Cheaters Never Win

My name is Jordan Schmidt. I'm an ordinary, middle-of-the-pack Grade 11 student at South Creek High.

In a class of 40 students, I’ve always been stuck at around 30th place in academic results, placing me in the group of students who are practically non-existent to the teacher.

Last month, our homeroom teacher, Ms. Yvette Sable, called for a one-on-one mentoring program in which straight-A students are paired with the underachievers in the class to help them.

I was paired with Denise Chadburn.

I had initially treasured this opportunity.

However, on the first day when we sat together, I approached her with a 3D geometry question.

She was wearing noise-canceling earphones while reading a contest preparation book in another language.

Without batting an eyelid, she told me, “The answer is on the third page of the answer key. If you still don’t understand after reading it, that means that given your intellect, you’re not suited to do this question. Don’t waste your time.”

She spoke almost expressionlessly, yet I felt utterly humiliated.

I asked her for help a few more times after that, but each time, she never failed to insult me.

Since Denise refused to tutor me, I asked Ms. Sable for help instead. However, she scolded me for being silly and not knowing how to ask the top student of our level for help.

I told Ms. Sable that Denise refused to tutor me. Instead, Ms. Sable accused me of asking for help with a sour attitude.

Whatever it was, it was my fault.

I decided to retreat and work on my weakest subject, Mathematics, by myself behind closed doors.

However, Denise kept disturbing me. She would either demand that I help her run errands or do her duties.

Each time I said no to her, she would threaten me with Ms. Sable.

Yvette Sable doted on her the most.

Whether I was in the right or not, anything involving her top student was bound to become my fault.

So, I tolerated things and ended up becoming Denise's free nanny.

It didn’t stop Denise from becoming worse.

The routine monthly test was going to be held in the next lesson, and the class rep was distributing the math exam papers for the next lesson.

I seized the time to grab some water from the pantry.

Yet, when I returned to my seat, I saw Denise using my test paper as draft paper.

I looked on in disbelief and instinctively tried to snatch it back.

Before I even touched the paper, she tutted irritably and slashed right down my test paper with a black pen, seemingly in a fit of anger. She slashed it so forcefully that it caused a long tear on my test paper.

Anger burned in my heart.

“Denise Chadburn! This is my test paper! What right do you have to use it as a draft paper?”

She took off one side of her earphone and looked coldly at me. “I ran out of draft paper, so I had to make do with borrowing your test paper.”

“How am I going to take the test now that you’ve torn my test paper?!” My face was dark with anger, and I clenched my fists.

She leaned back into her chair nonchalantly and said lazily, “So be it. Is doing the test really going to make a difference, given your abysmal results?”