Hazel frowned, concentrating on the keyboard in front of her. Her blue eyes stared intently at a blank pages document as if her life depended on it. Angrily she put her head in her hands, trying to think of an idea, any idea that could get her an A in her creative writing class. Her teacher, Mr. Miller had given the class an assignment, Hazel remembered what he had said in contempt.
“Convince me,” He stretched out and crossed his legs on his desk, scattering their newly filled out test sheets. “Convince me you are gifted. And that you deserve an A.” The whole class gave looks to their close friends, what did he mean?
“Um Mr. Miller, I don’t quite understand?” The class all looked at Hazel in the back left corner, her pencil behind her ear.
“I mean tell me why you are special, Tell me why you as a 9th grader deserve to be in my class with a passing grade. What’s so different about you? It can be anything, a poem, a story, maybe even an action” He smiled at her in particular grinning with a hopeful expression, “I’m sure you’ll amaze me Hazel.”
In her opinion an impossible assignment. Due in a week. Except now it wasn’t a week, she had put if off, pretending it didn’t exist. Now the due date had snuck up to tommorow, and Hazel was at a loss.
“Why couldn’t he have asked us to write a story about Christmas or something!” She looked forlornly out the window, children where playing in the snow outside, she wished she could be ice skating right now, or baking Christmas cookies, she loved the holidays. But she couldn’t bring herself to write about herself. It just felt so self centered, so boring to talk about her and why she was “gifted.”
“Hey honey, is your homework done?” Her mom walked in holding two cups of cocoa.
“Nope,” she groaned and banged her head on her desk.
“Need any help?” Her mom handed her hot cocoa, she accepted it gratefully and nodded.
“Yeah, Mr. Miller gave us a weird assignment. He told us to convince him we were gifted, and I’m not sure what’s so talented about me.” Hazel gazed sorrowfully at her mom, “how do I tell someone I’m talented when I can’t even add without using my fingers?” Hazel’s mom snorted, almost spilling hot chocolate on Hazel’s lime green rug.
“I think you’re going about this the wrong way,” her mom grinned. “What format do you have to do it, essay?” Hazel shrugged.
“Mr. Miller said we could do anything we liked.”
“Well then, I say he wants you to be creative then, he wants to see how creative you all are.”
“I have a day mom, I don’t have time to be creative.” Hazel rolled her eyes, adjusting her glasses absentmindedly. “I just want to be getting prepared for Christmas, tommorow’s the last day before vacation.”
“Well sweetie, good luck,” her mom sighed and got up to leave. “If you’re so determined to procrastinate who am I to bother? Anyway, I have to start wrapping my secret Santa gift-“
“THATS IT!” Hazel jumped up, spilling her cocoa all over her top, “gifted... Gifts!” Her mom laughed.
“I’m glad you finally have an idea, just clean yourself up first!”
“Okay everyone, let’s see what you’ve got!”
Mr. Miller strolled leisurely around their desks.
Half the students looked nervous. Hazel could see that the blonde boy on her right held an essay that looked like it had been made on a bumpy bus trip. Some other kids looked more prepared, but overall she was the most confident of the lot.
“Turn in whatever you have, if you picked to do an action, then show me proof!” He held out his hands expectantly. Slowly everyone gave him their papers. Only Hazel was left, trying to wipe the smug grin off her face.
“So Hazel, what did you do?” Mr. Miller stood in front of her desk, grinning down at her.
“I chose to do an action Mr. Miller.”
“Really, do you have any proof?”
“I haven’t done it yet,” Mr. Miller raised his eyebrows.
“But I will, right now.”
Hazel grabbed her bulging bag from under her desk. She went around the room and dropped a red letter on each desk, including her own. When she had finished, she gave a different, more decorated one to the teacher. There was murmurs from everyone. Everyone opened there letters except Mr. Miller.
“Open yours last,” Hazel whispered to the confused teacher.
“Hey Andrew!” Mr. Miller pointed at the blonde boy who Hazel had noticed earlier. “Read your letter out loud!”
Andrew shakily opened his letter and frowned at the note inside,
“It says... You’ve been gifted!”
“Mine too Mr. Miller!” A shy girl named Samantha called out from the other side of the class room.
“Mine too!”
“Mine too!”
“Mr. Miller, you can open yours now.”
He ripped it open, and on the inside was a neatly written poem on Christmas stationary.
Christmas is a time for giving
Gifts to loved ones
Young or dear
Sing a song
Or write a poem
We give lasting memories
That last years and years
You asked us Mr. Miller sir,
How we were gifted
You wanted proof
The proof is in these little evelopes
I passed to all of you
I gifted us all
Myself included
With a little advice
I now know
Gifted means
To be loved dearly
For being free
Alive and you!
Mr. Miller read the poem, a warm smile passing over his face.
He finished and looked up at Hazel.
“Now this is a gifted idea Hazel.” She grinned back at him. He faced the class.
“Since she gifted all of you, You all get an A today!”
“Merry Christmas to you all!” She smiled at everyone. The class cheered. Andrew ripped his essay to shreds.
“Mr. Miller looked at him.”
“I still wanted to see your work Andrew.”
The class laughed and Andrew stared at the ground bashfully.
“Merry Christmas to me!” Hazel thought happily. She was already far off, imagining playing in the falling snow, and baking Christmas cookies. “You’ve all been gifted.”