrow's class vote still made my stomach tighten. Before closing the laptop, though, I turned it toward her once more. “Will you read the ending again?”