The Real World

The Real World

Based on the song “No Such Thing” by John Mayer

  “So in conclusion, the media has a major impact on teenagers, especially females.  It falsely advertises girls who are too skinny, making the teens who see those ads want to be that way as well even if it’s not physically possible.  I believe that this is wrong.  The media should be showing real people with real bodies in ads, movies, and television shows.”  I clicked, and the screen that projected my PowerPoint slideshow for the class to see went black, indicating that the presentation was over.  But it wasn’t.  Not yet.
  “I also found two videos on MeTube that show just what the media does to alter the public’s perception of what is normal,” I said.  I logged onto the Internet and searched for the videos.  I played them both for the class, explaining how they related to my presentation after each one.
  When I finished, my classmates clapped politely.  I knew that they hadn’t really listened to what I was saying, that they were busily typing out text messages under their desks, that a few of them were even taking naps.  I didn’t care.  It wasn’t for them that I was giving the presentation.
  Beaming, I glanced at Ms. Mayer.  It was without a doubt the best presentation I had ever done.  I had been practicing what I would say for two weeks, and I’d memorized the slides.  I’d even found the videos to back up my point.  While my classmates had barely followed the syllabus with their presentations, I had gone above and beyond.
  I expected Ms. Mayer to be grinning almost foolishly, thinking, Finally a student who cares.  But instead, she was frowning and scribbling something on a sheet of paper at her desk.  “Thank you, Jeannette,” she mumbled.  “Paul, you’re up next.”
  A little wounded, I went back to my seat.  I was still thinking about it by the time the bell rang signaling the end of class.  I walked down the hall in sort of a daze, and I barely heard when someone called my name.
  “Jeannette!”  Miranda grabbed my arm.  “Are you okay?”
  I blinked.  “Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” I replied.  “Except for the fact that I think I just bombed the best presentation of my high school career.”
  “Bombed?  How could you fail your best presentation?”
  “Well, I presented, and it went great.  But then my teacher looked, like, disappointed.  I don’t—”
  “Attention, students!” interrupted the Student Council president over the PA system.  “I am pleased to announce that the results for prom king and queen are in.  Congratulations to Ryan Griscom and Kelley Bradley!”
  Most of the kids in the hallway clapped and cheered, but one girl, a blonde cheerleader dressed in pink, burst into tears.  “But I…I thought I was…was going to win,” she sobbed to her friend.
  I rolled my eyes as Miranda and I passed them.  “Forget prom queen,” I muttered.  “Drama queen is more like it.”
  Miranda laughed.  Then she checked her watch and gasped.  “Ohmigosh, class starts in one minute!  I gotta go, Jean.  See you later!”
  “Bye,” I said, but she had already disappeared into the crowd.

*  *  *

  By the end of the day, I had almost gotten over my Health presentation.  If I do fail, I can just ask for an extra credit assignment, I’d reassured myself.
  As Miranda and I walked down the hall on our way out, we passed Ms. Mayer’s classroom.  She was standing outside it, scanning the faces in the hallway.  Then she caught my eye.  “Jeannette,” she called, beckoning me over.
  “Wait for me,” I told Miranda.  “This’ll probably only take a couple minutes.”
  I followed Ms. Mayer into her classroom, wondering if this was about my presentation.  Maybe I had been wrong in thinking that I’d failed.  Maybe she wanted to congratulate me personally on what an outstanding job I had done!  I felt a grin tugging at the edges of my lips.
  Ms. Mayer, oblivious to my excitement, sat down at her desk and shuffled some of her papers around.  “I have your presentation grade,” she finally said.
  I was right!  “Can I see it?”
  She slid my grading sheet across her desk, and I picked it up.  Turning it over, I expected to see “A+” circled in red ink and maybe even a star sticker, but instead the letter “F” was scrawled at the top of the page.
  My jaw dropped.  “W-what?” I stammered.  “But this was the best presentation I’ve ever given!”
  “I know.”
  I stared at Ms. Mayer, bewildered.  I didn’t understand.  Back at the beginning of the semester, when I’d been choosing my classes, I had researched teachers on teacherfeatures.com.  Ms. Joan Mayer had gotten excellent reviews.  “Best Health teacher I ever had,” one raved.  “Tough, but cool,” another read.  I can handle tough, I had thought smugly.  I requested Ms. Mayer to my guidance counselor the next day.
  And she was awesome.  I’d learned more about health than I ever thought I would in a high school class.  Our only assignment had been this presentation, which I had been so sure I would ace.  Guess again.
  “Welcome to the real world,” she said to me condescendingly.  “Take a seat.”
  I remained standing.  “With all due respect, what is going on here?” I asked.
  Ms. Mayer gazed at me, expressionless.  “You are a perfectionist, Jeannette.  It’s obvious.”
  I blushed angrily, wondering where she was going with this.  “I guess,” I mumbled.
  “So you admit that it’s a bad thing.  Perfectionism, I mean.”
  I didn’t answer.
  She leaned over her desk toward me.  “Look, Jeannette.  I don’t like perfectionists, and I don’t like slackers.  Take your classmates, for example.  They’re not perfectionists, but they’re not going anywhere with their lives either.  They will go to college to party and get drunk and fool themselves into thinking that they’re having a good time.  They won’t learn anything.  You, on the other hand, will take the so-called right track and probably go to some Ivy League school.  You’ll spend every night in the library.  You will read all the books, but you won’t find the answers.  I know that.  I can see it.”
  “So your point is that you hate my whole class?”
  “I don’t hate it.  And I don’t hate you.  You just frustrate me.  You have so much potential, Jeannette.”  She looked at me urgently.  “People love to tell you students to ‘stay inside the lines.’  Follow the rules.  Be like everyone else.  But don’t you see how that destroys you?  There is no breathing room, no room to be an individual.”
  “I understand that you think I’m ruining my life by being a perfectionist, but how does that give you any right to fail me on my presentation?” I asked.  “I worked hard on it.  Shouldn’t my grade reflect that?”
  Ms. Mayer shook her head.  “No, that’s the point.  You didn’t work hard on it.  It came easily for you, did it not?”
  Yes.  Schoolwork always comes easily for me.
  “Not that your classmates worked hard on it either.  They didn’t even try.”
  “So what does that mean, Ms. Mayer?  Is there any happy medium?”
  “There can be,” she shot back.  “You don’t have to be a perfectionist, and you don’t have to be a slacker.  You can be somewhere in between.  You should be somewhere in between.”
  I didn’t want to believe her.  I was not a perfectionist.  But in the back of my mind, I knew that I did tend to tirelessly make sure that every aspect of my life was just so.  I had a perfect family and perfect friends.  I hardly ever disagreed with anyone for fear it would start an argument.  I had spent two weeks preparing for the Health presentation.  It wasn’t even a major class!
  “Well, thank you for this talk, Ms. Mayer, but I should get going.”  I stood up and turned to go.  “See you in class tomorrow.”
  I walked out the door, expecting to see Miranda standing there waiting for me, and we would walk home and I would forget that the conversation with Ms. Mayer had ever happened.  But Miranda was gone.  She probably hadn’t even waited five minutes before taking off.  I stared down the hallway, feeling lost.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.
  I don’t know how long I stood there.  It could have been thirty seconds.  But eventually Ms. Mayer came up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder.  “Would you like a ride home, Jeannette?” she asked.
  As a tear slowly traveled down my cheek, I was glad she couldn’t see my face.  “Thank you, Ms. Mayer.”




** Thanks for reading!!  This was sort of an experimental project; I love the song and thought it would be interesting to use the idea of it for a story, but I'm not sure how it came out.  If there's anything that you think could improve it, please let me know! **