Posting a snippet from the rich-kid-Jack x teacher’s-assistant-Nico fic I’m working on because I’m coping with Switzerland’s loss today 💔
“What’s this?” Jack says, slamming his paper down on the desk in front of him.
Nico doesn’t even glance at it. “It’s your assignment, Jack,” he sighs. If Jack were any less of a dignified person, he would scream, because obviously it’s his assignment. But that’s not the issue here, and they both know it.
“Obviously,” Jack points to the bold red numbers at the top right corner. “This grade. You know I deserve more than a seventy-six percent.”
This time, Nico does look up, grabbing hold of the stapled sheets and carefully reading, in a practiced tone, “Needs deeper analysis. Arguments underdeveloped. Needs real sources.”
“I know—” Jack seethes, stopping before he throws what Trevor likes to call a ‘full-blown bitch fit’ in the classroom. Not that he ever does, but he’s definitely not going to let a fucking TA get the best of him. “I know what you wrote,” he repeats, calmer. “My dad is a real source. He’s CEO of a multibillion-dollar firm.”
Nico looks unimpressed, which isn’t surprising. Poor people often like to pretend that they are above monetary values simply because they don’t have any, as if the absence of money is some sort of moral achievement. Jack calls it by what it is: having nothing.
“Your dad is a biased source,” Nico answers.
“My dad knows what he’s talking about,” Jack corrects.
“His company is your only source.”
“They’re three different people.” Jack used his dad, his dad’s best friend and COO of the company, and his dad’s best friend’s brother. Well within the requirements per the rubric.
“Jack,” Nico sighs again, shoving papers into a folder, and then said folder into a backpack. Jack hates it when he says his name. “You relied too much on opinion. What your paper needed was academic sources. You used personal experience with the assumption that the reader would agree with you.”
“It isn’t just personal experience,” he scoffs. “My family has been running a successful company for generations.” Not like Nico would know what success looks like. Jack does—he grew up in a world where success wasn’t congratulated, it was expected, and failure was punished. Always.
“That explains the confidence,” Nico says, standing up and swinging his backpack straps over his shoulders. “Look, Jack, you got a seventy-six because that’s the grade you earned. If you need help with your next assignment, you can come visit during office hours.” Jack almost can’t believe it. He’s never been the best with controlling his anger, and he’s never been much of a fighter, but sometimes he wonders if Nico’s whole purpose in life is to provoke him into a fist fight. Maybe that’s what Nico wants, to watch him get expelled.
As if Jack would ever fall for that.
“I have to get to my next class. Don’t linger in here for too long. Dr. Krull’s psychology class starts in 30 minutes.”
“You can’t be serious,” Jack can’t hide the shock in his voice.
“Have a good evening, Jack,” Nico throws back from over his shoulder, leaving Jack in an empty classroom with his unjustly graded assignment in hand.
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