The Torn Answer Sheet

Before I could say a single word in my own defense, Walter Stiazky grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the exam room.

His fingernails dug into my skin hard enough to leave long red scratches. The pain made me gasp, but even that mattered less than the time being stolen from me.

"Mr. Stiazky, you already took me to the boys' restroom and searched me from head to toe," I said, my voice rough from trying not to break down. "You even checked my undershirt and socks. You didn't find a phone, notes, earbuds, or anything else. Why are you still doing this?"

The words had barely left my mouth when he slapped me across the face.

"Why am I doing this?" he snapped. "You cheat, and now you're acting like the victim?"

He glared at me as if I were something dirty on the floor.

"Kids like you always have tricks. Big eyes, sad voice, poor little scholarship boy. I'm not falling for it."

Then he yanked me toward the staff corridor outside the exam rooms.

At the central checkpoint, one of the hallway supervisors looked up. His brow tightened when he saw us.

Stiazky did not slow down. He only tossed out a vague explanation.

"Possible testing violation. I'm taking the candidate to a holding room for verification."

The supervisor had not seen what had happened inside the room, so he hesitated, then nodded.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Stiazky noticed at once. His hand clamped harder around my arm, and he dragged me away before I could call for help.

At the end of the corridor was a small temporary review room. It was usually used for lost ID issues, medical breaks, or minor emergencies. Now it was empty.

Stiazky shoved me inside and planted himself in front of the door, blocking the only way out.

My cheek was burning. My arm hurt. I forced myself to stand straight.

"Tell me exactly what rule I broke," I said. "From the beginning, you've been accusing me based on guesses. I didn't cheat."

Stiazky laughed under his breath.

"Didn't cheat? Then why did you skip the multiple-choice questions and start with the proof section ten minutes into the test? There are forty students in that room. Every normal student works from the front. Only you had to be special?"

"That's how I solve papers," I said. My voice trembled despite my best effort to control it. "I do the long problems while my mind is fresh. There is no rule saying I can't."

"That habit reeks of a setup."

His jaw clenched.

"I've proctored exams for twenty years. I've seen every kind of cheater there is. They all have excuses. You think I'm going to believe yours?"

He took out his phone and raised it as if he were about to call the board.

"You stay here. I'm reporting this and recommending that your exam be voided."

Cold sweat gathered on my forehead.

My family had no money. All my life, grades were the only thing I had that could change anything. I had already won early admission to Northbridge University, but my old principal had personally asked me to sit for the State Scholars Exam. If I placed in the top three statewide, the school would award me a $10,000 scholarship. If I took first place, the prize would double.

That money would cover my first year without crushing loans. It would also help pay for my grandmother's medication.

The math exam had been running for almost twenty minutes, and Stiazky had spent all of it trapping me, humiliating me, and wasting my time.

Just as panic started to close around my throat, I saw a group of exam officials walking past the window.

If I was going to be accused no matter what, then staying quiet would only help him.

I rushed to the window and shouted as loudly as I could.

"Excuse me! I'm a candidate in today's exam. A proctor is holding me here and won't let me test. Please help me!"