The Misadventures of the Anderson Three

The History Test

September 1998

My brothers call me Saint Wesley because I almost never get into trouble, but I've got a feeling that my luck is about to run out. And it's all because of Coach Rickman and his stupid history test.

Maybe that's a little harsh. Maybe it has more to do with me not studying as well as I should have. But it's hard to think like that when I'm sitting here trying to remember names and dates of things that happened over two hundred years ago.

I'm going to fail this test. Of that, I'm almost positive. More than that though, I'm one hundred percent positive that if I do, I'm gonna be in trouble.

I chew on the eraser of my pencil as I try to remember what year the Battle of Yorktown was won. Seventeen...something, for sure. I glance over at my best friend, Coop, and he's writing in answers like he knows them by heart. He probably does. History is Coop's favorite subject.

Up at the front, I notice that Coach is walking quietly around the other kids so I think this might be my shot. Slowly, I reach into my front pocket and pull out a folded up index card.

I swear that I've never done anything like this before in my life. But I can't afford to fail. Keeping the card in my lap, I quickly glanced over the few notes I'd written til I came to the date of the battle. 1781.

I wrote it down, just as a hand landed on my shoulder. I jerked in surprise and the card fell to the floor. I couldn't look up. I didn't need to. I knew Coach would be standing there, disappointment showing in his eyes. He held a hand out in front of me and I knew he was silently asking for the card. I sighed as I reached down and picked it back up from the floor and handed it to him. He looked at it for a moment before quietly taking it and my unfinished test up to the front.

Thankfully, only Coop and a couple others even noticed anything was going on. Coop shot me a sympathetic look from the seat beside me before turning back to his own test.

"Great." I thought as I let my head drop down to the desk.

This is way worse than failing a test.

***

All too soon, the bell rang and everyone around me started getting up.

"Anderson, hang around." Coach called out over the crowd of students.

I took my time getting my bookbag together and Coop waited around with me.

"Go on, Coop, you too." He said once the room was clear except for the three of us.

Coop looked back at me and I nodded. "I'll see you at lunch."

Once he was gone too, Coach leaned against the edge of his desk and held up my test and the card. I stood in front of him with my bag slung over my shoulder and my hands pushed deep into my jeans pockets. I wasn't kidding when I said I'd never done anything like this before and I didn't know what to expect. Not really, anyway. So I immediately reverted to what I did know. What had been ingrained in me my whole life.

Lessons from Dad.

Stand up straight.

Be polite.

Be honest and respectful.

And for God's sake, you better own up to your mistakes.

"How about you explain this, Wesley, 'cause honestly, I'm lost."

"I cheated." I said, simply. What else did he want me to say?

"Oh, no. That I get." Coach tossed the papers back down to his desk and crossed his arms. "I want to know why." His voice was hard in a way that I had rarely heard him use. Coach was a favorite of the students and it wasn't often that any of us misbehaved in his class. Leave it to me to break the record. "I'm waiting, Wesley."