Jake’s face burned with embarrassment as his teacher, Mrs. Benson, insulted him in front of the whole class. The humiliation was unbearable, but Jake refused to let it break him. Determined to stand up for himself, he planned a response that would turn the tables on his teacher.What he did next made Mrs. Benson turn pale with disbelief… I felt my cheeks turn red as Mrs. Benson asked, “Do you understand, Jake? Or do you need me to explain it again?” I wanted to respond and tell her she was wrong, but she continued to the next question before I even had the chance. All of my classmates were giggling, and I knew they were laughing at me. And it was all because of stupid Mrs. Benson… Really, I wanted to stand up and yell at her, “You’re wrong!” but I remembered that my Mom and Dad had taught me to stay calm, and I stayed in my seat. But this didn’t mean that I was giving up! No, no. I would think of the perfect way to take revenge on my mean teacher, and she would regret bullying me in front of the whole class. I would make sure of that. When I came home, I decided not to tell my parents about what had happened just yet. Instead, I asked my older sister, Suzy, for help – I knew she also disliked Mrs. Benson. That woman had no idea what was coming for her.But what were Jake and Suzy going to do? How would they get back at Mrs. Benson? And how was the teacher going to react? I went straight to Suzy’s room and found her doing her homework at her desk. As soon as she looked up and saw my face, she asked, “Oh, no. What happened?” She knew me better than anyone else, and she could tell that I was angry just by looking at me. That was really one of the coolest things about having a sister. “You know Mrs. Benson, right?” I asked as I sat down on the edge of her bed. “Ugh, yeah. She’s a total b… Erhm, a bad teacher!” Suzy replied, her face turning red. Of course, I knew what bad word she was about to say, but I pretended not to notice. “What about her?” she continued, slamming shut the notebook she was writing in as she turned to face me. Without giving it a second thought, I told Suzy about what had happened in class earlier that day. She had made a mistake whilst explaining something in math class, and I had corrected her, but she told me I was wrong and mocked me in front of everyone. My sister looked furious, and she whispered, “That woman… She’s just horrible!” It was obvious that she was really angry, and she wasn’t angry often. The last time she had looked at me like that was when I had accidentally ruined her favorite shirt, and a shiver ran down my spine just at the memory of it. But now, this angry version of Suzy was on MY side, and I knew she would help me out. I didn’t even need to ask – she immediately said that she had an idea to teach Mrs. Benson a lesson. I looked at her, curious to hear more about it, but she didn’t want to tell me just yet. “I need to get everything ready first, and then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Just trust me on this one, little brother.” I smiled and ran to her to give her a hug, and then she told me, “Alright, now get out of my room! I need to finish my homework.” During dinner that evening, Mom and Dad asked how my day at school was. I wanted to tell them about Mrs. Benson, but Suzy must have noticed this and disagreed because she softly kicked me under the table. “It was good. I learned something new in math,” I then told my parents, and Suzy winked at me as I continued my story. The next day at school, Mrs. Benson made another mean comment again. It took all of my willpower not to talk back to her, but I thought about what Suzy had said to me the day before. “Just stay calm and try to ignore her.” I repeated those words in my mind as I looked at Mrs. Benson’s nasty smirk. The woman had no idea what was coming for her. As the classroom emptied, Suzy strolled in confidently, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Benson. I was surprised to see her, but I already knew that this was part of her plan. It was just the three of us left in the room, the air thick with tension. Suzy’s footsteps echoed as she approached Mrs. Benson’s desk, her purpose unmistakable. Suzy stood by Mrs. Benson’s desk, but the teacher didn’t glance up. She must have heard my sister come in, but she pretended that she was too busy scribbling away in her notebook. Suzy waited patiently, her presence looming larger by the second. When it became clear that Mrs. Benson wasn’t going to acknowledge her, Suzy took a deep breath. With a sharp clearing of her throat, Suzy made her presence impossible to ignore. Mrs. Benson finally looked up, her eyebrows arching in surprise. “Susan, what a pleasant surprise!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. Suzy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she prepared to set things straight. By the look on her face, I could tell that this was serious business. “It’s Suzy, actually,” my sister corrected firmly. Mrs. Benson’s smile faltered for a moment before her veneer of politeness returned. I knew that Mrs. Benson had called her Susan on purpose, trying to belittle her. She had done so years ago when Suzy was in her class as well, but Suzy wasn’t going to let that slide, and I was proud that she was my big sister. Suzy took a step closer to Mrs. Benson’s desk, her eyes unwavering. “You shouldn’t be bullying Jake in front of everyone,” she stated firmly. The room felt charged with electricity, every word an echo of justice. Mrs. Benson looked taken aback, the color draining from her face for a brief second. Suzy didn’t back down, planting her hands confidently on the desk. Mrs. Benson shook her head, her voice deceptively calm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Suzy. I’m just doing my job.” Her words were soaked with feigned innocence, an act so transparent it made my blood boil. Suzy, however, remained composed, her eyes narrowing as she realized Mrs. Benson was going to pretend there was no problem. Suzy opened her mouth to retort, but Mrs. Benson suddenly stood up, gathering her papers swiftly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to,” she said curtly, and without another word, she left the classroom. The abruptness of her departure left both Suzy and me staring at the empty space she had occupied seconds ago. With Mrs. Benson gone, Suzy turned to me, a small smile playing on her lips. “Come on, let’s enjoy our lunch break,” she said, leading me out of the classroom. We stepped into the schoolyard, the fresh air feeling like a relief after the tension-filled room. For a moment, it was as if nothing had happened, as we joined the other kids outside. I had no idea that the actual trouble was yet to come. As we settled under a tree away from the bustling noise, I thanked Suzy for standing up for me. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, feeling truly grateful. Suzy ruffled my hair and smiled. “Of course I did. Just let me know if Mrs. Benson makes any more mean comments to you, okay?” Her words reassured me, giving me newfound resolve. We both hoped that this had been enough, but we’d soon find out that Mrs. Benson wasn’t an easy quitter. I spent the break running around with my friends, enjoying a game of tag. The usual laughter and play filled the schoolyard, providing a welcome distraction from the morning’s events. When the bell rang, signaling the end of recess, we all lined up and headed back to class. The fun of the break had momentarily taken my mind off Mrs. Benson. As I walked back to the classroom, I couldn’t help but wonder if Suzy’s talk had made any difference. Would Mrs. Benson finally treat me right? I nervously took my seat, my eyes darting to the door every few seconds, waiting to see if anything had changed. I was curious and a bit anxious about what would happen next. After the break, Mrs. Benson was nowhere to be seen. We all sat quietly at our desks, exchanging puzzled glances. Minutes ticked by, and still, there was no sign of her. The class began to murmur, wondering where she could be. My curiosity grew stronger with each passing second, mixing with a sense of unease. What if this was because of me and Suzy? We continued to wait in the classroom, the atmosphere growing more restless by the minute. Some kids started chatting softly, speculating about Mrs. Benson’s whereabouts. I fidgeted in my seat, my mind racing with possibilities. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was going on. Just as we were about to lose hope, the door finally creaked open. Mrs. Benson entered the classroom, a full ten minutes late. She swept in without offering any explanation, her face set in a stern expression. As she walked to her desk, she shot me a nasty look, making my heart sink. It seemed like nothing had changed, and a knot of dread formed in my stomach, despite Suzy’s efforts. The class continued that day, and Mrs. Benson didn’t even glance my way. It was like I didn’t exist. She taught the lessons, passed out assignments, and even answered questions from other students. I sat there quietly, cautiously hopeful that Suzy’s talk might have worked, even if it felt a bit strange to be so completely ignored. When I got home, I eagerly told Suzy about my day. “I think it worked,” I said, excitement bubbling in my voice. “She didn’t even look at me!” Suzy smiled and nodded, looking relieved. It felt like a small victory, and for the first time in days, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Her confidence was contagious. The next day, things took an unexpected turn. Mrs. Benson handed out a hefty stack of math exercises, her expression unreadable. I felt a flicker of unease. She knew math was my favorite subject and that I excelled at it. I hunched over my desk and started working, my thoughts swirling with doubt despite my initial relief. It seemed deliberate. Mrs. Benson must have known that I loved math and always got the best grades. I tried not to think about it too much and I worked through problem after problem. I finished quickly, and I calmly sat in my seat, waiting for the rest of my class to finish the exercises as well. I couldn’t help but notice that the whole time, Mrs. Benson didn’t look at me even once. Every time I raised my hand to answer a question, Mrs. Benson ignored me. She looked right past me, picking other students to respond instead. I was getting really frustrated, but I stayed calm. I decided to just wait it out. Her ignoring me wasn’t great, but I thought it was better than her making mean comments. The following day, Mrs. Benson announced a surprise math test. My classmates groaned loudly, clearly displeased. I could see the panic on their faces, but I felt a strange sense of calm. I knew I could handle whatever was on that test. Math was my strong suit, and no surprise test could shake me. I was ready. Everyone else looked miserable as they received their test papers. Whispers of discontent filled the room. I glanced around and realized that I was the only one not bothered by it. As I flipped my paper over, I took a deep breath, ready to tackle each problem head-on. The chatter died down as pencils started scratching against paper. With every question I answered, my confidence grew. I knew every answer! While my classmates struggled, I felt pretty good. I was determined to do well and show Mrs. Benson that her games couldn’t faze me. Being prepared gave me a sense of empowerment that nothing else could. I finished my test ahead of everyone else and walked up to Mrs. Benson’s desk to hand it in. She barely glanced at me, but I could feel her disapproval. I placed the paper on her desk with a calm expression, then returned to my seat. Now, all I had to do was wait for the others to finish. As I handed my completed test to Mrs. Benson, she sighed. It wasn’t a sigh of approval, but rather one of annoyance. I returned to my seat, trying not to let her reaction affect me. I watched quietly as everyone else continued to work, knowing I had done my best. A sense of anticipation mixed with my lingering anxiety. When Mrs. Benson finally handed back our graded tests, my heart sank. Staring at the big red ‘F’ at the top of my paper, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A fail? This had never happened before. I felt a wave of disbelief and shock wash over me as I stared at the test in front of me. Something was definitely wrong. This was the first time I had ever failed a test, and I knew it had to be a mistake. My answers were thorough and correct; I was sure of it. The sense of injustice began to build inside me. There was no way I could have gotten these problems wrong. I needed to find out what had gone wrong immediately. I walked up to Mrs. Benson’s desk, holding the failed test in my hand. “How is this possible?” I asked, my voice trembling with confusion. Her cold eyes met mine, and she replied with a smirk, “Maybe you’re not as smart as you think, Jake.” Her words stung, and I felt my frustration mounting. This was deliberate. She was trying to break me. I clenched my fists, fury bubbling inside me. I knew Mrs. Benson had marked my test unfairly on purpose. This was no accident. I felt the heat rise to my face, anger and determination mixing. I wasn’t going to let her get away with this. She had messed with the wrong kid, and it was time to take a stand. Back at my desk, I poured over my test again, checking each answer meticulously. They were all correct. I was sure of it. Every solution matched the methods I’d been taught. Mrs. Benson had deliberately marked my correct answers wrong. This just confirmed what I already knew: she was out to get me. I had to do something about it. As I reviewed my answers, I realized that Mrs. Benson had made the same mistake she had the day before when I corrected her in class. It was glaringly obvious, but she had marked my correct responses as wrong out of spite. My frustration intensified, knowing that her personal vendetta was affecting my grades. I walked up to Mrs. Benson’s desk again, pointing out the mistake she had made. “Look, you marked these answers wrong, but they’re correct,” I insisted. She didn’t even glance at the paper. “I have no time for this, Jake,” she said dismissively. She wasn’t willing to listen, and that made my resolve stronger. I had to make her see reason. Determined to take a stand, I decided it was time for drastic action. I wasn’t going to let Mrs. Benson’s unfairness slide any longer. I glanced around the classroom, the wheels in my mind turning quickly as I figured out what I needed to do. If she wouldn’t listen to reason, then I’d have to show her in front of everyone. With my heart pounding, I stood up from my seat and walked toward the front of the class. The room fell silent as my classmates watched, curiosity and confusion etched on their faces. I picked up a piece of chalk, my hands shaking slightly but my resolve unwavering. I knew exactly what I needed to do. Taking the chalk, I began to write out the math exercises on the board. My movements were swift and precise, each number and symbol clear and exact. “This is how you’re supposed to do it,” I muttered under my breath, determined to get it right. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Everyone’s eyes were on me and Mrs. Benson. With the last equation written, I turned to Mrs. Benson. “This is how you’re supposed to do it!” I declared loudly. My voice was steady, carrying the weight of my frustration and certainty. The classroom was frozen in shock. Mrs. Benson’s eyes flashed with anger, and I braced myself for her reaction. This was a pivotal moment, and everyone knew it. Mrs. Benson’s face turned crimson with fury. “How dare you!” she screamed, her voice shaking with rage. “You think you’re better than me? You’re just a child!” Her words echoed through the silent classroom, her anger palpable. I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated by her outburst. I was done being bullied. My classmates watched with wide eyes, stunned. She took a step closer, her voice cold. “I’ve been a teacher my whole life, Jake. You need to listen to me. Of course, I know what I’m doing.” Her attempts to assert authority fell flat to me. I looked at her, unblinking, ready to challenge her again. This confrontation was far from over. My classmates sat on edge, not daring to interrupt. The classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. No one dared to say a word or even move. All eyes were on Mrs. Benson and me, the tension thick in the air. My heart pounded in my chest, but I stood firm. This was my moment to show everyone, especially Mrs. Benson, that I wouldn’t be silenced. Mrs. Benson finally broke the silence, marching up to the board and wiping the equations away with a swift, angry motion. “Get back in your seat,” she ordered, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. I hesitated, but I knew pushing further now wouldn’t help. Slowly, I walked back to my desk, the looks of my classmates following me. Mrs. Benson handed out more math exercises to the entire class, her movements brisk and angry. We all bent over our desks, pencils scratching against paper, the room filled with an uncomfortable silence. Everyone focused on their work, not daring to make a sound. The tension from my confrontation with Mrs. Benson still hung in the air. When the school day ended, I started packing my bag, relieved to finally leave. But Mrs. Benson’s voice stopped me. “Jake, you have detention,” she announced, her tone leaving no room for argument. I was taken aback. “But why?” I asked, frustration bubbling up. She merely glared at me, her authority absolute. I reluctantly put my bag down and sat back. Gathering my courage, I approached her desk once more. “You marked my answers wrong on purpose, Mrs. Benson,” I said firmly. “I just want my real grade.” Her face twisted with anger. “Enough, Jake. Sit down!” she snapped. Her unwillingness to correct the mistake only fueled my determination to fight for what was rightfully mine. As I sat there, contemplating my next move, the school principal walked past our classroom. His curious glance landed on me, still seated while the rest of the students had left. He peeked his head through the door and asked, “What’s going on here?” Mrs. Benson instantly stiffened, her demeanor changing. The principal’s presence was an unexpected twist. Mrs. Benson quickly composed herself, turning to face the principal with a forced smile. “Oh, just helping Jake with some math homework,” she said sweetly, masking her earlier anger. I stared in disbelief as she shot me a warning look. The principal seemed satisfied with her explanation, nodding approvingly. The room suddenly felt like a stage, where Mrs. Benson played her part. Mrs. Benson shot me a nasty look, but quickly turned to the principal with a seemingly kind expression. “I’m just helping Jake with some math homework,” she repeated. That look told me exactly what she thought of me, and I knew this act was for the principal’s benefit. Her fake smile only made me more determined to speak up. The principal nodded, clearly impressed. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Benson. More teachers should be like you. You’re a real example.” He smiled warmly, completely unaware of what had really been happening. Mrs. Benson beamed at him, playing the part of the dedicated teacher. My anger flared up again. It was now or never to tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, I finally spoke up. “That’s not what’s going on,” I said firmly. The principal turned to me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Mrs. Benson marked my math test wrong on purpose!” I explained. “All my answers were correct, but she gave me a failing grade.” The truth hung heavy in the air, and the principal’s smile faded. The principal’s expression turned serious. “Is this true?” he asked, looking between Mrs. Benson and me. She stammered, unable to craft a quick lie. “Let’s see the test,” he suggested, reaching out for the paper I held. I handed it over, heart pounding. He studied my answers closely, comparing them to the questions. Each moment that ticked by felt like an eternity. The principal nodded slowly as he inspected my answers, then turned to Mrs. Benson. “Jake is right,” he confirmed. “All his answers are correct.” I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Mrs. Benson’s veneer of authority crumbled, and she seemed momentarily lost for words. The principal’s stern gaze left no room for her to continue the charade. The weight of the principal’s words seemed to crush Mrs. Benson. Her face turned red, a mixture of embarrassment and fury. She stumbled over her words, then abruptly gathered her things. “I can’t work in such an environment,” she muttered. The principal tried to reason with her, but she stormed out, leaving the classroom in stunned silence. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. At home, I recounted the entire ordeal to Suzy and my parents. “She quit on the spot!” I exclaimed. Suzy’s eyes widened in disbelief, while my parents’ expressions morphed from concern to pride. “We’re so proud of you, Jake,” Dad said, ruffling my hair. “You stood up for yourself,” Mom added, hugging me tightly. It felt good to have their support after everything. The next day, the atmosphere in the classroom was different. Instead of Mrs. Benson, a new teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, greeted us with a warm smile. She introduced herself, and it was clear from the start that she was kind and knowledgeable. Her gentle demeanor and clear explanations made the class enjoyable. I felt an immense sense of relief, knowing things were finally turning around.