It's a long hallway. A long windy hallway filled with obstacles that walk and shove and get in your way on their way to eating their own lunches.
RMrs. Reese
What's the shortest distance between two points? A straight line. You know, if you applied what we talked about in class, you might've gotten back here quicker and saved your lunch.
She ate it. I accidentally left my lunch in class and Mrs. Reese ate it. My lunch. All of it…practically. And to add insult to injury, she said that if I'd applied the Geometry stuff we learned in class that I might've made it back to the room in time to save my lunch.
If it continues, I will. And it is possible that today was just a weird day. And I don't want to upset you in your weakened and starving condition, but maybe you should take a stab at learning Geometry.
No, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd start on my lunch again today.
RMrs. Reese
You should have. It's called a "given". You see, this situation isn't all that different from a geometry proof. Why Mrs. Reese eats my lunch...your lunch is something to be eaten. That's the definition of lunch. Your lunch is in here to be eaten because you leave it in here. That is a "given". I don't want it to sit and rot, etc. That is also a "given". So what conclusion can we draw from this?
For skipping class, or getting caught, or causing me to come and get you in the principal's office so that your teacher can tell me that for some reason my 16-year-old daughter can't seem to find her way to class?
See, if my kid can't "get" anything, not even the tiniest little morsel, from a classic novel about societal mores, shame, scorn and ostracism, then I look to my kid. Not the teacher, not Nathaniel Hawthorne, but my kid. Of course, now that I know my kid has read and/or heard very few of those actual words, I feel better. Or a different kind of worse, I'm not sure.