Hilighted Poem by anais vionet

I was in my chemistry class (lecture #2) and the professor was asking a series of questions. At first, hands were flying up, the answers were easy. But as questions got more complex, and the odds of being right fell off, confidence and raised-hands faltered.

I sit the front row because I film the lectures on my iPad, and there I was, doing my usual bit - taking detailed, color coded notes. If the lecturer mentioned something, I noted it, with my #5 mechanical pencil, but that something could become a heading or a bullet-point in a larger tableau. Those, I would color code with one of several gel pens - tracing carefully over the pencil. Later, in review, I might hi-lite these points with neon, phosphorescent highlighters. (I have a strict color coding system) .

I tell you all that because it describes how focused I get on my note taking in classes. I don't usually interact much due to my filming.

Suddenly, I noticed an unusual hush. I looked up and realized, to my trauma, that the professor had addressed me. He was looking fixedly at me, bent over with his hands on his knees (he's on a platform) .

"Pardon? " I said, meekly.
"Don't just mouth the answer, " he repeated (apparently) , exasperatedly, "say it out loud! "

I thought back to his last question and I offered, "Magnesium nitride, " but he tilted his head like he was waiting for more, "gave off ammonia as it mixed with the water? " I finish the answer like a question.

"Exactly! " he said, standing back up after giving his knees a little slap with his palms. "Thanks for JOINING us, " he says, and after checking his seating chart on his lectern, he added, "MS. Vionet."

I took a shocked umbrage at this (scolding?) , my whole body turning a defensive, atomic pink. What did I do - I thought - why was he being so sassy with me?

I doubt he REALLY wants answers just called out.

It might be a long year.