One Last Thing ✅

seven things

"What do you mean, there's a test today?" I demand.

Rose Evans sits next to me, flipping through her English notebook. "I don't know why you're so surprised. Mrs. Edwards mentioned it like seventeen times this week." She tosses her shiny black hair over her shoulder and then chews on the end of her pen while studying her notes.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhh," I say.

I flip open my own notebook and see a note to myself about today's exam.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is the second time this week I've spaced on school stuff. Why can't I remember anything? My fingers drift to my arm and trace the delicate wounds beneath my sleeve.

"Did you even read the play?" Rose asks, tapping her pen against the dilapidated paperback copy of Hamlet lying before her.

"That would be a no," I say grumpily. "I fell asleep every time I tried." It's true. The play has been lying on my nightstand ever since Mrs. Edwards assigned it two weeks ago. I picked it up a few times and tried to get into the story, but I could never get past the first stupid scene.

Rose cocks her head to the side thoughtfully. I'm not sure why she's even talking to me. She's never acknowledged my presence except once to ask whether the Sea Monkeys would want to do an interview for the school newspaper. We ended up declining because Jared thought it was too lame or something.

"You know," she says confidentially, beckoning me to lean toward her, which I do. "I read this play last summer so I wouldn't have such a tough work load my senior year. It's actually pretty easy once you get past the language. If you want..." Rose sneaks a look toward the door to make sure Mrs. Edwards hasn't walked in yet. "I don't mind if you look at my paper."

I study Rose's face, searching for a clue in her features, a hint about why she's suddenly being so nice to me. Her blue eyes are wide and too big for her baby doll face. The whole thing seems kind of fishy, but I can't come up with a good reason to say no.

"That would be... really nice of you," I say slowly. Somewhere in the back of my mind Grams is whispering that cheating is wrong and in the end I'm only hurting myself.

But that's the thing.

I don't really care if I hurt myself.

The door opens with a click, and Mrs. Edwards walks into the room. Several kids return to their assigned desks. One girl gets up to sharpen her pencil. Mrs. Edwards walks purposefully to the front of the room, waving a sheaf of papers in front of her.

"Please take everything off your desks besides a writing utensil," she says, all business. I slide my things to the floor and search for a pencil. Rose clears her desk as well and then leans forward, tapping a little rhythm with her pen. She must be confident if she doesn't even need an eraser.

Mrs. Edwards passes the tests out to the front people in each row, and they are handed back until everyone has a copy. I scan it quickly, hoping some of the questions will jog my memory and I won't have to cheat after all. Nothing seems to make sense, though. What is a major theme from the play? I try to think back to our class discussions, but my mind goes blank.

I cast a despondent look toward Rose, who at that moment is glancing at me over her shoulder. She gives me a wink with those thick lashes and then turns to her own test, writing her name at the top in neat cursive.

Here are my choices.

I could make a bunch of shit up and fail the test, possibly get a D in the class, face Gram's disappointment, and be lectured on how I will never make it in college or in life if I don't take my education seriously. Or I could commit a tiny little sin and pass the test.

No one would ever have to know.

My eyes drop to Rose's paper.

She is already on the third question.

I copy down her first answer and then her second. As we work down the quiz, she seems to move her arm slightly to allow me a better view. I'm not sure why she's letting me copy off her, but I decide not to think too deeply about it. At least not right now.

"One minute left," Mrs. Edwards announces.

I rush to scribble the last few answers onto my paper. Rose, already finished, is sitting back in her chair, tapping her pen against her jeans.

"Time's up. Please pass your quizzes forward."

I nervously scan the page and write my name at the top before passing it to the kid sitting in front of me. Then I see Rose looking, and I mouth the words "Thank you" at her. She shrugs slightly and turns toward the front of the room.