Here Lies Bridget

“Hey, Brett?”

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes still on his paper. I clicked my tongue at his lack of interest in what I had to say.

“I talked to Michelle.” I grinned as he looked up at me.

“She’s looking forward to Monday.”

I could tell that he wasn’t sure if I was telling the truth or not. Whatever, he was probably hopeful enough to choose to believe I was telling the truth. And there was nothing wrong with giving him some hope. Especially because my hope was that this encouragement would stop him from backing out.

The bell rang, and Miss Smithson cleared her throat.

“Good afternoon, students!” She waited for a response. Though she didn’t seem to notice, the only response she got was a raised eyebrow from me.

“As you know, you’ve got a test today. It’s only three pages long, and it’s all multiple-choice. I’m sure you’ll all do fine.”

Really, you are? I thought, unnecessarily.

She started passing out the papers.

“Be sure to write your names in the upper right-hand corner!”

This spurt of enthusiasm had me raising both of my eyebrows.

When the test finally got to me, I wrote my name and took a look at the first question.

What the hell was “gerrymandering”?

I looked over at Brett’s paper, which already bore the answers to three questions on the first page. I circled the a on the first question and hurried to write the other answers. He couldn’t go this fast, or I wouldn’t keep up.

“Slow down!” I commanded in a whisper out of the side of my mouth.

He looked at me, looked at the substitute and then ripped the corner off of the first page of his test. The teacher looked up, and we both tried to look busy. She finally put her nose back into her romance novel, and I glared at Brett.

I inhaled deeply as I saw that he was writing something to me in his slanted handwriting, which gave all of his letters long stems.

He slid the note onto my desk. After one glare at him for his entire lack of stealth and several discreet glances at the teacher, I opened the note and read it.

I can’t do this. You have to do the work.

My eyes and mouth widened and I turned toward Brett, who was staring determinedly down at his paper. What was happening to everyone? No one ever said no to me!

I spoke through my teeth. “You. Have. To.”

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“I can’t risk it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Miss Smithson stand up and walk toward us. I shushed Brett, who was no longer making any noise, and went back to my test. My heart was beating so hard, I was sure she would see the pounding in my chest. I circled the other answers that Brett had put down and answered the two following without reading the questions. I heard her soft, non-heeled steps come closer and finally stop in front of our desks.

“Could you two please step out into the hall?”

There were times when I was trying to get away with something but felt positive that the fact that I was practically swallowing my face would give me away.

This was one of those times.

How was this possible? Out of absolutely nowhere, everything I did today was failing. Nothing was going my way. And truthfully? That’s not how my life works.

I looked up to see Brett’s panicked glare and then Miss Smithson’s disappointed gaze. We walked out into the echoing hall and she followed us. Once in the hall, she headed for the staff lounge a few doors down.

Brett and I stood in silence for a few seconds.

“I, um …” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, whether it would come out as an apology or as an accusation. I didn’t have time to decide because, at that moment, Miss Smithson came out of the lounge. Chubby little Ms. Chase, whose mouth was full of food and who had clearly just been pulled from her lunch period, followed.

Ms. Chase waved jovially at Brett and me, and then walked into the NSL classroom to chaperone. To make sure no one else was cheating, I guess.

What was I going to do if my father found out about this? He was no tyrant, but he would definitely find cheating unacceptable. There would be angry words. Punishment. Disappointment. Though that might be my own, once Meredith was proven right about me. That I could not handle.

When I had done something wrong was the only time I was even a little not-horribly-resentful that my mother had died in a car accident when I was seven. That way I had only one parent I worried about, one stepparent I couldn’t care less about and one parent I tried never to think about.

I was so busy worrying about what my father was going to say when he found out that when Miss Smithson spoke, I was surprised.

“Cheating,” she said, looking far more intimidating than I had initially suspected, “is an unacceptable act of behavior. I must say I am disappointed.”

I thought nastily of asking her how in the world she could be disappointed in us when she didn’t know us to begin with.

She continued on.

“Now which one of you wants to explain to me what happened?”

If I had been a cartoon character, there would have been an exclamation point over my head.

She wanted one of us to explain.

She didn’t know which one of us had done the cheating. I wasn’t dead, not yet. My next words came tumbling from my mouth faster than I could think them through.

“I tried to tell him to stop, Miss Smithson. I know it’s wrong to talk during a test, but I didn’t know what else to do.” I looked her in the eyes, and tried to look as sincere as possible.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Smithson, really.”

I knew it was wrong to cheat. I knew it was wrong to lie. I knew it was wrong to push someone in front of a speeding train. But all I could think at that moment was that I had to get out of trouble.

And somehow, miraculously, it looked like I might.

“Brett, is this true?” Miss Smithson’s gaze shifted to him. I could feel his eyes on me.

“I was trying to tell her not to cheat!” The pure rage in his voice shook me.

Miss Smithson had seen it all before.