Asked the tester in a voice so bright, it came out in a different colour and font size.
The class looked around, hoping someone would answer. Even though we weren’t too fond of our teacher, we had to keep up appearances in front of outsiders, right? No matter how much you hate your sister, if someone else bothers her, you have to protect her, right? Same thing here. We were hoping that our teacher would come out as a shining model, who had taught her students the answers to all relevant (and irrelevant) questions including:
However, there was only one hand up. Sneha’s, of course. She’s one of those who compulsively puts up her hand every time a question is asked. Even if she doesn’t really know the answer. Which, unfortunately, she does most of the time. She’s a bit like Hermoine Granger—you know, from Harry Potter. Irritating and always right. She came up with something lame like, ‘It’s to test how intelligent you are, or something like that. “I” stands for Intelligent and “Q” stands for … for … I don’t know, something that starts with Q!’
The tester smiled a triumphant smile. Now here was another bunch of idiots that she could test to show how dumb they were. She launched into her spiel, ‘The Intelligence Quotient indicates a person’s mental abilities relative to others of approximately the same age. Everyone has hundreds of specific mental abilities—some can be measured accurately and are reliable predictors of academic and financial success!’ she said in a voice that sounded like one of those recorded messages you get. You know the one, the irritatingly bright, cheery voice saying, ‘The number you have dialled does not exist!’ As though it’s the best news in the world. If you call someone who has just passed away, this voice would probably say, in the same tone, ‘The person you have called no longer exists!’ Or something. This woman, this tester’s voice, was just like that.
We stared at her blankly. The only thing that really made sense to most of us was, ‘financial success’. Ah! Were they going to teach us how to become rich? Because that was something worth learning. So I decided to pay a little more attention. About 30 per cent more, say.
‘However …’ she said. Oof, I hate ‘howevers’ in that tone of voice. Basically what it’s saying is, ‘Forget everything I’ve just said.’ She continued, ‘If you feel you may have an educational problem, a learning disability or a psychological problem, then you should consult a professional psychiatrist before you take this test. It is quite possible to have superior intelligence and yet have difficulties that may require professional help. Scoring well on any IQ test is no guarantee of success in life.’
Oh! There go the ‘becoming-rich’ lessons. I switched down to 10 per cent attention again. More than enough for her next words, ‘Professional psychological help can sometimes make all the difference between partially or fully realizing your potential.’
When were grown-ups going to realize that most of us really don’t want to realize our full potential? Why can’t they just leave us alone to be average? They should try out the penumbra world I inhabit, it’s so comfortable. And comfort is what we’re all aiming at eventually, aren’t we?
Ah well, nobody was asking for our opinion. We were martyrs to the cause of Full Potential—these teachers were going to drag us by the collar until they could no longer write ‘Could do better’ in our report cards. They were so earnest in this quest to write ‘Has done his absolute BEST!’ Never going to happen of course, but somehow, they kept trying. Poor, dear, bleating grown-ups. When would they ever learn?
So now, we were handed these sheets. Multiple answer type of thing. There was some language, some maths, some logical kind of thing. Some spatial or something. Then there were some spellings and stuff. I don’t know. It was a bunch of sheets. Mostly we had to just blacken out the answer out of four options, that we thought was the right one. We had three full hours to do it in.
We all looked at each other. This was the weirdest test. I mean, it certainly didn’t test you on what you had mugged up from the textbooks or your notes, if you’d made any in class (which I mostly did not). This was like … actually, I don’t know, it was like nothing I’d ever done before. There was nothing to compare it with.
But it seemed quite fun, because it was easy. And if you didn’t really know an answer, well, you could just black out a circle—any circle, just for the heck of it.
So we started. It was easy, it was a breeze. Easy-peasy. This was another one of my parents’ favourite sayings—easy-peasy. I hated that expression, it was just silly. I mean, what did it even mean? Easy-peasy—it’s just silly. As was this test, so yeah, it was easy-peasy.
In fact, I was kind of enjoying myself. I wished all our tests were like this. I knew the answers to lots of the questions. I mean, I’m sure everyone did. They were really, really easy. Mostly, it was kind of logical and you didn’t need to rack your brains to figure things out. I looked around. Some of my friends were looking a little frazzled. But mostly everybody had their heads down and were scratching away with their pencils.
I went back to it. The maths ones were really easy. I didn’t take more than a few seconds on each of them. It was those types, you know—if so-and-so is so many years older than his brother, then how old is the sister, if she’s so many months younger—you know the kind.
The language ones were cool too. But then those I’d expected to not hassle me too much. It was the maths I’d dreaded, and that was so quick and easy! I wasn’t sure I’d got the answers right, of course. But they seemed right. I mean, it wasn’t difficult at all to figure out. They were just popping into my head. It was one of the most enjoyable tests I’d ever done in my life.
Then the weirdest thing happened. I finished. I’d never, ever finished a test fully before. And certainly NEVER finished it first. I put up my hand. The teacher came over. I mean, not one of our regular teachers, but someone from the folks who had brought the test for us. The testers—we being the testees (ha ha ha!).
‘Yes?’ she enquired.
‘Finished,’ I said.
‘What?’ she asked, kindly, like to a dumb animal.
‘Um—I’ve finished the test ma’am.’ I said, handing her the sheets.
‘All of it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, but then suddenly I wasn’t very sure. I did do it, didn’t I? All of it?
‘You’ve not left some sheets out?’
We were both holding the paper; I wanted it back to check if I hadn’t left something out. The others were looking up, wondering what was going on.
The woman literally snatched the answer sheets from my hand and flipped through each sheet, making sure I hadn’t skipped anything. She frowned, and flipped through them again. Then she looked at me with a very scary look in her eyes and fairly flew back to the teacher’s desk, where one of her colleagues was sitting.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. So I sat and waited. Maybe there was something more. Because this had been too easy for a three-hour test.
The teachers, testers or whatever they were hummed amongst themselves like a couple of bees. They were almost hovering about. And definitely buzzing. One would say something, then the other would violently shake her head and flip through my test sheets to show her something. Then they’d both nod and smile and shake their heads. And look at me in a very disconcerting way. Now they were making me nervous. What was it all about? I’d obviously done something really bad. Maybe I was the dumbest creature they’d ever laid their eyes on. Maybe they couldn’t believe that someone so weird existed. Who knew?
All I knew was that they were staring at me with these very scary looks. They were beaming, they were curious. Others noticed it too. So it wasn’t just me being paranoid. Which I know I can be sometimes. But even Jo, my mate who sits on my right, hissed at me and asked what I’d done. And then it became really strange, because the teachers, or whoever they were, didn’t even tell Jo to shut up. They just smiled and nodded at him too. I felt like leaving but when I started to put the stuff back into my pencil box, they seemed to get even more excited. As though they’d never seen a dumb kid put pencils into a dumb pencil box before. So I just froze. I sat there, trying to take my eyes off their looks and think of other things. But nothing would come to mind. It was so weird, really. I mean, think of it, when you’re trying to concentrate, random thoughts keep coming in like uninvited guests. They sit about, cluttering your brain with idle chitter-chatter, distracting you from the important, usually study-related task at hand.
Now, I desperately wanted something to fix my mind on. Oh, anything would come in handy. I tried to think of the fight I’d had with my sister this morning. She was soooooooo irritating. But from the corner of my eye, I could see the testers getting more and more excited as they looked through my test papers. UGH! What was bothering them so much? I mean, I know I’m not bright. I’m the first person to admit it. But surely, surely, I’m not THE dumbest person they’ve ever tested? Surely?
Okay, okay, calm down, think of something else.
Hmm … Birthday’s coming up. Yeah! That’s a good, distracting topic to dwell on. So, what are the gifts I want? Well, I know what I want. Only, I also know that I’m not going to get any of them. My dad keeps saying I’ve got to earn my rewards. And the only rewards he’s interested in are the ones for my exams. Nothing else matters to him. Not the fact that I got selected for the school band or that my project got displayed outside the principal’s office on Parent’s Day. No, that’s all ‘by the way’ to him. What he wants are test results.
Tests. Results. Drat! That brought my eyes and finally wandering mind to the one thing I didn’t want them to. The eager-beaver faces of the teachers, or whatever they are, upfront. I looked around. Weren’t the others ever going to finish? I mean, what’s so difficult? Just fill in the dots, guys. What’s wrong with you?
Jo looked at me. He was sweating. Literally. His blue patka was soaked and dark with the sweat of his brow. And he only sweated out of tension. Yeah, that’s right. He didn’t sweat even when he was running a marathon. Not that he’s ever run a marathon or anything. He was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Lazy, our teachers and his parents said. But he and I, we knew better. It’s just that he didn’t care enough about things to really, really push himself. That’s not lazy, that’s laid-back. But adults seemed to have lost the ability to see these subtle differences. Anyway, there were very few things that could get him to work up a sweat, and one of them was a test. Even this one, this ‘easy-peasy’ one. Maybe I’d introduce the expression to Jo after this was over. And we could share a laugh about the dumb things parents said. I wondered if his mum had her own sayings. My mother’s got loads of them. If they’re not her own, then I’ve no idea where they came from, because I’ve never heard anyone else using them. Like ‘easy-peasy’. Who says that?
So, anyway, I raised my shoulders at Jo. Hurry up! I signalled. But he wiped his forehead, slammed his hand down on the paper, making it all greasy—greasy-peasy? What was he so worked up about?
Then he scratched what he could of his head, which was fully dark blue now, his patka having got totally soaked. He frowned, seemingly counting something on his fingers, and then turned his pencil upside down to use the eraser. Then he made a tear in the paper, he was rubbing that hard.
‘What?!’ I felt like shouting at him. But I looked at the tester people again and they were beaming some more at me. I scowled back. I may be dumb, I may not have got a good grade on this stupid test, but watch out, I’ll snarl and bite if you keep up with those smirky smirks, you smirky smirkinders.
But my dirty looks only produced broader and broader smiles from them.