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Eve: How To Not Cheat On A Test
I’m standing in the garden bed outside the maths classroom, waiting for Mr Patterson to arrive. I don’t want to stand here, but the rest of my class crowds the footpath. Besides, my black T-bar shoes are sturdy. They can handle dirt.
It’s mid-February, and the glamour of the new school year has worn off. I’ve gotten used to my classmates and new teachers and now know Mr Patterson cares more about his coffee than his Monday morning class. At least summer is fading, so standing outside is bearable. While the sun is still bright, crisp breezes are more frequent. Soon, the trees of Easton Grammar will spot with scarlet and amber.
While the rest of my class chats, I flick through my school diary, pretending to be busy. Maybe people will think I’m revising last minute for the maths test today. Then again, people won’t look at me at all, so I don’t need to bother hiding the fact that I’m standing alone.
I’m not friendless — I have Ruby Hutchison, except she’s in an advanced class because she’s a maths genius. There’s also Ruby’s older brother, Oliver, and Isra and Jasmine, but none of them are in this class.
It doesn’t bother me I have no one to talk to, no one to sit with. High schoolers think standing alone is the worst fate that can befall someone, but after you’ve been doing it for years, people get used to it. You get used to it.
Nearby, Tiana, Alison and Sana look at their phones, their phone cases pink and monogrammed. John and Richard chat while scratching their hairy arms, Daisy and Howard hold hands and whisper lovey-dovey confessions, and Noah Rosselli and Henry Cross tackle each other. The pair of them pay the least attention to class. Maybe they should stop grabbing each other’s arms and revise.
I sound rude, but people like me and people like Noah and Henry have a natural distaste for each other.
Mr Patterson arrives with a coffee mug, with an image of an NRL team printed on the side. He’s from Sydney, but down south, AFL is the more popular sport. “I know, I’m late. Come in! You all ready for today’s test?”
“Teachers should unlock the classrooms in the morning, Mr Patterson. It’s hot outside,” Henry calls. He’s sweatier than he should be because he’s been tackling Noah in his school uniform, which is now wrinkled. I don’t understand boys.
“Good idea, Henry,” Mr Patterson replies.
Inside, the desks are in neat lines, and Mr Patterson instructs us to separate them and sit for our test. I drag a table nearby the window, take a seat, and take out a pen, pencil, eraser and ruler.
At the front of the classroom, Mr Patterson takes out the stack of tests before surveying us. He frowns. “Noah and Henry, you’re practically sitting on top of each other. One of you need to move.”
Everyone turns around to look at them. They’re at the very back of the room, their desks thirty centimetres apart.
“But Mr Patterson—,” Noah begins.
“Now.”
With a sigh, Noah drags his desk forward until he’s sitting diagonally behind me. He’s only got a pen on his desk. How is he going to draw his graphs with a pen?
Mr Patterson hands out the tests face-down. Once he’s back at the front of the classroom, he checks the clock, tells us we have an hour and that we can begin.
The test goes by quickly, the way tests do when you’re so consumed with concentration. While maths is not my best subject, the content is the same algebra I learned last year, and I find the questions pretty easy.
I’m been double-checking my answers when I sense it. The eyes.
I turn my head so sharply, I almost crick my neck. Noah is leaning forward in his seat, eyes on my page, squinting. He catches me watching a second too late and falls back in his seat, the legs of his chair dropping onto the carpet with a muffled thud.
I glance at the front of the classroom, but Mr Patterson is too busy typing on his computer to notice. Lucky for Noah, because he was as subtle as an earthquake.
He was looking at my test. Trying to cheat off it.
When I turn back to my test, the numbers and symbols blur under my eyes.
If Mr Patterson caught him, would he have thought I was conspiring with Noah?
Of course not. Mr Patterson knows I’m not friendly with him. Still, Easton Grammar is ridiculously strict with its cheating policy.
Before I know it, time’s up and Mr Patterson is collecting tests. When he moves to Noah, he clears his throat.
Noah is writing last minute. It better not be an answer—
No. He’s writing his name.
