worse instead of better

I walk up to him, hands shoved in my back pockets, and wait for him to notice.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, off guard.

"I apologize." I do.

"Nah." He brushes it off. "I'm screwin' up."

I can't disagree. "Well, I don't think I helped," I reply, knowing that I didn't. He continues scribbling out some paper up against his locker, and I realize what he's doing.

"Now you're out here copying?" I sigh. I'll deal with this part later.

"It's extra credit. It's all I can do now." I object, and remind him of the time.

"You still have 40 minutes," I say feebly, "You could still do it," but I know there's no chance today. He's not going to retrieve his half-finished test, and he's not going to try. My earlier outburst guaranteed that. It's not on me that he was unprepared, again, but confirming his worst instincts is. Everything I said may have been true, but it wasn't the time to say it. If only frustration didn't have a short fuse.

I head back to my room, leaving my mess in the hall.

"You're better than that," I call to him. I repeat the words to myself.