He showed his book from afar, hoping to leave. "I've done mine," he claimed.
The work was only half-done. She ordered him to complete his notes. He obediently returned, wrote a line, and claimed that he had a satisfactory portion of the work done.
The work was still incomplete. Again, she forbade him to leave. And so, he returned to his seat. Writing, yet more anxious. Most of his friends had left.
Finally, she decided to walked over to check on him. She read the chunks of words scribbled by alphabets in his books. Oh dear, this poor kid was illiterate.
His friend came over. Carefully, the thirteen-year-old pulled his hands to cover.