Michael Laser - Cheater

Stalling until Ms. Singh arrives, Karl pretends to agree, but “accidentally” drops the contents of his backpack on the floor-at least, that’s his plan, but there are too many books in the backpack, they’re jammed in tight and won’t come out. He has already said, “Whoops,” and here he is, shaking the upside-down pack while Samantha sneers, “What’s your problem?” The moment seems to last a century, as if they’d turned into a diorama at the Museum of Natural History-until Ms. Singh enters the room and three books slide out of the backpack, slapping the floor loudly, one after the other.

Usually, Ms. Singh bounds into the room with a bright, toothy smile, but today she’s subdued. Instead of roaming the room and gesticulating from one bell to the next, she takes a seat behind her desk and asks her students to please settle down.

They await a grim personal announcement- I’ve been diagnosed with a rare skin condition, and will soon turn into a reptile -but that’s not what they hear.

“I want to talk to you about cheating.”

Karl’s stomach becomes a clenched fist. How much does she know?

“Apparently, some students, no one knows how many, have been breaking the rules. In case any of you are involved, I just want to spend a minute talking you out of it. I understand, it’s hard to preach honesty when you see CEOs on trial all the time on the news. I know it may seem like you have to cheat to succeed. But that’s not true-and look what happens to them when they’re caught. Aside from the fines, and going to prison, they’re disgraced. Their names become synonymous with dishonesty. Do you really think they can laugh that off and say, ‘Who cares?’ I don’t. How would you like to go through life knowing that every person who hears your name thinks, crook ? To me, that sounds like hell on earth. I’m not saying you have to be a saint. I don’t claim to be perfect myself-I kept using my student ID for discount tickets long after college-but there are plenty of things I won’t do. I won’t keep money a cashier gave me by mistake, because it comes out of their pocket at the end of the night. And I never cheated on a test, ever. Seriously. Speaking of which, you all need to remember how high the stakes are, if you get caught cheating. I want you to be honest because you’re good people, not because you’re terrified that colleges will find out you cheated-but if honor isn’t enough, then okay, let’s have a moment of silence and think about the consequences before we start the test.”

During the ensuing quiet, Karl makes a decision: he wants out of the Confederacy.

The trouble is, Blaine and the others are depending on him.

As if to confirm this, Blaine gives Karl a little raise of the eyebrow, as if to say, Amazing, isn’t it, how these teachers jabber on?

As for the others, Noah doodles in his notebook, ignoring Ms. Singh altogether; Tim, in his own private time zone, seems to be counting his teeth, touching each one with his fingertip.

“All right, let’s get started. Of the four essays I told you to prepare, I’m going to ask you to write number three: ‘Even monomaniacal Captain Ahab has more to him than the quest for revenge against Moby-Dick. Referring especially to the chapter entitled “The Symphony,” discuss the complexity of Ahab’s character. (Hint: Note his symbolic references to greenery and land, as a contrast to the sea.)’ I made up this question myself, and I happen to know you can’t buy an answer online. Also, you won’t be needing your laptops today.”

She takes a stack of baby blue test booklets from her desk drawer and hands half of them to Juliette Chang, half to Phillip Upchurch, who hands all but one over to Tim with an expression of severe disgust: looking forward, Karl can tell, to the day when he will no longer have to sit in a classroom full of pathetic losers.

“In case my sermon wasn’t convincing,” Ms. Singh explains, “I’ve learned that it’s harder for students to cheat when they take tests longhand.”

Who would dare to groan, when a groan equals a confession of guilt? She has stopped the Confederates cold, and she doesn’t even know it. Karl wrote essays for all four questions and emailed them to the others, but now they have no way to use his work-and, knowing them, they didn’t even bother to read what he sent, just copied the text and formatted it so the letters would look white and invisible on their screens, until they turned the words black and paraphrased them during the test. They’re on their own now, unprepared. Karl couldn’t help them if he wanted to.

An unexpected calamity: they’ll all become suspects now, Blaine, Tim, Noah, and Cara, because why would all four of them suddenly flunk a test after getting As all year?

When the blue books arrive, Karl takes one and passes the rest to Samantha, who keeps her ravenous eyes on Cara’s back, hungry for a glimpse of wrongdoing that she won’t get today.

Or will she?

After writing a paragraph from memory about Ahab’s sorrow over his young wife, abandoned a day after the wedding when he returned to sea, Karl glances up at Cara-more in compassion than resentment-and sees something peculiar. As she writes, she keeps flipping up the hem of her short skirt and then flipping it down again.

Oh.

He remembers that day at the food court, centuries ago: I don’t completely trust computers. An old-fashioned girl.

To his right, Samantha is craning her neck, trying to see around Brett Handshoe’s shoulder.

There’s nothing on his desk that Karl can drop that would make a noise loud enough to attract Ms. Singh’s attention. (Working at the front of the room, she keeps her head down, willfully refusing to hunt for cheaters.) With no other options, he fakes a coughing attack.

Ms. Singh looks up. “Are you all right, Karl?”

Clearing his throat, “Sorry. Yeah. Cccchhhhmmm. Thanks.”

Noticing Samantha’s neck gymnastics-Karl’s goal, achieved-Ms. Singh says, “Samantha, please settle down.”

The students don’t hear that last word, though, because an announcement over the P.A. system drowns her out: “Will Cara Nzada please report to the assistant principal’s office? Cara Nzada-to the assistant principal’s office. Don’t finish your test. Come now, and bring all of your belongings.”

The voice is Mr. Klimchock’s, and his words go through Karl like a spear. It’s almost as if Klimchock were watching them through a hole in the ceiling.

Cara says to Ms. Singh, “So, I guess I’m supposed to go now.”

Ms. Singh gives Cara a mournful gaze. “I guess that’s right.”

Cara drops her purple pen into her black bag. She hands Ms. Singh her test booklet. “Oh well.”

Ms. Singh takes the booklet and turns her face away.

Cara gives Karl an amused little pucker of a smile. He has no idea what she finds amusing, or how she can smile. He’s churning inside, and he’s not even the one who got caught.

When the door closes behind Cara, Ms. Singh says tensely, “Concentrate on your work, people.”

“Karl, what’s the matter with you?”

He’s passing the band room, where the empty black music stands crowd around randomly like a flock of crows, when Samantha catches up with him, in a huff.

“I told you I wanted to sit there. I could have caught her. I could have reported on her in the paper.”

“Sorry.”

Fortunately, Samantha takes French and he has German next, so he doesn’t have to listen to her ranting once the bell rings.

Halfway through the period, window gazing, he sees a girl in a short black skirt escorted into the student parking lot by the security lady. Cara is carrying a lumpy Hefty bag: the contents of her locker, he assumes. She’s not smirking any more. She tosses the Hefty bag into the backseat of her grape-colored VW bug, and climbs in. She seems fairly calm, for a person who has just gotten kicked out of school-that is, until she starts the car, and roars out of the lot at highway speed.