good guys always win

good guys always win

chapter 5

(7.29.02)

You're always remembered by at least one thing you did in high school. You can be remembered as the super athlete who took the varsity basketball team to the state finals, the pale-skinned nerd who donned the finest line of plaid button-down shirts, the girl who just walked around but had big tits, or in my case, you can be remembered as the "mastermind" of a big "cheating ring." To tell you the truth, I still don't think what happened could be considered "cheating."

It started mid-October, Period 2 French, smack middle on the left side of the classroom. If Malcom X had walked into the room that moment, he would have been proud of the racial "separation" exhibited in our seating pattern: a bunch of Asians sitting in a cluster, and some of them, not even friends. For me, Warren, Wally, Ligi, and Nigi to sit together was reasonable. But then a fellow named Jigi, but called Jack because his face was ugly like a Jack O'Lantern, also sat near us along with some unimportant Asian girls who naturally ended up on the same side of the classroom. One of the girls was the Sobbing Turtle. She was the queen of all geeky girls with all the ingredients for mockery - brutal in appearance, goofy in movement, and unstable in personality. A harsh assessment, but true nonetheless. Warren feasted off the shortcomings of the Sobbing Turtle, and he became quite an expert.

"Ils y vont," the Sobbing Turtle replied, as our class engaged in a fun French game that pitted one side of the class with the other side.

"Non. C'est 'Elles'," the teacher replied, "Tu perdes un point."

"Yeah - good going. You lost it for us!" Warren delivered, fully maximizing the critical moment. The rest of us laughed in unison and pointed our fingers towards the four-eyed Turtle. She became very quiet, but she was certainly agitated. The lower lip began to tremble, and the eyes began to accumulate moisture. We all knew it was coming, and Warren had triumphed again. The Turtle would sob and live up to her billing. Such was the game the Vain Mofo excelled at, and Warren would wisely sum it up in his philosophy: "Fat and ugly people have no feelings."

Warren wasn't the only one who had a great relationship with the Sobbing Turtle. Nigi, or his family rather, was friendly enough to allow her into the house!

"One day, I came home and she was already in my study room just hanging out! I swear, it was hardcore SI," Nigi would explain of the "Self-Invite." "She was checking out my computer and looked at the buddy list. I had her listed under 'Fags' and when she saw it she asked me, 'Why am I under Fags?' I was sweating like crazy so I was like 'uhhh... someone must've put it there while I was gone' and she said, 'oh, ok.'" Nigi's story was one of the many that made up the tragedy of the Sobbing Turtle. She was smart, hardworking, and nice, but she also embodied the Black Hole of uncool, and for all the mean people around her, such characteristics were impossible to tolerate.

Besides the occasional mockeries, which included singing Happy Birthday to Jigi [Jack] on Halloween and calling the kids on the other side "fags" because they thought they were so cool and used French to talk to the teacher, we were good, behaving Asian boys. The only "ruckus" we caused was silent, and during tests.

When four or more friends sit together, it's as if a magnetic force field forms and communication is somehow made possible. Though we did not "tricher" as much as you may think, we would occasionally tap the shoulder, poke the back, make eye contact, or (for Wally) lower shoulders. We made our test visible to each other by sliding it to the corners or by holding it up to examine. Our grades were still very mediocre, and French became more immune to our practices as the lessons grew more and more complex.

But on that mid-October day in the French classroom, a new idea was brewing in my head. It would be a semi-risky venture, but something worth a try.

"Yo Pete, what was today's US History homework?" Wally whispered to me as a French lesson on direct objects was being taught. Wally was always interested in knowing how much work he would have that night ahead of time.

"Chapter 5 Packet and we have to start on our Bailey notes," I replied. History was very easy, but the workload was annoying. We were required to finish tedious packets that consisted of fill-in the blanks and match the terms exercises. On top of that, we were expected to take careful notes from the American Pageant textbook, to be handed in for a grade. I made the most out of this slave-labor chore by "renting out" my notes to some interested parties. For a small fee of $40 for three nights, my notes, which I finished way ahead of time, were "reviewed" and "utilized" in a client's notetaking process. It was a lucrative practice, and ironically, I was benefitting both financially and academically. My busy note-taking efforts prepared me well for class and helped me to impress the history teacher each day.

I still found the packets annoying ,and we would soon begin to have "index card" assignments: a long list of important history terms would be given to us, and it was our responsibility to make history "flashcards" with complete definitions of each term. The list numbered well over three hundred, and we all dreaded the day they would be due. I contemplated deeply during French class and began to scribble some things down.

"Wally - check this out: Hoching Education Network. A secretive web-based bulletin board where we can post up our homework, especially this history shit. I'll put it up tonight. You can post up tonight's homework. I'm gonna give the link to you, Warren, Head, Fanman, Bo, and Huhzoo - but we gotta keep this piece on the down low."

"Alright man, good stuff. I'll put up some Bio stuff, too," Wally generously offered.

The Hoching Education Network (HEN) was launched later that evening, and our outlook on high school academics would forever change. It was no longer a quest to see how or why something was done, but a mission to see that it was done, period. HEN wasn't the end of homework; it merely rotated responsibilities and divided up bigger tasks. It was also a matter of trust: would you trust the posted answers or look into the questions and figure out on your own? HEN wasn't a shortcut, as any outsider may tell you; it was restructured education with an emphasis on teamwork. It was also a way to avoid doing all those goddamn, annoying index cards.

HEN ran smoothly and was an immediate success. We had daily postings and even corrections, if any were necessary. Packets were done in a matter of seconds, and we began to divide up the workload for the index cards. Along the way, something caught my attention.

"What the hell?" I thought to myself, as I checked the number of hits on the homework postings. The hits on the recent homework ranged from twenty to twenty-six, and less than ten people were supposed to know about the site. I was obviously not too happy about the leakage because it jeopardized the exclusivity that HEN was supposed to espouse as an academic circle; more importantly, I didn't want people to know.

"Ok, ok - I gave her the link," Head confessed. He had IMed the link to Melody, a Chinese girl in our grade whom he had a huge crush on. Fanman also acknowledged to having given links to various girls, most notably his crush, a mixed Chinese/white girl named Joli. Warren gave his disapproval to such blunders as he looked down upon the pitiful lot that made up the sophomore girls. I voiced my discontent as well.

"You dumbass," I said to Head, "I'm gonna decapitate that big fucking head and put it on a stake if you give the link away again." The board had to be taken down, all archived homework had to be deleted, and a new board had to be created for security purposes. This adjustment lowered the on-site hits, but I knew that these love-stung buddies of mine could not resist sharing the goods; hardcopy prints started going around and people were getting HEN answers from all directions, regardless of the secret link. HEN was now a known-entity among our classmates. It was a big "cheating ring" that was run by "that ringleader" - me.