wrote, “Ben Affleck in
Armageddon
: ‘Well, we all gotta die, right? I’m the guy who gets to do it saving the world.’ ”
“He may be a star,” Haley said, “but his dialogue isn’t.”
“The writer is responsible for the dialogue in the script, not the stars,” Dr. Weil answered. “They just say the words. I’m betting that each of you can write better than many writers for movie actors do.”
He cleared his throat, then said, “I want each of you to come up with an original creative writing project. You may write a poem, a play, a detailed book report … something that is of your own creation.”
“How many words?” someone asked.
“It doesn’t matter. It just must be original and as creative and interesting as you can make it. Everyone understand?”
There was a general murmur of agreement; then Dr. Weil went on to another topic.
Emily was surprised when the bell rang. She had actually enjoyed the class. She hadn’t had to hide behind her hair even once, and she hadn’t felt as if she had to explain why she couldn’t do as well as her sisters had. The teachers here didn’t even know her sisters.
Reluctantly, though, she walked to the first of the three-times-a-week sessions she’d have with Dr. Hampton, the camp’s psychologist and counselor. There was nothing she needed to talk about, nothing she wanted to say, and she dreaded Dr. Hampton’s deep, steady gaze.
Dr. Hampton’s office was clean and spare, like ahouse someone had just moved into. Two testimonials and three framed diplomas hung on one of the walls, which were tinted a pale, restful blue. There was a nearly bare desk at one side of the room, but under the windows was a grouping of two chairs and a sofa, upholstered in a cheerful floral pattern, a low glass coffee table separating them. On the table was a bowl of wild pink summer roses mingled with white sprays of baby’s breath.
“Sit down, Emily,” Dr. Hampton said with a smile. “Would you like a soft drink? A glass of water?”
“A Coke, please,” Emily answered, and a frosty can of Coke appeared as if by magic.
Dr. Hampton sat on the sofa, across from Emily. The sun through the window backlit her hair, causing the red to glow.
She almost looks pretty
, Emily thought.
“Emily,” Dr. Hampton said, “how often have you been bribed by your parents to work harder on your studies?”
Emily blinked with surprise. “Bribed?”
“Yes, bribed. Offered rewards for grades. You know, five dollars for each A, season baseball tickets for a perfect report card. Or maybe lunch and a movie.”
Emily felt her cheeks grow hot and looked down, embarrassed that she was blushing. “They called them rewards, not bribery.”
“Rewards come as a happy surprise after the fact. Bribery involves promised rewards if something is accomplished.” Dr. Hampton didn’t wait for Emily to answer her original question but went on. “We—the staff at the Foxworth-Isaacson Educational Center—want to treat the cause, not the effect, of underachievement. We feel that a student’s low expectations of self are the root of the problem.
“You are a bright girl, Emily, with no reason not to excel in your studies. So let’s try to find out what has caused you to believe that you can’t succeed.”
“I
don’t
believe I can’t succeed,” Emily said, unable to keep a tone of resentment from sliding into her words. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? “My grades are okay.”
“Okay? Are you willing to settle for less than the best?”
“I do my homework. I study.”
“Granted. But the reports your parents received from your teachers mention that you avoid participating in class discussions, that you cling to seats in the back rows, that you try not to make eye contact with your teachers. Why is that, Emily?”
“Look, there are plenty of kids who like all the attention. I just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Would your older sisters have anything to do with
Armageddon
: ‘Well, we all gotta die, right? I’m the guy who gets to do it saving the world.’ ”
“He may be a star,” Haley said, “but his dialogue isn’t.”
“The writer is responsible for the dialogue in the script, not the stars,” Dr. Weil answered. “They just say the words. I’m betting that each of you can write better than many writers for movie actors do.”
He cleared his throat, then said, “I want each of you to come up with an original creative writing project. You may write a poem, a play, a detailed book report … something that is of your own creation.”
“How many words?” someone asked.
“It doesn’t matter. It just must be original and as creative and interesting as you can make it. Everyone understand?”
There was a general murmur of agreement; then Dr. Weil went on to another topic.
Emily was surprised when the bell rang. She had actually enjoyed the class. She hadn’t had to hide behind her hair even once, and she hadn’t felt as if she had to explain why she couldn’t do as well as her sisters had. The teachers here didn’t even know her sisters.
Reluctantly, though, she walked to the first of the three-times-a-week sessions she’d have with Dr. Hampton, the camp’s psychologist and counselor. There was nothing she needed to talk about, nothing she wanted to say, and she dreaded Dr. Hampton’s deep, steady gaze.
Dr. Hampton’s office was clean and spare, like ahouse someone had just moved into. Two testimonials and three framed diplomas hung on one of the walls, which were tinted a pale, restful blue. There was a nearly bare desk at one side of the room, but under the windows was a grouping of two chairs and a sofa, upholstered in a cheerful floral pattern, a low glass coffee table separating them. On the table was a bowl of wild pink summer roses mingled with white sprays of baby’s breath.
“Sit down, Emily,” Dr. Hampton said with a smile. “Would you like a soft drink? A glass of water?”
“A Coke, please,” Emily answered, and a frosty can of Coke appeared as if by magic.
Dr. Hampton sat on the sofa, across from Emily. The sun through the window backlit her hair, causing the red to glow.
She almost looks pretty
, Emily thought.
“Emily,” Dr. Hampton said, “how often have you been bribed by your parents to work harder on your studies?”
Emily blinked with surprise. “Bribed?”
“Yes, bribed. Offered rewards for grades. You know, five dollars for each A, season baseball tickets for a perfect report card. Or maybe lunch and a movie.”
Emily felt her cheeks grow hot and looked down, embarrassed that she was blushing. “They called them rewards, not bribery.”
“Rewards come as a happy surprise after the fact. Bribery involves promised rewards if something is accomplished.” Dr. Hampton didn’t wait for Emily to answer her original question but went on. “We—the staff at the Foxworth-Isaacson Educational Center—want to treat the cause, not the effect, of underachievement. We feel that a student’s low expectations of self are the root of the problem.
“You are a bright girl, Emily, with no reason not to excel in your studies. So let’s try to find out what has caused you to believe that you can’t succeed.”
“I
don’t
believe I can’t succeed,” Emily said, unable to keep a tone of resentment from sliding into her words. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? “My grades are okay.”
“Okay? Are you willing to settle for less than the best?”
“I do my homework. I study.”
“Granted. But the reports your parents received from your teachers mention that you avoid participating in class discussions, that you cling to seats in the back rows, that you try not to make eye contact with your teachers. Why is that, Emily?”
“Look, there are plenty of kids who like all the attention. I just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Would your older sisters have anything to do with
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