“Of course, there are always students who believe they are too important to follow school regulations,” Scroptz’ voice booms through the classroom.
I try to free my mind from the web of thoughts and doubts in which it got ensnared in. What’s happening?
In front of the class, Scroptz continues in his signature self-righteous, commanding voice saturated with self importance.
“There are always those who think they can do whatever they want, whenever they want.”
Ah, it’s discipline time... again. Herr S. always finds novel reasons to keep us “on our toes”. Most of the time, small things: a pencil not perfectly aligned, books clumsily stacked, bags placed too far from the desk, but this time, I’m not sure.
“And especially,” his voice rises dramatically, “those who think they won’t be caught cheating. Isn’t that right...?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Maxime Kwintens!” All heads turn toward me in unison. “Come to the front, Kwintens, chop-chop. I don’t have all day.”
Confused, I push back my chair and walk to the front, as slowly as possible, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. At moments like this, I must admit that my isolation from the other students feels particularly lonely. A little bit of support would be nice. I’m not made of steel, even if I pretend to be. Still, to my surprise, the expressions on the student’s faces aren't hostile or unsympathetic this time. Most of them appear more surprised than anything else, as if they’re watching the end of a play where a character, they’ve never seen before, solves the murder in two sentences.
When I reach his desk, Scroptz's voice is dangerously soft.
"Miss Kwintens, what I find curious, in a boring and uninteresting way, is how you did it. Because... yesterday, something unique happened."
"Eh... you didn't doze off?" I try to provoke him, but he doesn't flinch.
"For the first time ever, a student answered all the questions correctly. And believe me, Miss Kwintens, these tests are meticulously designed to ensure that isn't possible. Every footnote and sidebar from your book is used for these tests. No A-pluses in my class, Miss Kwintens! That would be bad for morale. Therefore, there's only one possible conclusion: you cheated. And I want to know how. Why didn't I catch you? I always catch cheaters within seconds."
For a moment, I’m at a loss for words. Of all the possibilities, I didn’t see this one coming. How could I have been so careless? What a reckless lapse in concentration. I should have made a few mistakes, like I always do. My photographic memory is nobody’s business but my own.
I resort to the only defense I know: offense. “Maybe the years are catching up with you, sir? You’re not getting any younger, after all.” This time, it works. His expression freezes. He slowly leans in, close enough for me to be assaulted by his aftershave, and hisses so softly that only I can hear it.
“Better watch it, Kwintens, or you’ll end up just like your mother.” His voice is so saturated with hate, that it leaves me momentarily speechless. But when I see the triumphant gleam in his eyes, I straighten my back and shoot back.
“Career, sir? Doesn’t a career mean you get promoted every few years? If you were teaching my mother all those years ago, maybe your career is a bit... stuck... maybe?”
A collective gasp escapes the students in the classroom. This an unprecedented demonstration of defiance. The fast-accelerating rumble of unrest and excitement grows in volume. Clearly audible above it, I hear Gnat’s long, approving hiss. My popularity skyrockets by 300%, but the rush of euphoria is short-lived as the chatter and laughter are abruptly silenced by a long wooden ruler landing with a devastating bang on Scroptz’s desk.
“This is enough! More than enough!” he roars. “In 25 years, I’ve never sent a student to the vice-principal. It’s like admitting defeat. But today, I’ll make an exception. You’re a worthless piece of nothing. Out! Now! The vice-principal will know what to do with you. Take your backpack; I don’t want to see you again today.”
As the door closes behind me, the feeling of triumph evaporates and is replaced by one of inevitable doom. Damn, the vice-principal. That’s the last thing I wanted. I try to think of a way out of this mess, but nothing comes to mind. I have no choice. Slowly, I start to move through the deserted corridors.