I FLY THROUGH THE multiple choice.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ethan, tallying the number of pages he’s flipped. He has only seconds on me. I fight the discomfort in my stomach while I circle my responses, forcing myself to focus on the material. What king’s interest in the occult inspired Macbeth? I choose C) King James I.
I can’t let Ethan win. Not now, not ever. Beating him has become my primary goal in high school. Three and a half years of trading top grades, and neither of us has emerged the definitive victor.
I reach the essay. Despite Ethan having scribbled his first few sentences, I grin. I know this prompt. It’s one I practiced during my two a.m. toilet bowl facial. I obliterate the question, interconnecting Shakespeare’s mid-career themes with the political turmoil in his country through one concise thesis in my introduction, three perfect body paragraphs, and a thoughtful conclusion.
I burst out of my seat right before Ethan. He scowls while I walk in front of him to Pham’s desk, where I present my exam with a flourish.
Pham eyes us unhappily. Ethan and I don’t exactly have beloved reputations with the teachers of Fairview. With our constant challenging questions, well-reasoned rebuttals to classmates’ points, and frequent feedback, teachers . . . kind of can’t stand us. Pham is no exception.
“It’s not a race, you two,” he grumbles. “Take the remaining twenty minutes to check over your answers.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I place my exam directly on his desk. Ethan follows.
“Good test, though,” Ethan says.
Mr. Pham fixes Ethan with a droll glance. “Thank you, Mr. Molloy.”
“The question on Shakespeare’s possible Catholicism gave me pause,” Ethan continues.
I turn to him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Did it?”
“Seconds, Sanger.”
“Sounds like they were important seconds,” I reply, feeling bile biting the back of my throat. I face Mr. Pham. “May I please go to the restroom?” I inquire calmly, knowing Ethan’s glowering behind me.
Pham waves his hand, dismissing me. I don’t bother to linger for my traditional post-test gloating. Instead, I book it directly to the bathroom. I barely fumble into a stall in time to be spectacularly sick.