CHAPTER FIVE

The next morning, I met up with Vince before the first bell. He looked as tired as I felt.

“Up late studying?” I asked.

He nodded. “I can’t believe Opal’s giving this exam right after three days of state testing. That’s just mean, you know?”

I was about to tell him what I’d seen from the supply closet, but as we rounded a corner, we walked right into Kevin Scofield. Kevin thinks he’s this dangerous guy, but he’s all talk.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said. “Sushi and Fairy.”

Sushi was for me. Very original, right? And Fairy was for Vince. Even less original.

Vince made a big show of looking over his shoulder, trying to see his back. “Seriously? Did I grow wings or something?”

Wilson High School has something like six students who are out. That’s six out of eight hundred. Vince was the first, back in middle school. But he and I have been best friends way longer than that—since third grade, when we were desk buddies in art class. We made a giant clay sculpture of a T. rex. It probably would’ve gotten a killer grade if the assignment hadn’t been to make a model of a ship.

“They’re probably under your shirt, sweetie,” Kevin said. “How about we take a look?”

“Excuse me, boys.” It was Sully, the janitor, pushing his dust mop toward us. Vince and I stepped aside. Kevin stood his ground, of course. Sully had to go around him.

“Make sure to get that fairy dust over there, Mr. Janitor.” Kevin pointed toward Vince’s feet.

“Dude,” I said, “the man has a name. And you really need to work on your routine. You can steal your material from TV for a while, but eventually you gotta step it up.”

Sully cracked a grin. Kevin muttered something and stomped off. I gave him props for that excellent comeback. Vince ducked into the restroom as I went on to class, hoping I’d be half as clever on the test as I’d just been with Kevin the bigot.

No such luck. The trig test turned out to be even harder than I expected. You could hear the pencils flying as all thirty of us scratched away at the problems Opal had inflicted on us. I figured I’d be lucky if I finished it before the bell rang.

“Vincent,” Ms. Opal said out of nowhere. Her voice sounded harder than I’d ever heard it. “Stand up and show me your hand.”

As Vince obeyed, a chorus of oohs started up. From my seat, I could see the ink covering his palm. It looked like he’d copied down a few formulas when he made that stop in the restroom before class. Uh-oh.

Vince knew he was totally busted. He didn’t even try to deny anything, just handed the test paper to Ms. Opal with his head hanging low.

“I will not tolerate cheating,” Ms. Opal said firmly.

Oh, really?

“You can head to the principal’s office,” she added. “I’ll see you there after class.”

Vince grabbed his stuff and slouched out of the room, his face carefully set in an expression of indifference.

Dang. If only I’d found that answer key, Vince wouldn’t have resorted to such a stupid trick. Opal had some nerve, busting my friend for something she’d done herself the day before in the same classroom. Cheating is cheating, right? Vince wanted to up his grade. Opal wanted to up our scores to make herself look better. I didn’t see much difference.

After that, the test just didn’t hold my attention. Vince would probably get in some serious trouble over this. Couldn’t Opal have just pulled him aside after class? Maybe make him retake the test instead of sending him to see Juarez? It’s not like Vince was a troublemaker or a repeat offender. He just made a bad choice—one bad choice. Now it would probably end up on his permanent record.

I didn’t see Vince again until lunch. Turned out he got two weeks of detention. Plus a zero on the test, of course.

At first, he just laughed it off. “My own stupid fault,” he said between tater tots. “I should’ve known I’d get caught. The really annoying thing is I just know I’m gonna get grounded.”

“Dude,” I said. “You’ll miss Marco’s party.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Marco Salinas throws a truly awesome bash every Halloween. He turns his whole place into a haunted house. Plus there’s a ridiculous amount of “treats” of various kinds. Tomorrow was the big night. Nat and I had been looking forward to it for weeks. Vince too.

I told Vince about my discovery the day before. He quit laughing things off then and got really quiet.

“That’s . . . interesting,” he finally said. “I’ll be sure to ponder that while I’m cooling my heels in detention. And while my parents yell at me. And ground me and whatever else they can think of.”

“Sucks, man,” I said. “Busting you the way she did.”

He nodded. We didn’t talk much after that, just ate our food and went on to class.

•••

After school, I drove to Simmons Park to take some pictures. The park is mostly baseball diamonds and soccer fields, but there’s this one section that actually feels like real woods, thick with oaks and maples. At the end of October, the fall colors start to dull a bit. I wasn’t there to photograph leaves, though. I was there for the creek.

I followed the trail that led to the water’s edge and listened to the sounds for a minute. The water moved slowly, like it didn’t really have anywhere to go but wanted to wander a bit anyway. I could hear it burbling here and there over rocks and fallen branches.

I’ve been photographing this spot for four months, since the summer solstice. That’s the longest day of the year, when the light is brightest and strongest. Every week or so I come by and take the same shot of the water—same position, same perspective, same time of day. The shadows and reflections are just a little bit different each time, changing as the seasons advance. It probably sounds weird, I know. But it amazes me, the way these tiny changes make every photo different from the one before it.

I set myself up to record this week’s shots, but something wasn’t right. I couldn’t relax into the rhythm of it like I usually do. I kept thinking about Ms. Opal and Vince and those stupid tests. My shots came out all kinds of weird—too much glare, out of focus, just wrong. Finally, I packed it in and trudged back to my car.

By the time I got home, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I fired up my laptop and went to the school newspaper’s website. It’s set up like a blog with password protection—only the editors can post. I happen to be the photo editor, a position I’d never fully appreciated until that moment.

I typed for a half hour without stopping. Then I uploaded three choice photographs. And then I clicked the Publish button and refreshed the page.

WWHS Teacher Caught Cheating

by Kai Tamura

Earlier this week, I took the photos you see here of Ms. Michelle Opal, WWHS math teacher and cheerleading coach. I personally witnessed Ms. Opal changing answers on numerous copies of the Academic Readiness Assessment (ARA). As this newspaper has previously reported, the school district evaluates teachers based on student scores on this test. Pay raises are tied to the percentage of students who achieve a passing grade.

For obvious reasons, I did not confront Ms. Opal with my discovery at the time I took these photographs. If she would like to comment on her actions, I’ll update this post accordingly. For now, we can only wonder why a teacher who says she won’t tolerate cheating would engage in this dishonest practice herself.

I posted a link to the story on Instagram, then tweeted it (#cheater, #TeacherBusted, #OhNoSheDidnt). There’d be no shortage of hits on my article in the next few hours. That was for sure.