Trifecta Writing Challenge: You Throw Like a Girl

This post is in response to Trifecta's weekly challenge. The challenge asks you to write a story 33-333 words long using the third definition of the given word. This week's word came from the blogger ODNT and is: 

ob·serve verb \əb-ˈzərv\
1: to conform one's action or practice to (as a law, rite, or condition) : comply with
2: to inspect or take note of as an augury, omen, or presage

3: to celebrate or solemnize (as a ceremony or festival) in a customary or accepted way

When I  saw this week's word, this is the first memory that popped into my head. I went to Catholic School for 13 years. I had the honor of being taught by many inspiring teachers in that time. However, there were a few teachers that were burned out and just needed to retire to the convent. My piece is based on a true story. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. :)

You Throw Like a Girl

“Who can tell me why November 1st  is considered a Holy Day of Obligation? Miss Connolly?”

Meg snapped out of her trance and looked into the stern eyes of Sr. Henrietta. The seventh grader instinctively smoothed out her tartan plaid, pleated, uniform skirt and gave one quick tug to each of her green, wool knee socks. Her back straightened stiff like a flag pole as she took a deep breath in.

“I’m sorry, Sister, could you please repeat the question?”

Insulted, the nun slammed the blue book marked “Religious Studies” down on her desk . It startled the class and all the students jumped in unison as if rehearsed. Meg looked down at her desk shamefully.

“No. I cannot. If you cannot be bothered to listen when I speak, then I cannot be bothered to waste my time repeating my question to you. Now, Class, who would like to tell me why we observe November 1st as a Holy Day of Obligation in the Catholic Church?”

Meg could feel her face becoming flushed with anger. She felt an overwhelming urge to speak up for herself. She knew she’d be sent to the principal’s office again. At least there she’d get a break. Before she knew it she was standing next to her desk tall and strong. She belted out, 

“All Saints Day is a day where we...”  

Her words were cut short by  the whir of pages inches away from her ear. It was the thump that made her realize the blue book lay on the floor behind her. Sr. Henrietta’s arm was still  outstretched.

Stunned, Meg quietly collected her backpack and made her way to the office. Sitting across from the principal they smiled at one another. Meg broke the silence.

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful. I guess I should be thankful the book missed me.”

“It sounds as if there was disrespect on both ends, my child. In fact, Sr. Henrietta’s the one who should be thankful. Thankful for such poor aim.”