The Exam

A sports mad teenager has an exam that could change the rest of his life.

If McArthur rushes this it’ll be a first down and ten.  He’s posting 90 yards a game already and the season’s only 5 weeks old.  Gradowski for the Steelers is averaging more but McArthur was injured for the first two.  I shifted uncomfortably for the remote.  Dad tapped at his e-scroll spread over the kitchen table.  Occasionally the finger rattle would stop and I knew his eyes would draw to the match.

‘Clark, Clark,’ my brother spoke breathlessly.

‘Shut up jerk, I’m watching the game.’

‘Clark, check your cell.  You’ve been picked.’

He hovered above me as I turned towards the t.v.  A splinter of metal and a roar.  First down and ten. I smiled.  McArthur should push his averages up in this form.

‘Picked for what?’ I said.

‘For the exam Clark, the goddam exam.’

His cheeks flushed red, a t-shirt glued across his flabby chest and licked his arms.  He was four years younger and about forty pounds heavier.

I shrugged. ‘I know.’

‘You know?’ said Dad.  ‘And how long was it before we all heard.’

My brother moved towards him in solidarity.

‘Dawson messaged me.’

‘And you didn’t think it worth mentioning?’

‘C’mon Dad, it’s the Lakers.’  I turned my gaze to the game, relieved to find a time out called.  He moved a pace towards me.

‘And when is the exam?’

‘Four weeks.’ I said.

‘But that’s right in the middle of your …’

‘… Physics, Chemistry, History, Math…I know, I know.  I sit Physics on the Monday then the exam on Tuesday morning with Statistics in the afternoon.’

He looked to the ceiling.  ‘This is all you need.  And you’ve got the MIT pre-qual.’

I turned the volume up.  McArthur lay prone.  A huddle formed around him as if circling wagons.  If he’s out for the next few games his stats will drop for attempts. They’ll drop for total yardage and touchdowns.  He’ll come back mid table but into the top ten percentile for games missed.  That’s a stat you don’t want.

‘Listen son,’ his voice softened.  ‘The maths, the sciences. The pre-qual.  All those exams are damn important. I mean, that’s what’ll set you up.  For a career. A good job.’  I shifted so that I had a better view of the match.  ‘These exams are a real big deal.’

Like I didn’t know.

I watched McArthur placed onto a stretcher and nursed towards the tunnel.  Lakers were 12 down and were deep into the last quarter.

 

I could hear eggs scrambling in the pan.

               ‘Where have you been,’ she said.  ‘I’ve been calling all morning.’

               ‘Sorry Mom, I was studying late last night.  Slept right through the alarm.’

               ‘Studying?’ she said. ‘Studying what?’ She gave me a kiss through my matted hair.  I pushed her away.

               ‘Stats mostly.  Then some physics.’

               ‘Your father said you’ve been picked for the exam.’

               I tutted.  ‘It’s not just me.  It’s the whole grade. There’s over one hundred and sixty up for it. And another two schools.  They’ll be well over four hundred.’ I could hear my voice rise defensively.

               ‘I know son, I know.  But I worry.’

               I handed her off.  ‘I’ve got to go.  Dawson’s waiting for me.’

I had known Dawson since kindergarten and his mom worked alongside mine.  He was about 5-10, his hair cropped short as his old man had been in the military.  He played sports whilst I watched them, and he had his friends and I had mine.  In a Venn diagram, only Dawson and I would connect amongst our groups, and though it was never said we both liked it that way.  In the back was Lunk and he was in nobody’s Venn diagram.  I knocked a fist with Dawson and nodded to the back seat.

               ‘You cool Lunk?’

               ‘F*****g A Clark.  Just F*****g A.’

The drive to school was quiet, the traffic muffled, the pedestrians walked slower, even the distant sirens sounded like an apology.  Only Lunk spoke when we pulled into the parking lot.

               ‘My mom’s boyfriend says his granddaddy was fighting in f*****g Vietnam by the time he was eighteen and all we’ve got to do is sit a f*****g exam to prove something.  We don’t know we’ve been born.’

               ‘True Lunk.  True,’ said Dawson.  I said nothing but cast a glance in the rear view.

               ‘Most of the time I would rather punch his ratty f*****g face but this time he may actually have said something that could be right.’  Lunk levered himself out.  ‘Gentlemen, I’ll leave you two to jerk each other off.  Have a nice day.’  The door closed.

               ‘Why do you give him a ride?’

               ‘Protection,’ said Dawson.

               I laughed and turned to leave.  Dawson pulled my arm.

               ‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘The exam?’

               ‘I don’t know D.  I just don’t know.  There’s too much s**t going on.  You?’

               Dawson grabbed the steering wheel and studied the cars in front like you would grave stones.  He spoke quietly.  ‘I know finger f*****g Sally Olsen isn’t the most complete life experience to take to the exam?’

               I shook my head.  ‘Probably not.’

 

 

I liked the bleachers.  Third row from the back, just off centre.  I could feel the warmth of the sun but still caught a cooling breeze.  My text books were scattered at my feet.  I had opened Physics.  I found a melody in the football team going through their drills and would look up occasionally to catch a play.

               ‘Thought I’d find you here.’

               ‘Kirsten.’ I said in mock surprise.  ‘You’re not here to watch Coach Magill screw up another team are you?’  I tidied my books and she sat alongside.

               ‘Still hitting it hard?’ she said pulling a few loose strands of auburn hair from her eyes.  ‘Isn’t this all bullshit.’

               ‘It’s bullshit that Coach Half Brain makes Saunders the running back when Bomata is two seconds faster over 60 yards and his catch percentage is ten points better.  They’d be better playing you.’

               She looked at the field and let the sound of shouts and grunts fall amongst us. ‘C’mon Clark, you know what I’m at.’

               I sat back on the bench and pulled my cap down over my eyes.

               ‘I’ve been trying not to think about it,’ I said.  ‘With all the other stuff going on, I don’t need it.’

               She pulled a cigarette from her bag and struck a match across the bench.  She pulled at it twice and offered me a drag.  It tasted like lipstick and how I remembered her.

               ‘Did you see her standing at the school gate?’ she said.

               I nodded.

               ‘With two cops either side.  All she was doing was holding up a picture.’

               ‘They don’t take any chances now.  Not after the intimidation and that riot over in Ventura in ‘22.’  I found my voice had lowered to a hush.  ‘It’s a lot calmer now I guess.’

               ‘Everything’s calmer now,’ she said.  ‘We’re sitting the exam and all we’ve got is some old black woman, two fat assed cops and not a single news van in sight.  How important is this exam?’  She took the cigarette from my lips, drew on it deeply then ground it amongst my books.

               ‘There’s a couple of weeks yet.  It’ll start to tighten up I’m sure.  All the right-on liberals, all the full on whack jobs.  They’ll be here,’ I said.

               ‘We didn’t ask for this did we?’

               ‘No, but now that we’ve all turned sweet sixteen we have the chance to vote for a super-rich Republican or billionaire Democrat in exchange for sitting the exam.’  I found my voice now deep and comically earnest.  ‘With a vote comes great responsibility.  You shall show that maturity.’

               She mellowed.  ‘I haven’t even voted yet.’

               ‘There’s two other schools going through this.  In February another three and in June another three and so on.  Given the schools that have been picked before us are withdrawn from the ballot and the spread of demographics we had about a 1 in 80 chance of being picked.  Each year those odds only shorten.’

               ‘How do you know that?’ she giggled.

               ‘I didn’t.  I just made it up,’ I lied.  ‘Just to impress you.’

 

The Lakers were playing.  I had the video off but left the commentary.  It was like listening to waves, the troughs of stoppages and Max Whitton on the mike bringing them to crash on the beach.  When I studied, I always had a game on �" an old game, a re-run I could download from my sportscloud.  I’d play the audio and a name would become a statistic to update.  It helped me concentrate, a background tick to my studying clock.  Only Mad Max W could guide me through Fourier and Calculus and Lewis and Clark and Ohm’s Law and Huckleberry f*****g Finn.

               I heard him at the landing, hovering, his ear craned towards my door and then a slippered footstep and a knock.

               ‘You okay son?’

               ‘Fine, Dad.  I’m cool.’

               ‘How’s things going, study wise?’

               ‘You know.’ I pointed to scattering of books and loose worksheets. 

               He leaned over.  ‘Maths. Good.  You’ll need that for the pre-qual.’

               ‘I know but I need to pass everything.’

               He looked around the bedroom for a place to sit but reluctantly stood, defeated, and placed his hands in his pockets.  ‘It’s the other exam though son.  I’ll know you’ll do your best on that one too �" or do what you have to do �" but that result will not help you into MIT.’ 

               ‘I know Dad, but it’s not all on me. All the schools have to pass.  Or fail.’

               ‘But it’s not what you need.  I care. Your mom cares. We just want the best for you and that’ll be MIT.  That’s what you want and no matter how heartless that sounds, no matter how tough it looks, that has to be your main focus.’ 

               I could see him flushed.  He took a few steps towards me and a hand stretched out before it retreated back to safety.

               ‘Dad, if I’m struggling �" and I’m not �" then everybody is struggling.’

               He smiled.  ‘You’re right son, I guess they are.’  He caught the sound of Max calling for a third down and four.  ‘Leave it for ten.  Lakers are up.’

 

               I wasn’t too fussed.  I was missing History and sat near the back of the gym hall as the rest of the year filed in.  Dawson gave me a raised fist, a few others nodded hellos.  I found Kirsten six rows down, gaggling with Taylor Bryce and Eleanor Kim.  Their voices carried through the hubbub.  I willed her to turn and smile.

               ‘This, Clark, is bull,’ said O’Doyle.  He was tall, taller than me anyway, about 200ibs and averaged over 5 offensive rebounds per game.  I guess that put him well above anybody else in the basketball league and pretty impressive for a guy who wasn’t a freak of nature.  ‘Pure bull.’

               ‘It is man-da-tory,’ sang Arezzo as he leaned over and winked at O’Doyle.  Arezzo was slim with thick black hair and would have been a decent middle distance runner for the track team.  Solid not a stand out, but he’s been too busy chasing tail since he was about twelve, with little success.  He was the sort of guy who would peek outside your sister’s window and jerk off into the rose bushes at the sight of her A&F panties.  Strangely, I liked him and thought O’Doyle was an uptight a*****e.

               ‘Ladies.  Gentleman.’  The Principal spoke from the centre circle.  ‘Under the Student Social Responsibility Act of 2017, it is man-da-tory that I give three talks before you sit the exam in two weeks’ time.  It is also man-da-tory that you attend at least one.  There are no excuses.  It is a criminal offence �" so anybody not here and I know Coach Tajilla’s track team are away at Sacramento…’

               ‘Go Wolves.’  A ripple of laughter.

               ‘- settle down.  And six off sick today will attend Thursday’s presentation, here at 2pm.  Please feel free to join us again.’

               He looked round, rolling his large bald head from left to right before centring it.  He jabbed a finger at us.

               ‘There has been three exams per year for the past eleven years, each taken by three different schools within the Southern California area.  That means ninety nine schools have all gone through the process and in that time only two, I repeat two, students from over seventeen thousand have been granted exemption from the exam.’

               I mentally ticked them off.

               REED, Ellison Mary, 17. Brain Tumour.  Died one day post exam. 2019.

               SCHMIDT, Kyle Anderson, 17. Leukaemia.  Died on day of exam. 2022.

               ‘Without being too blunt,’ the Principal continued, ‘only death will have you excused from taking this exam.’ 

He paused and reached to his feet, grabbing a bottle of water.  He took two short gulps.  The gym remained in cold silence.  Sweat poured and dampened his collar to a dark green.

‘You all have some very important exams coming up but this should not be taken lightly. It should not be taken as a chore.  It should not be taken as second best.  Some of you may even consider it as the most important exam that you ever take. But that will only be some of you and I can, by statute, offer you no opinion or advice on the exam.  You may say that I was fortunate. That I didn’t have the exam.  But then I didn’t have a vote either.  You can decide that one, without an exam.’  He took another swig and turned to leave but then returned to the centre circle.  ‘I know you will do me proud, that the result is inevitably what you all feel as a collective student body.  But like I would say for all exams, leave time for study on this one.’  A final smile to us all. ‘Mr Peterson here will take you through the exam arrangements.’

               After Peterson finished Arezzo spoke.  ‘I’ve done f**k all. What about you?’ O’Doyle shook his head. ‘Clark?’

               ‘I’ve been doing Math,’ I said.

               ‘Dawson,’ said Arezzo, ‘you done anything for the exam?’

               Dawson copied O’Doyle but I knew that was bluster.  Arezzo and O’Doyle’s answers were not.

 

               Four days.  Algebra II.  Then statistics.  Then calculus.  I was listening to a sweet game from six seasons ago.  Lakers against 49ers.  Close.  Real close.  Right into the last four minutes then DeCosta runs forty yards for a touchdown that nobody could see happening.  I thought Mad Max had combusted.  It still gives me thrills. 

I looked at the math study sheets fanned in front of me then rubbed my eyes.

               ‘F**k it,’ I said aloud, and logged onto the State’s website.

               ‘Clark,’ said my mother softly.  ‘It’s Kirsten. She’s at the door.’

               She waited nervously at the foot of the stairs, flitting from foot to foot.

               ‘You want to come up?’ She smiled a no and I followed her onto our porch.

               ‘It’s a nice night so I’d thought I’d get some fresh air �" then I ended up here.’

               I shut the door behind us and we sat down on the cold timbers. Dark was falling and only outlines remained, cast by the lights of the houses opposite.  On still nights like this you could hear the freeway over three miles away.

               ‘What’s up?’

               ‘C’mon Clark, you’re not that dumb.’  There was an agitation in her voice that wasn’t there amongst the bleachers.  ‘We’ve all heard the legends about the exam…’

               ‘Yeah,’ I interrupted, ‘and it’s either so hard that you all fail or so easy that you can only pass.’

               ‘What do you think?’

               ‘I think I’ve got plenty of other exams, and these other exams are way more important to me than this one is.’

               ‘But Clark…’ She rested her head against my shoulder and her hand reached into mine.  ‘Did you see that old lady?  And those cops?’ I nodded.  ‘And now we’ve protestors too.’

               ‘There’s only about ten of those at most. What was it like when the exams first started �" it was over two thousand at Vernon G Connolly High School.  Then the riot over at Eisenhower in Ventura County.’

               ‘Is that where they shot those two boys?’ 

I grunted.  ‘We’ve got it easy in comparison.  Nobody says anything anymore. Nobody cares.  Why should we?’

‘Some people do care?’

‘Who? Taylor Bryce and Eleanor Kim?  They’re too busy shaving their p*****s and checking out their nail art.  You might, but you’re an army of one.’

‘Do you care?’

‘I do but I look at the stats.  Every school that has the exam has a 4 to 6 point drop in their average school grade.  They reckon it can contribute to a 7% drop in a College’s pre-qual test �" so much so that they’re looking at schools that have had the exam to be given special consideration.  They’ve said no so far but for me it’s the difference between MIT or working for my old man.’

‘The exam isn’t down to statistics,’ she said.  ‘I should be more important than that.’

‘More important than the decisions that I make for my life?  More important than the decisions that you make?  Do you remember Lucille Mitchell High?’

She wriggled her hand from mine.  ‘No.  Should I?’

‘They were the first school to fail.  Four years after the exam was introduced they were the first and even then the other two schools passed.’

‘That’s right.  There was a huge outcry.  We must only have been about ten.’

‘Twelve,’ I corrected. ‘And for the next two quarters all the schools passed.  Then another school failed and there was a commotion but nothing like Mitchell.  No national news network or some wise a*s liberal reporter from Europe telling us we were backward.’

‘That was Modena.  My cousin is there and it’s never mentioned.  It’s been airbrushed.’

‘Now when a school fails it doesn’t raise above the tenth item on a slow news day. And that’s local news. Not ABC or CNN.  Either nobody cares or we’re all too embarrassed to admit that we don’t care.  It’s not good news.  It’s not bad news.  It just is and everybody wants to forget it.’

Kirsten stood up and I followed her toned legs to a slim waist, her skin flittering above her belt, then up across her breasts to a small, elfin chin and lips like rock candy.  She pulled hair away from her face.  ‘You’re right.  I wish you weren’t.’  She gave me her hand and I heaved myself up.

‘Nobody gives a f**k but you know what? They give us the vote, then give us the exam to make sure we’re somehow worthy.  That they can trust us to be responsible.  Well I say God Bless America and pass me a Bud.  What’s that?  You can’t? That’s right I’m not twenty one yet.’

She sighed wistfully.  ‘You’re smart Clark, but where’s your heart.’

‘You broke it.  Remember.’

 

I heard Dawson honk and vaulted towards his car to garbled shouts from the house.

               ‘Might be rough today,’ said Dawson.

               ‘Might be,’ I agreed doubtfully.

               ‘F**k ‘em,’ said Lunk.  ‘It’s not the A Shau Valley is it?’

               The crowd at the school gates had grown to about twenty and waved placards as we drove past.

               ‘Did you see that one?’ I said. ‘Cheeky f***s �" it said I hope you studied.’

               ‘I hope I have.  I’ve Biology and US History,’ said Dawson.

               The cops were drinking coffee and the old lady was dressed like she was going to Sunday Prayers.  She still held the picture up but this time a small candle burned at her feet.  Her eyes looked puffy and as she caught me staring she smiled.  I quickly looked away.

               ‘Dawson. Lunk. Best of luck.’

               ‘Man, I don’t need it?’ said Lunk.  ‘But somebody sure does.’

 

The gym hall had eight rows of numbered desks, twenty deep, each with a sealed envelope and our name printed on it in black capital letters.  A pen sat perfectly to the side of the envelope.  It was unheard of to do an exam without a tablet but State thought there was less chance of a technological glitch.  We each matched ourselves with the orientation board outside and, as we had been told, stood by our desk.  A cop with an invigilator guarded each of the four exits and at the front stood another pair.  This invigilator was dressed in an immaculately sharp suit, with white shirt and nicely matched tie.  His shoes were polished glass.  He was mid-thirties and smooth.  This, for the first time, made me uneasy.  Our usual invigilators looked like they were heading for the mall. 

               ‘Ladies and Gentleman.  By the powers vested in me by California State Government and under the provisions of the Social Responsibility Act 2017 you are hereby required to undertake an exam to determine if the three felons pictured in the exam paper are to be executed.’

               He paused as if expecting a comment or murmur.  Now he spoke in a steady, confident monotone and stayed rooted to the gym floor, only his eyes flicked from side to side.

               ‘The exam will last for precisely one hour. In that time you will be expected to answer ten questions only on each of the felons.  Remember this is not to decide their guilt �" that has already been found by a jury �" this is to decide if they are to be executed immediately or that their sentences be commuted to life imprisonment. 

               Lunk was two rows behind and pretended to stifle a yawn.  Dawson balled his fists.  Kirsten was centre, second row and looked cast in marble.

               ‘The marking is simple.  If 50% or above of the student body pass the exam, that is considered a pass for the entire grade.  Each felon must have a minimum of two passes, from three schools participating, to have his sentence commuted.’

               My eyes fell to the envelope and I begin fingering the pen.

               ‘Ladies and Gentlemen.  Please check that the name on the envelope matches your own and if it does sit down now.’ He waited until we all were settled.  ‘Finally, ladies and gentlemen, when I blow this whistle the exam will start, the doors will be locked and nobody will be allowed to leave under any circumstances until I blow the whistle for a second time exactly one hour later.  May your God guide you.’

               I sat down and felt sweat brew, it trickled down my back.  I imagined rivers, my shirt pressed to skin like sticking plaster.

               The whistle sounded and I carefully opened the envelope containing three double sided question papers.  I studied the first photograph.  A black face.  Mid forty?  Likely been Tackle or a Tight End in younger days, now kidney spots tattooed his heavy set cheeks.  Wide rheumy eyes sat below a long forehead and shorn scalp.

               My thoughts became stats.  41.7% of inmates on death row are black yet form 13% of the population.  77% of those executed are for killing whites.  California has 19.3 inmates on death row for every million people.  87% of executions are by lethal injection.  Women make up 2% of all inmates on death row.  Blacks are six times more likely to be in penitentiary than whites.

               I looked again at the photograph and there was the old lady, holding a picture of her son, a boy about our age. 

               I turned to question 1.

               ‘What is the full name of this felon?’

               I didn’t have a clue.

Author's Note

First time post - first time writer for that matter.

Happy to have feedback on content, style, pace and all other elements that make a good read.

Thanks for your time.