good guys always win

good guys always win

chapter 2

(7.24.02)

Picture this: lunchtime; two periods before the US government test; a group of high school seniors crowd around a table, each with a pencil and piece of paper in hand. Everyone seems to be calling out for one thing or another. It looks like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

"Why the hell are all these people here?" Warren asks. He obviously doesn't take US government and is annoyed at the desperate kids crowding around his eating space. "Tell them to go away."

In order to understand this phenomenon, we have to rewind to about seven minutes earlier: After an effortless gym class, in which I tried my best not to break a sweat, I speed up my pace to the cafeteria. There are about six or seven kids already waiting in line. That's a number small enough for me to blatantly cut and not feel bad about, so I go ahead and pretend to say hi to some kid I vaguely know from another class. "Sup man, how's it going?" I say. I slide by the dirty looks and grab myself a tray. I quickly receive my food, pay, and walk out the door. Waiting by the vending machine, getting himself a small snack before his Euro class, and of course, standing at five-feet one-inch tall is the trusty old Wally.

"Yo, you got it?" I ask, walking towards my round lunch table.

"Yeah, man. It was pretty easy. I didn't have enough time to copy the extra credit, but I think he said he's giving different questions for you guys on that one," Wally said, handing me a small, folded piece of paper.

"Great. Thanks a lot Wally. You the man." I said in a cheery tone with a pat on his back. I put the piece of paper in my pocket and sat down at my table. Wally talked to a few kids and then headed for his Euro class, which took place the same time I had lunch. His lunchtime was during period 8, when I would be taking my test.

The thing I respect the most in Wally is his active nature. He's always on the move and getting things done. For instance, he didn't even have to come to lunch and hand the answers to me personally. I would've just asked someone to pass it along. But no, Wally enjoys going the extra mile to make it convenient for a friend. And he takes pride in making sure that his answers are top-of-the-line, guaranteed "A" or above. He probably studied a good four hours the night before.

"Yo Pete, you got it?" Head asks eagerly as I began to munch on my food. "Let me get it?"

Head was also in Wally's Euro class and he was definitely late for it now, but he knew that I was the one with the original Wally-answers to the US Govt test that he would also take later in the day. If he didn't copy it now, he wouldn't be prepared for it when the time came.

"Get what?" I ask, expressing a pseudo-confused face. "Say that again?"

"Ugh. Let me get a 'piece'?" Head reiterates, but in the only manner that is acceptable to me. For some reason, because I always made fun of his disproportionate head, I found it amusing when I got him to ask for a "piece" of something, whether it be gum, steak, or even test answers. I guess it's because I crack myself up whenever I ask him if I could have a "piece" of his big head.

"Aren't you late for Euro?" I ask, noticing that Wally has left already.

"Yeah, but P is cool with it. I'll just say I came to grab a drink or something," Head says about the popular European History teacher Mr. P. Head made his copy and began to rush out of the cafeteria. "Yo Head, I heard you got a 100," I remind him. That small phrase was our jinx line. I remember when I first said it to Head during an algebra II class our sophomore year right before we got our tests back. The phrase caught him off-guard, temporarily raised his expectations, and upon regaining his focus, made him insecure at the thought of not getting the hundred. Even his hard-earned 97 wasn't as enjoyable because for a moment, he believed he had really gotten a hundred. The phrase had become a routine between us, and we said it to each other before almost every test. Of course, I took it one step further a few times with remarks like, "I heard you got into Yale." Head did not appreciate the remark when it was first said, and he was angered even more when he received his rejection letter in December of our senior year. Head disappears into the hallway.

I open my can of Snapple, take a few sips, and continue to eat my lunch. I then feel a larger-presence than those of the six-member lunch table sitting around me. It is a bunch of kids from neighboring tables, taking a break from their food, to ensure better scores for themselves.

"Yo Pete, gonna hook us up?" I hear a voice say. I don't even care who it is. The only way to keep the system going and yet not have to deal with the fear of being told on or being discredited was to share the wealth. Here's an example to explain my reasoning: Bill Gates and his Microsoft Corporation allegedly take part in monopolistic business practices which have many people accusing him and his company of greed and zealous ambition. Bill Gates founded the Gates Millenium Scholars, which awards large scholarships to low-income minority students. Now, are those students going to point fingers at Bill Gates or Microsoft and make accusations about unfair play? I'm no Bill Gates and my friends are no Microsoft, but we did our part to keep down the "playa-hatin."

"Here. Copy it quick, give my copy back, and let the others copy yours," I say. I was usually cautious about handling my source and even made backup copies for myself. The number of kids surrounding my table slowly multiply, and before long, there is a full-blown political forum going on with kids discussing whether or not number 25 is C as it said on my source, or D, as one kid who had also taken the test earlier claims is the correct answer. I take note of that and it would have to be a test-time decision.

"I hate that kid," Warren says, "He's so fucking annoying." He is mentioning the Indian kid who tries too hard to be cool while soliciting me for answers. Warren isn't being mean or snobbish; he is right. Lots of kids got on his nerves and mine likewise. We always termed them "cool" and that was a direct translation for "loser" the way we said it. Ultimate Frisbee? "Cool." Riceboys? "Cool." Ugly girls who thought they were hot? "Cool." Warren dips his fries into his mound of ketchup. He always got more ketchup than necessary, and he would often use it like an au-jus by dipping his cheesesteak sandwich in it. The lunch time monitors, who were teachers without a class to teach that period, begin to make their rounds around the cafeteria and the crowd around my table began to scatter.

Now, why did I tell you this short segment from my senior year of high school? This was no one-time occurrence. It happened for almost every US government test we had that year. When Wally had to go away on a choir trip, we had to rush and find other means to supply ourselves with answers, but then again, Wally would take the test a day earlier and furnish the answers before he left. Truly reliable he is. He won't be able to get the cup down for you from the top of the cupboard or squash the bug on the ceiling, but he'll find a way to squeeze sixty letters on a piece of napkin in a very short amount of time - all after studying hard the night before and making sure his answers are correct. Of course, he wasn't the only one studying -- he was the only one studying US Govt for us. Warren - Calculus; Head - English; Ligi - Physics; and me - European history. Fanman was also very helpful in various ways, so he should be noted as our utility man. We were each specialized, and we all differed in our methods. Some us went to a greater extent to obtain and trade answers, while some of us did it easily and discreetly. We all took part in helping each others' subjects, but when it came down to who was going to study the hardest on a given night, it was mandatory for at least one, optional for the others.

It wasn't always so systematic during our four years in high school. At times, it had been more systematic, and at others, we were all nomads, doing petty things on our own to make the grade. I am an amateur storyteller, and so, my story is not going to be one of symbolic significance, or of moral justification; it's going to be straight-up, an interpretation of how and why our academic careers in high school culminated with our confidence in the "system" and how we ultimately left high school unscathed, with bright futures ahead. This is a story about a bunch of cheaters, or better put, a story about some good guys.