I mark his son’s test with a C. He storms into the classroom before the bell even rings.
“You can’t grade my son like this.”
“I already did.”
“Do you know how hard he studied?”
“I know exactly how he answered. I graded the paper, not the effort.”
He snatches it off my desk, scanning it like he’ll find the mistake is mine.
“This is a joke. He’s never gotten below a B in his life.”
“Then this might be the first time someone graded him honestly.”
His face changes color, fast. “I want it regraded.”
“By who?”