The Debate

Ade arrived at the back room twenty minutes late, which had never happened. He came in through the alley door, sat in the plastic garden chair nearest the onions, and folded his arms, and did not say good evening to anybody.

Grace was in the middle of the warm start. Yuna was explaining that the twins had discovered how to open the fridge. Everyone laughed. Ade did not.

At the break, Grace found him in the alley, leaning against the wall next to the garbage bins, looking at his phone.

"Ade?"

He turned the phone toward her. It was a score report from an official practice test, the full one, all four sections, the kind you paid for and did at home with a timer.

Listening 10. Reading 9. Speaking 10. Writing 6.

"Six," he said. "One level. I need seven at least. I did two emails a day for five weeks. I counted my mistakes. I went from forty-seven to six. And I got a six." He laughed without any humour. "Six mistakes, six points."

"Ade," said Grace. "A practice test is not the real test. And you already postponed the real one to September. You have time."

"I know. But I'm angry. At myself. I was so sure. In July I told everyone my English was perfect. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"Everyone remembers." He put the phone in his pocket. "I don't want to go back in there."