I steal a look at the girls. They’re writing, writing. What about me? I taught them this, the words they’re stringing together so fast and sure
N
ervous energy, last-minute fumbling, girls pacing.
I find a seat and look around. This one consults her notes, that one pulls out a textbook.
“Notes away,” the examiner says, “We start now.”
Crinkling. Notes they pored over stashed away, the theories they bashed, disproved, resigned themselves to the sometimes-truth, okay mostly-truth of useless in their bags when they may need them most. But that’s an exam. I fiddle with my pen at the edge of the room.
I have no notes.
The examiner passes around the papers, and the room is silent save for the labored breathing of the girl beside me. You’ll be fine. But I don’t say anything because we’re under exam conditions and I’m taking this exam too. Though I haven’t taken notes, haven’t crammed for this government exam like they have.
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