It’s Monday morning, and you slink into your American Studies class with a conscience so guilty, you begin to think the words "I didn’t read the book" are tattooed on your forehead. Your classmates are cheerful chatty Cathys, gleefully exchanging anecdotes about their weekends as they pull out their glossy copies of
The Scarlet Letter. This is just going to have to be one of those classes where you do a lot of nodding.
"Did you read the book?" one of your classmates asks the kid sitting across the table. "Oh, heck no," he replies. "Neither did I," replies your classmate. Suddenly, everyone starts talking about how they have not read the book. GREAT. "How in the heck are we going to survive Mr. Chillingbone’s class?" you wonder. Noticing the increasing frenzy, the class clown tries to calm everyone down by saying, "Relax. All we have to know is that the book is about a lady who has an affair with a priest, like, thousands of years ago. It’s juicier than a soap opera. We can make it up as we go."
Mr. Chillingbone, a wise, scarily perceptive
Dumbledore look-alike of a man walks into class somberly. He places his book and mug of tea on the table, looks around the room suspiciously, sniffs the air, and his gaze lands on you.
"Class, I hope you enjoyed
The Scarlet Letter and are prepared for a lively discussion about the role Mistress Hibbins plays in developing our understanding of Hester Prynne." Gulp.
"You there, Mr. Shmoop?"
"Yes," you reply.
"Why don’t you start us off."
"Start us off?"
"Yes. In fact, why don’t you facilitate our discussion today."
The tattoo is forming on your forehead. You can either 1) run out of class immediately, 2) pretend to have read the book, and lead a class discussion about two characters you’ve never even heard of, or 3) tell the truth.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Chillingbone, but I wasn’t able to read the book." You are so noble.
"What!" Mr. Chillingbone roars. "You’ve been given a whole week to read this classic tale, and you HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK?!" He stares at you with huge disappointment, and it breaks your little scholarly heart. "Who else has neglected to read this work of sheer genius? Who?!"
No one says a thing. Your classmates thumb through their glossy copies, unwilling to fess up.
"Good," Mr. Chillingbone says. "I am glad there are still some scholars left in the world. As for you, Mr. Shmoop, you will receive an F for the week in this class, and you must write a 20-page paper by Friday about the role Mistress Hibbins plays in this novel. You may go now."
Blushing and completely mortified, you leave class. Your classmates stare at you as you go, smirking a little. How does it feel to be Hester Prynne? How does it feel to tell the truth and to feel the pang of injustice? Whether it has to do with class, friendships, parents, or the law, we bet that, on some level, you and Hester have a lot in common.