He was still working on his tenses, but at least he wasn't a ghost in his own homework.
"Stop!" the Guardian squeaked. "You seek the GDZ (Key), don't you? The forbidden scrolls of pre-written answers!"
The Guardian sighed, leaning against a particularly thick "Conditionals Type III" sentence. "The GDZ is a powerful potion, Misha. It gives you the '5' today, but leaves you silent in London tomorrow. If you copy the answers, you will never know the joy of correctly placing whom in a relative clause!" gdz po grammatike angliiskogo iazyka golitsinskii
"Indeed," the Guardian said, pointing to the back of the book. "Use the key to check your work, not to skip the struggle. The struggle is where the English lives."
Misha froze. "I just want to go outside and play football. I’ve been stuck in the Present Perfect Continuous since Tuesday." He was still working on his tenses, but
Suddenly, the book began to glow. A tiny, ink-smudged figure crawled out from between the pages of the "Sequence of Tenses" chapter. It was the , wearing a hat shaped like an irregular verb.
With a wink, the Guardian vanished into a cloud of commas. Misha picked up his pen. He didn't look for the GDZ. Instead, he tackled the Passive Voice like a striker facing a goalkeeper. By sunset, the cake had been eaten , the exercises had been completed , and Misha walked onto the football pitch, whispering to himself: "I have been playing football for ten minutes when I finally scored." The forbidden scrolls of pre-written answers
Misha looked at the soccer ball in his bag, then back at the green cover. "Is there a middle ground?"