Ahem!
Upon hearing Brenda Yaromey clear her throat in mimicry, I knew that only meant one thing — she didn’t have a direct line of sight to copy my solutions on the math test.
Nervously glancing to the front of the classroom to ensure Mr. Frank Boots — our general mathematics teacher — was sufficiently distracted, I nonchalantly slid my left arm off the attached desktop and rested it on my leg, discreetly granting the blue-eyed blonde an unobstructed view of my calculations.
I let out a sigh of relief as “the cheater” finally made her way up the aisle along the window wall and placed her completed test paper on the teacher’s desk.
Even though this mild-mannered freshman had finished the chapter exam ten minutes earlier, he patiently waited until his dishonest classmate had ample time to replicate his responses.
With barely enough time to reach my next class before the bell rang out, I quickly snatched my backpack and hurried to the executive desk in front of the blackboard, where I personally handed the assessment to the veteran educator.
On my way out of the classroom, I waved to Robert “Magsy” Magnifico, Jeffrey “Jeff” Olinger and Bruce Thalmann, confident that no one would suspect the underhanded deception that had just transpired.
Little did I know, the truth was about to hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater!” Magsy exclaimed with a sly grin, poking me in the ribcage as we met up in the cafeteria lunch line. “When you let Brenda copy your answers on the math test this morning, I had half a mind to rubberneck across the aisle like Stretch Armstrong and do the same — since you get straight A’s in math.”
“I think you’ve got that backwards, Stretch,” I guffawed, grabbing a compartmentalized tray and utensils just inside the entrance to the food carts. “Since I’m a straight A math student — just as you so eloquently pointed out — why would yours truly need to cheat? Brenda was the one doing the cheating.”
“Surely, you can’t be serious?” the black-haired Italian quipped, his rhetorical question slicing through me like a knife. “You were the human cheat sheet. That makes you just as guilty as our duplicitous classmate.”
“What are you going to do — have your dad slap the cuffs on me?” I quipped.
“This isn’t a joking matter, Marcus Welby, M.D.,” Bruce chimed in, offering his two cents as we inched toward the lunch ladies scooping food from steaming pans. “If Mr. Boots finds out about your little arrangement with Brenda, you both could end up with a three-day suspension.”
“If I get suspended for cheating, my dad will drag me — kicking and screaming — to the church altar for an exorcism right after his Sunday morning sermon,” I cried.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out somewhere between the Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes, the gravity of the situation turning my food tray into an anchor, dragging me deeper into panic. “If youns saw it, who knows who else did.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” the top cop’s youngest son snickered, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “If you don’t get called down to the principal’s office by the end of the day, you’re golden. But you cannot let that girl cheat off you ever again.”
“Brenda’s my friend,” I pleaded, my voice cracking as I reached for a carton of chocolate milk.
“With friends like her, you don’t need enemies!” Magsy exclaimed.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” the blue-eyed blond stated, laying out the cold, hard truth. “She’s only using you and is apparently willing to let you get suspended. Meanwhile, we’re doing everything we can to pull you back from the abyss — because we genuinely care about you.”
“And that means the world to me,” I said, my eyes turning watery as I handed my meal ticket punch card to the cashier. “But can we table this issue until later? I’d rather not air my dirty laundry in front of the other guys.”
“Would youns take my tray over to our table while I go blow my nose?” I asked, snatching a couple of extra napkins before rushing toward the garbage cans by the tray return. “My allergies always act up this time of year — perfect timing, right?”
“What’d I say?” Bruce questioned, looking befuddled.
“Mark’s very self-conscious about his disability and the lack of friends because of it,” the leader of the pack noted as the songbirds weaved between a couple of tables with attached seating. “We just told him he needs to sever ties with one of his purported friends — and, as always, he masks his tears behind seasonal allergies.”
“Would you want to cry in front of your friends?” Bruce asked.
“Touché,” Magsy acknowledged, as they arrived at the half-filled six-seater table near the south exit. “But unfortunately, we’ll need to take the bull by the horns on this one.”
Shortly after settling into my desk toward the back of math class the following day, classmates — including my partner in an unholy alliance — filtered into the room, filling the empty seats before the tardy bell sounded.
Brenda hardly set down her belongings before making a beeline back to Mr. Boots’ desk for a private tête-à-tête.
“I need to request a seat change,” the young lady mentioned, flipping her blonde locks over her back. “Ever since the start of the school year, I’ve had trouble seeing the blackboard — and it’s only getting worse.”
“Normally, I would need a doctor’s note for such a petition,” admitted the tenured educator, pushing in his desk chair as the bell rang out. “But given the circumstances, I’m willing to waive protocol and grant your request.”
When the opportunist returned to her usual seat across the aisle from me, she picked up her purse and books, then met my questioning gaze. “I guess the jig is up,” she said — and just like that, she was gone.
Glancing over to my right, Magsy sat there with a Cheshire cat grin. “That was a blessing in disguise.”
Still trying to make sense of the sudden turn of events, I glanced down at my math book — only to hear a rather familiar voice coming from the newly occupied seat in the aisle along the window wall.
“Hey there, Markie Pooh,” Jeff — my friend and neighbor from up the street — teased, flashing a mischievous grin. “Maybe now I’ll get a daily update on what color bikini briefs you’re hiding under those faded blue jeans.”
“Keep your hands away from my belt loops or I’ll slap you silly,” I smirked in response.