Vince Evans

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED

THE TEST

Not many kids can pee in school and become more menacing. I’m not talking about a nervous kid who gets asked a tough question by the teacher and wets himself. This wasn’t just some toddler in kindergarten, either . . .

It was fifth grade, and Tony was one of the largest kids in the class. He had been arguing with the teacher off and on for a few hours, like some knuckleheads do when they’re bored and just want to leave class. After the last outburst, Tony asked if he could go to the bathroom. The request was denied. Tony pushed back in his chair. Remaining seated, he unzipped and began urinating, directing the stream at anyone who looked his way. All kids like to see the teacher’s authority challenged. But this was different. This was a glimpse of a world without rules. This was anarchy.

The teacher remained unaware until there was a good-size pool of urine on the floor, and then he angrily ordered Tony to the principal’s office. Tony left, reminding the teacher with a smile, “I said I had to go to the bathroom.” There were no funny nicknames afterward, no “Tony Tinkles” or “Puddles,” just total terror.

I’m sorry if that grossed you out, but it’s important to tell the truth here. That’s what I was up against: Tony the Terror.

Tony and I had had a few run-ins in the past, including the time he was recruited to beat me up by the only two kids in our grade who were smaller than me. My older brother bailed me out of that jam by acting as my bodyguard, but he’d since graduated to another school. This time I was on my own. The situation was simple enough the way Tony explained it to me that morning. Tony and I had the same afternoon math class, and I had a reputation for being an egghead.

“I’m going to copy off your test today,” Tony said. “Just make sure you hold it up so I can see it.”

That was it, short and to the point. Then Tony walked away. I don’t remember if there was a verbal threat, but I do know it was implied. I was doomed. I mean, if I didn’t know it before, I sure knew it after witnessing the Urination Incident: Tony didn’t bluff. His threats were promises. And like all good threats, this one was delivered early, with the moment of reckoning not for hours, giving me plenty of time to agonize. I was terrified of the beating, but there was an even worse concern: If I allowed this, if he copied from me today, where would it stop? Would Tony copy all my tests from now on? Would I have to start doing his homework, too? On top of that misery, I’d be a marked man, a target for any of the other academically challenged bullies. I had to think of a way out.

Like most kids in a bad situation, I did nothing all day. No plans, no recruiting of friends or talking to teachers. I just fantasized about events that would save me: a fire, the teacher suddenly getting sick, a dinosaur crushing the school.

All that daydreaming took me right up to math class, where X+Y was about to equal a fist in my face. I slumped into my seat. Tony had positioned himself in the desk directly behind me (not a good location if he started urinating again). The tests were passed around and I slowly started answering the questions, still sort of lost in a daydream-like nightmare . . . was the dinosaur ever going to crush the school? Maybe Tony forgot? A quick kick to the back of my chair informed me that he hadn’t. There was a second kick and a whisper that I couldn’t really hear, but I’m sure it wasn’t “Good luck.” I curled my test upward and leaned to the side to give Tony a clear view. This was bad. I was doing exactly what I didn’t want to do.

Then an idea crept into my brain. Maybe I could stall, pretend like the questions were too tough. Tony would give up on me for fear of not finishing his own test. I launched into what I’m sure was some terrible acting: I scratched my head, counted on my fingers, put in answers only to slap the table and erase them. Tony reviewed my performance with three swift kicks to my chair. Those kicks finally knocked my brain into high gear. It was simple, really. And I was desperate enough to try anything. I would take a dive, throw the test, and flunk it. I had good grades; my average could handle one bad test. If I proved I was a math moron, then I’d be free!

Now I answered the questions quickly and held the paper up high. Take a look at this, sucker, I thought. Fear of Tony kept me cautious, though. Some of these questions were easy. He’d know the answers were wrong. So I mixed some right ones in with the wrong.

It wasn’t a long test, and the teacher rapidly graded them and returned them as the bell rang. I don’t remember my grade. I know it wasn’t a complete F—I did answer some questions right. But it wasn’t passing. I did one last bit of encore acting: I gasped and clutched my chest upon seeing my score. I never looked back. I didn’t try to slip away, either. I just trudged slowly toward the door, mixed in with the mass of kids.

Suddenly Tony was in front of me, blocking my way. Glaring, he held the crumpled test in his clenched fist inches from my nose. I stood there motionless. He leaned forward and, with utter disgust, grumbled, “I thought you were smart.”

That was it. He turned and walked away. It was as if I’d betrayed some great friendship. I’d let him down. For him there was an order to things: He threatens me and I give him what he wants. I’d twisted that. In some small way I may have shown him a terrifying world without rules. Now he was the one on the other side of anarchy.

I managed to steer clear of Tony after that, but it didn’t take much effort. He never sought me out. Sometimes he was even friendly to me. I assumed it was because I’d proven I was no egghead. I was just another kid failing school.