Wednesday morning in Spanish class, I sat in a new seat. Thinking back on it all I can ask is, “Why?” I sat by students that I hadn’t before. The unusual awkwardness of being in a new place. But as we sat, the professor told us a joke then we prepared for the vocabulary quiz. We got a small chance to review before it started, then we were to clear off our desks and begin. It was just like last time, only this time I was not as prepared. I knew that there would most likely be a quiz coming up so I had worked on it. But apparently some hadn’t. As we went through it my classmate to my left glanced at me with lost eyes then shook their head. I quickly finished up, missing some and messing up on others, none the less it was time to switch papers with another student to grade.
My classmate frowned and whispered, “I didn’t know it was timed.” She revealed her page to me, showing the second column undone. I gave her a sympathetic look then she replied, “I’m going to copy down the answers.” Why? I did not understand why she was involving me in her cheating. I told her no, but she did not listen. My heart raced and I began to grade my own sheet. I knew that there was only a limited amount of time before the professor would require our grade.
As the professor walked past me he asked, “Silvia, who’s paper is that?” I froze, my heart pounding so hard. Why? “Mine,” I muttered unhappily. He scolded me. But my classmate would not give me their paper until they finished copying down the answers. We instantly traded. But in my mind I knew that my partner cheated, how could I grade a cheated paper? What answers were real anymore and what were not? I attempted to make sense of their paper, marking the wrong ones as fast as I could. But they watched over my shoulder, “No, no I got that right,” they whispered. My nerves began to take over. I fidgeted in my seat, what on earth was I going to do?
I asked a question that I already knew the answer to, “Do you subtract?” He scolded me. I freaked out. I wanted so desperately to walk out, I needed water and air. When he asked for my grade it was not immediate, getting me in trouble once more. But what was worse was when it was time for my classmate’s score, they ended up finishing the grading because I couldn’t calculate it. He was disappointed because it was not done quickly and then they changed it.
My cheating peer got a better score that me.
Un. Fair.
When it came time to show our homework we were to tell him if we missed any. My unfair companion only finished 4 or 9. My peer whispered to me, “I wonder if I could sneak by without anyone noticing.” I shook my head. “No, you tell him. Now.” Just as he was finishing up, they raised her hand weakly, he did not notice. I lifted up my long arm, obvious in a crowd. He walked over to us and I pointed to my classmate. There was no way that I would let them get by again.
By the time class was over I had already been partnered with them again, this time in the speaking exercises. It seems that my classmate is quite lost. They missed the last vocabulary quiz, which is why they did not know what to do. And this grade is very important to them. But that does not change the fact that they cheated. And it is my duty to report them. But as I walked out of class, I was a nervous wreck. So I vowed to call my professor.
Calling him was easier that I thought, but also harder. As I tried to explain clearly and concisely, my nerves came back and I could barely breath. I got so nervous that my heart still raced after I hung up the phone. I told him what they had done in a small amount of words. I laughed afterward at the fact that I had almost forgotten to tell him my classmate’s name.
Why, God?
