Book Test Cheater

     There was a knock at the door.  Book in hand, I moved to the door and opened it.   I don’t remember what I was trying to explain to the class, but room, students, everything became wall paper.

     Outside my door in the hallway, students talked while they rummaged in their lockers.  It was game day and those in the hallway were released early from class.  They were supposed to be quiet since classes were being held in the rooms up and down the hallway.

     Early-release game day meant that the game was out of town. Athletes had to leave during afternoon classes in order to get to the game on time.  They also dressed up on game day.

     I saw the neatly curled and arranged hair as she, head bowed, looked down at her polished dress shoes that almost touched as she stood there.  Her hands at her waist worried a wrinkled handkerchief.  Her knees, just visible below the hem of her skirt, alternated back and forth. 

     “Mr. Ottem, can I talk to you?”  I stepped far enough into the hallway to close the door, then backed until my heels nearly touched the door.  Almost without pause she continued. 

     “I cheated on a book test today.  I’m sorry.  It won’t ever happen again.”  The words poured out rapidly without hesitation.  Briefly she glanced up at me as she spoke, then back down again.  In the brief glance I saw not tears, but the pain and anguish that filled the eyes.

     At the end of her speech, she glanced up and waited briefly for me to speak.  I could say nothing. I had no words.  No clichés from previous experiences jumped to mind.  I was totally taken by surprise.   I smiled stupidly.  At least that kept my mouth from dropping open. 

     Then head still bowed, she abruptly turned and wove her way amidst her fellow students.  I watched her until she was out of sight around the hallway corner. 

     I didn’t have the luxury to stand in the hallway and reflect on what happened.  Even if I had come up with a proper reaction, I couldn’t follow her down the hall to talk to her.  There was the class I was trying to teach, the lesson to be completed.  The entire experience had to be tucked away for later rumination.

     Ruminate was all I ever did.  I had already graded the tests.  I knew she had failed it.  It was the first book test that I gave where I had changed the answer sequence from the original test.  It went to her class because it was the one I suspected had the most cheaters.  The trap worked.  About half of the class had gotten a zero on the 30-question test.

      As soon as I could, I revisited her answer sheet.  She didn’t get a zero on it.  She had erased some of the first few answers and replaced the wrong answers with correct ones.  I knew she had read some of the book, enough to know that the “cheat” answers were not correct. 

      What should I do?  Punish her because she had had the integrity to confess her crime?  Try to find out from her who was at the bottom of the scam?

     She had punished herself enough.  Being a cop was a part of teaching I disliked.  I had temporarily stopped yet another attempt to work the system. Would it do any good to find out who was the instigator? 

     Something else occurred to me.  I had always thought of her as a good person.  That was one reason her confession left me speechless.  But I didn’t respect her less because she cheated.  I respected her more. Because of the incident, I saw the depth of her honesty and self-respect.  She was a person who had set high standards for herself and would probably live up to them. She had the fortitude to face the person she had offended and admit her wrongdoing.  She was a good person, a person worth knowing.

       So I did nothing.  Way led onto way.  The year came to an end.  She did not take A-P English, the only class I taught for seniors.  She graduated and went to a junior college. 

      Since then I have met her a couple of times.  She acknowledged my greeting, but I had the impression that she really would prefer not to talk to me.  I think for her I have become a pain stimulus; the sight of me reminds her of a painful episode in her life that she would prefer to forget.

     So I found a person worth knowing and I lost her at the same time.  Someday, maybe I’ll be able to explain to her that things happen for a reason, that we learn more from our failures than from our successes, all those other clichés that apply.  Someday, maybe I will be able to understand all that myself.