Read The Scarlet Letterman for Free Online

not a huge Hawthorne fan (they all made far too big a deal out of a little affair, if you ask me. I mean, Hester Prynne’s husband was presumed dead, lost at sea, and she’s supposed to be celibate her whole life? As far as I can tell, her only crime is not using birth control, and that wasn’t exactly her fault since it was pre-Trojan times).
    “First, we have business to take care of. Your papers,” Coach H barks. Boy, he’s in a particularly foul mood this afternoon.
    He walks down the aisles of the class, handing out our papers. I thought I did an unusually good job on mine (“The Real Scarlet Letter: Puritanism in America”). Even after one semester at Bard, I’ve learned the importance of putting colons in your paper titles. They make you sound smarter than you are.
    I’ve yet to break the A barrier in this class, but if any paper could do it, it’s this one. I did research, I even have a bibliography; basically above and beyond the opinion essay we were supposed to write. I even made a cover sheet, which is more than I can say for most everybody else.
    So it comes as quite a surprise when Coach H plops down my paper and on the cover there’s a big, fat, red…F.
    An F? How can this be? I flip to the end of the paper where it simply reads: “Plagiarism will not be tolerated. This is your one and only warning. Next time, severe disciplinary action will follow.”
    I glance around me as if I can find the answer in the air. I didn’t plagiarize anyone! This is 100 percent my original work, such that it is. My eyes fall on Parker Rodham’s desk, which is next to mine, and I see that she’s got her paper faceup. It’s got a bright red A on it, as well as “good work!” with an exclamation mark. And the title is…“The Real Scarlet Letter: Puritanism in America.”
    “Hey…” I hiss at Parker, who just looks up at me and gives me a slow, deliberate smile. She’s done this on purpose. She’s framed me for plagiarism. And then I remember seeing one of her clones in the library two weeks ago. The one who asked to borrow some notebook paper, the one who was sitting at the table when I got up to find a book in the stacks and bumped into Ryan, who kept me distracted for longer than I intended. I’d left my backpack there, along with the first draft of my theology paper. The clone must’ve copied it, replaced it, and then given a copy to Parker. That was a few days before the paper was due. I bet she gave Coach H an early draft, just to plant the seed that she was the one with the original work. She framed me. Evil witch!
    Parker just straightens the papers on her desk and acts as if nothing is wrong. I suppose I should count myself lucky. Being framed for plagiarism is better than getting my Pellegrino spiked with rat poison, which is allegedly what she did to her own mother.
    I fume until the bell rings, signaling the end of class. But as I try to present my case to Coach H, he doesn’t seem to want to hear it.
    “You can’t really believe I copied this paper,” I say. “The colon was totally my idea!”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Tate, but Parker told me about her paper in advance. She showed me a copy.”
    “But Parker copied me. One of her friends took my paper in the library. And —”
    “Miranda, I want to believe you,” Coach H says, his tough exterior showing a little unexpected tenderness. “And I do believe you. Because I know Parker, is well, simply put…lacking in scruples. But she didn’t leave me much choice here. The evidence — which I’m sure is planted by her — is all on her side, and I can’t play favorites.”
    “But —”
    “Just be careful next time, and be glad I don’t send you to Headmaster B, because she takes a far harder line on plagiarism than I do. She believes it’s a figurative expulsion offense.”
    Like the Puritans in The Scarlet Letter, Bard faculty sometimes punish students by shunning them. Figurative expulsion is one of these shunning punishments, in