The Exam

Row after row, column after column of small, square tables adorned the gymnasium floor. Occupying the cheap, plastic chairs in front of each of these tables were the school’s anxious group of near-graduated students. Not one of those boys or girls dared to speak, the only noise an iconsistant symphony of dropped pencils and muted coughing, as well as that ever-disturbing sound of rubber shoes squealing like wounded pigs against the waxed floor.

Isaac sat in the foremost row ahead of a temporary stage, which hosted a plethora of panicked math teachers getting the exam papers ready to be distributed to the students. He could see the massive Mr. Poole, who appeared the least concerned of all the staff members, his face as unmoving as an Easter Island Statue. Three rows back sat a visibly shaking Emma, who Isaac had spied on the way in. This maths exam could end up being the deciding factor for Emma’s college prospects; merely passing was not an option, she would need at least eighty percent to be competitive. For Isaac, the exam was not nearly as important, he could fail this and still comfortably get in anywhere he wanted, apart from maybe some select Ivy schools. Although, if he did fail, he was pretty sure Poole would kick his ass to Harvard and back; hell, if he got less than ninety-five percent it would be a disappointment for his stern giant of a maths teacher.

After five minutes, a droning voice over decades-old speakers began the traditional ceremony of the start of an exam.

“Please ensure that your name and other credentials are written on the exam paper and that the correct exam paper is in front of you. You may not leave during the first or last thirty minutes of the exam. Please…”

Using some innocuous arm stretches to quickly glance backwards, he took one last look at Emma before the exam started. The poor girl’s hair was a frizzy mess, unbrushed and splayed in all directions like a post-modern sculpture, her eyes droopy with sleep but showing panic in her darting pupils as her body seemed to convulse with a nervousness that he had never seen in her. For so long, Isaac had been preparing her for this exam, he could only pray that he did a good job.

“You may begin writing.”