About a year ago, I came up with this brilliant idea. It struck me during AP Language, when my class was reading an essay entitled “Cafeteria Scholars”. It talked about how it wasn’t the delinquent kids who were cheating anymore- it was the smart kids. Because they had so much more to lose, and because grades were more and more based on rote memorization and multiple choice tests, some of these usually intelligent students were turning to adverse measures to pass their classes. And I thought it was such an interesting perspective, I had to write a book about it.
I entitled mine “Cafeteria Scholars” as well (since the likelihood of it getting published is low) and began to write with fervor. And as much as I loved and connected to this book like I never had before, I got severe writing block at the beginning of this year and was unable to continue.
I tried so hard to get motivated to continue writing, reading what I’d already written over and over again and loving it more each time. But for some reason, after a pivotal scene on page 21, I just didn’t have a clue how to continue. I even got coffee with a cynical fellow writer who also loved the idea and was more than happy to brainstorm with me. But nothing helped.
Yesterday, however, something changed. I was so ridiculously bored during creative writing that I couldn’t even muster up the inspiration to write in the other three books I’m working on that actually have decent partial outlines. So on a whim, I opened up Cafeteria Scholars and words just started pouring out.
Ok, that’s an exaggeration. In two days, I’ve only managed about three or four new pages. But considering the creative drought that has prevented any new sentences for the past six months or so, I’ll take what I can get.
My muse is back!
And now, a short excerpt from the first chapter/prologue.
Do you remember the first time you ever cheated? I do. I remember everything about that day. I was a freshman in high school, excited by the fact that everything I did from then on would directly effect me in the “real worldâ€. I was in between two career paths at the time, lawyer and musician. So what use did I have for geometry?
I had always been one of “the smart kidsâ€. My kindergarten teacher predicted that I would be the first female president. My parents, although they chuckled, took that very seriously. I was enrolled in all the “gifted and talented†programs from third grade up. Since they knew my apparent potential, any grade lower than an A was unacceptable in our household.
So it was no wonder that I was distressed over my geometry final at the end of my first semester of high school. My grade had been dangling at a 91.3% all semester. Since the final was worth 20% of my total grade, I had to get above an 85% on it to maintain an A. This worried me significantly, because the only reason I was still pulling an A overall was that I did well on homework. None of my test grades so far had been over an 80%. My parents frowned as they looked at Parent Bridge, the website that let them check my grades and GPA online, but as long as I kept my A, they were appeased.
My math teacher, Mr. Alpha, had a sick sense of humor, so he thought it would be funny to take the test with dimmed lights, like we were in a dungeon. It sure felt like a dungeon; there were no windows in his small, cramped room, and his walls were barren, save for one motivational poster that proclaimed “Be Yourselfâ€. I always puzzled over that poster. It was very commanding, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to follow it. Who was I? Concentrating on violin and intransitive verbs my entire life didn’t exactly shape me into my ideal “future selfâ€.
I was seated to the left of Oliver Reed, my long-time crush. He had the second best grade in the class, and he was right handed. Normally, that wouldn’t be particularly interesting, but I was left handed. At first, that coincidence didn’t set in, but it turned out to be my saving grace. Mr. Alpha started class exactly four minutes after the final bell had rung, and the attendance seemed to last for hours. I just wanted to get it over with. I nervously nibbled on the end of my purple pencil. Purple was my favorite color. I concentrated on that as the teacher finally passed the tests out, which took an excruciatingly long time. Trembling, I began.
The first eleven problems were easy. The standard median and mode questions. Finding averages. Kid stuff. Once I got into the triangles, though, I was lost.
My shoulders were hunched over my paper, scribbling as many of the equations as I could remember across the empty space I had to show work. Oliver was a slightly faster worker than I was, I noticed. No, I admonished myself, don’t look at Oliver. Just figure out the third side of the triangle. But now that I knew I could see his paper, clearly, the anxiety got to me.
As I glanced to my right to check his equations for question twelve, I reasoned with myself. What real world application does cosine have, anyways? It’s not like you need that later in life. Well, I don’t. What lawyer needs to know the Pythagorean theorem? Does Josh Bell know how to graph lines? Does he need to? No! Plus, this is just a one time thing. Next time, I’ll get a tutor. Maybe Oliver can tutor me! My adrenaline spiked at the thought, and I got thirteen wrong on purpose. Can’t make it too obvious. I thought.
My posture relaxed slightly as I leaned in a bit closer to Oliver. He didn’t look up, immersed in his equations. His dark hair fell into his eyes a bit, but save for a toss of his head, he payed it no attention. His sapphire eyes scrolled across the paper at a surprising speed. I glanced at Mr. Alpha, who was playing solitaire on his computer. No wonder I didn’t do well in this class, I thought bitterly.
As Oliver finished his test, I was only two problems behind. I memorized his work for the last problem quickly, and threw it up on the page as he stood up to take his test to the teacher. Then I went back and struggled through the second to last problem, more than likely getting it wrong. But I didn’t care; I was keeping my A.
After I turned in my own test and smiled shyly at Oliver before sitting down, I looked at the motivational poster again. Who was I? Although I didn’t know it at the time, that day had cemented my fate. I was Sophie Bricker, cheater.
