Trapped (11 page)

“Better yourself?” I repeat this, trying not to consider the irony.

“Yeah. The answers and the instructions of how to load and use the trig stuff are in the attachments. And don't worry, I have the latest virus protection on my computer so my docs are always safe to open.”

Again the irony hits me.
Safe
to open …
better
yourself … it's almost laughable. Except that I feel like crying.

“Okay, that's it.” Dirk sticks out his hand to shake hands with me. I feel like a fool … like I'm sealing this shady deal … like I just sold my soul to the devil. “And don't worry. None of my clients ever get caught. Not from my end anyway. If you blow it, then it's your fault. But the smart kids figure it out.”

“Right …” I feel sick, almost like I'm going to vomit.

He smiles. “And don't feel guilty. You'd be shocked to know how many kids are doing this. It's like an epidemic.”

I just nod and reach for the door handle. “Thanks,” I mumble.

“Good luck, kid!”

I take in a deep breath as I unlock my car. Then as his SUV rumbles away, I get inside and just sit there. What have I done?
What have I done?

As I drive home, I'm in a daze, trying to wrap my head around all that just transpired. By the time I go into the house, where I'm relieved to see no one's home, I convince myself that I just kissed $250 good-bye. I know Dirk has pulled a fast one on me. Maybe Kelsey is in on it too. And I'm never going to receive the test answers. It's all just a scam. And why not? Who am I going to tell? I can just imagine going to my parents, the police, or the school and telling them that Dirk the Dirtbag tricked me into paying him for exam answers and then took off with my money. Yeah, right.

The first thing I do is go to the bathroom and wash my hands, over and over, with soap and water. I want to take a shower too. To wash away the nasty filth it feels like I just rolled in. Will I ever be clean again? As I'm drying my hands, I remember that God is the only one who can make me truly clean. It's Jesus who washes away my sin.

But as quickly as this thought hits me, I swipe it away. In order to be cleansed like that, I'd have to confess my sin and ask for forgiveness … and I'm just not ready to have that conversation yet. In fact, I haven't spoken to God since last Friday … since I cheated in AP Biology.

I go to my room and turn on my computer, going immediately to e-mail, where there are no messages with the subject “Better Yourself” anywhere. And I am relieved. Maybe this really is a scam. And I deserve to be scammed. Really, it would be a relief … and an end to this nasty business. Sure, I'm going down and my lackluster GPA might even ruin my chances at Stanford, but at least I'd be done with this. And who knows, maybe I could still get into another school. I've heard that UCLA has good med programs. And there's always my parents' alma mater, USC.

Despite my twisted hope that I've been scammed, I keep checking my e-mail. I know I should be studying, but I'm too distracted and distraught. So I play Spider Solitaire and check my e-mail.

“Hey, GraceAnn,” my dad calls into my room, making me jump. “Come help me make dinner.”

I close my laptop and go out to lend a hand, trying to act natural as he makes small talk and I make a salad. Then my mom comes home, and we sit down at the table together. If anyone was looking on, they would assume we were a sweet little family. No one would even guess there was a lying cheater among us.

“Aren't you hungry?” Dad asks as he notices I've barely touched my food.

I shrug. “I guess not.”

“I thought you liked my pesto pasta.”

“I usually do.” I give him a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“You're not coming down with something?” Mom peers at me with a creased brow.

“I think I'm just preoccupied with studying. Remember, it's finals week.”

“That's right.” Dad reaches for my plate. “Maybe you should get back to it. I'll do cleanup tonight.”

I thank him and excuse myself, but as I go to my room, I feel even guiltier than before. I wish Mom and Dad weren't being so supportive and understanding. Especially considering how I've compromised myself. If my parents had any idea what I've been up to or why I'm so eager to get back to my room, I can't even imagine how they'd react.

But don't they understand that at the same time they're being so nicey-nice, they are also putting a lot of demands on me? Expecting me to bring home stellar grades, a perfect GPA, get into the best college — even Harvard for Pete's sake — and then play softball in the springtime.

Oh, I'm not trying to blame my parents for my bad choices … but maybe if they were more like Mary Beth's mom — more laid back and without so many high expectations — maybe I wouldn't be in this position right now. Don't parents know what kind of pressure we get at school? Don't they care?

I check my e-mail again and am surprised to see something new. And the subject heading, just like Dirk promised, says “Better Yourself.” My heart begins to pound as I open the e-mail. All it says is: “Here you go.”

I move the cursor to the first attachment, which is just numbers and letters. My hand freezes and I'm concerned about opening it. What if this really is a bad trick? What if I open this doc and my whole computer gets infected with a killer virus and goes into a meltdown? Or what if Dirk is actually an undercover cop and I'm about to get arrested for cheating? Do people get arrested for cheating? I don't think so. Still, I feel sick with apprehension. What on earth am I doing?

Those words start running through my mind again:
everyone does it, everyone does it, everyone does it.

Then without giving it another thought, I open the first attachment. It turns out to be instructions on how to load the second attachment onto my calculator. I read it carefully, several times, and before long, I'm actually downloading the program. Like Dirk said, it's easy. And when I experiment with it, I find that it actually works. Just like the explanation says it will.

I open the third doc and am surprised that it not only contains the answers to the exam but the exam itself. I read over the questions and am convinced this is the right test because it covers pretty much everything we've studied over the past several months. I consider simply trying to memorize the answers, but then decide to go with the bracelet technique again. Just to be safe.

Do I feel good about any of this? Of course not. I feel like a criminal and a hypocrite, and my only consolation is that I will never, ever do this again. As I'm printing test answers, I blame Clayton for this. If I hadn't fallen so hard for him, if I hadn't been so heartbroken when he dumped me, I never would've ended up in this position. And I promise myself that I will never put myself in a position like that with a guy again. From now on, school will come first.

And even though Bryant's a nice guy and I really do like him, I will not let him get to me like I let Clayton.
I have learned my lesson the hard way, and right now I'm paying the price. All I want is to get through this week — and to put it behind me.

With my cheating documents safely stored and printed, I dump and dispose of the e-mail trail and start studying for the AP History exam I have tomorrow afternoon. Fortunately, this is a class I'm already strong in. I have a solid A so far in there, and unless I fall apart tomorrow, I should have this one in the bag. Even so, I study until eleven just to be sure.

As I get ready for bed, I wish that grades weren't this important. I pick up a trophy I won for a spelling bee in fifth grade and wish that I could be ten years old and innocent again. Back then it was easy and natural to excel at school. I didn't even have to try very hard. Back then I never would've resorted to something as disgraceful as cheating. Life was so much simpler before … before now.

Have I sealed my fate — will it ever be like that again?

. . . [CHAPTER 10]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“
I
don't see why you're so worried about finals this time,” Mary Beth says to me as we're going into the school. “Just remember all the times you've sailed through them. Focus on the positive more … maybe it'll help.”

“Thanks.” I force a smile. She has no idea why I'm so bummed, and I have no intention of disclosing it to her. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Good luck,” she calls as I head toward the math department.

I used my super antiperspirant this morning — the brand I usually reserve for things like softball games or scary social events. Even so, as I walk into the classroom, I can feel myself sweating. And my palms are damp. My stomach hurts and my heart is already racing like I just ran the mile. The way my body is reacting to all this makes me understand how people fail lie-detector tests.

I take the same seat as yesterday — after I saw the F on my weekly test. Hopefully Mr. VanDorssen won't notice or care that I'm not sitting up near the front like I used to. I wonder if I'll even want to sit in front in this class again. Will I ever get past this day and go back to normal? Is there such a thing as normal?

The last bell rings and, wasting no time, I begin the exam. Following instructions as usual, I am equipped with only my calculator and a number-two pencil. I'm still doubtful that this program is really going to work. What if Dirk got the answers for the wrong test? Would I even care? But as I begin the first problem, I can tell I have the right program. It matches. And I slowly work my way through all of them, taking what seems an adequate amount of time for each one and filling in the appropriate answers at regular intervals. I begin to relax just a little. And I remember that everyone else is doing the same thing. Well, except for a few unsuspecting students who, like me, will have to figure this out the hard way. Life is unfair. And that's just how it is.

As I hand in my paper, I feel Mr. VanDorssen's eyes on me, lingering a little longer than usual. “How did it go, Miss Lowery?”

“Okay, I think.” I flash him a nervous smile. “It felt like I was on top of my game.”

He nods. “Good to know.”

Then I leave and, feeling slightly numb and empty, slowly walk to the cafeteria. We get a full hour for lunch break during finals week, and usually it's a time for kids to let their hair down and enjoy the extra time. But I just wish the hands on the clock would turn faster.

“Still obsessing over yesterday's bad grade?” Bryant asks as he joins Mary Beth and me.

“No,” I tell him. “I'm beyond that.”

“So how did your final go?”

“Okay.” I try to brighten my countenance. I know my friends can't enjoy hanging with such a downer. “How was your test?” I ask him.

Bryant tells about how it was an essay test, which he usually hates. “But today I was really pushing myself to try harder.” He grins at me. “I guess you're a good influence on me.”

I swallow the bite of cheeseburger I've barely chewed, feeling the hard lump moving slowly down my esophagus and wondering if I'm going to choke on it. I reach for my soda and take a gulp from my straw.

Fortunately, Mary Beth changes the subject by complaining about the test she just suffered through in French class, going on about how she'll probably never graduate if she can't successfully finish just one year of a language.

“You should let me tutor you in French,” Jorge tells her.

“You're good in French?” She blinks.

“Good enough.”

“Jorge's already taken three years of it,” Bryant brags.

Jorge shrugs. “I'm a teaching assistant in Mrs. Klausner's fifth period.”

“I didn't know that.” Mary Beth's eyes literally have stars in them now.

Once again I leave the table early. I'm sure my friends wonder about me. Maybe they assume I have some sort of stomach ailment. As a matter of fact, I'm not so sure that I don't. But I feel so antsy that I just can't sit there another minute. I wonder if I'll get ulcers.

Eventually the first bell rings and I go to AP History. I'm early, but this is not so unusual for me. Before long, I'm taking the final and feeling like I really am in my zone. I wouldn't say the test is easy, but I do feel prepared for it. And I'll be surprised if I don't get an A. But the best part is the feeling of achievement I have when I turn it in. Like I did this on my own — no help needed. I wish it was like that for all my classes.

. . . . . . . . . .

The next day of finals passes without incident or too much stress … probably because there's no cheating involved on my part. I can't be certain about everyone else. I suppose my own experience is making me more cynical about others. I might even be worried about how their illicit activities might hinder my grades, but I feel quite secure in these two classes and am therefore unconcerned.

As a result, I feel more relaxed at the end of the day, like I'm almost starting to feel comfortable in my own skin again. Except that I know the AP Biology final still lurks before me. As I go into the house after school, I'm painfully aware that my short life of crime is not over. How I wish it were.

I go directly to my room and begin to work on my cheating bracelet. I plan to be even more clever than Kelsey with this. I'm using a real bracelet as camouflage. I select a silver bangle that is just the right width to conceal the strip of paper I printed and cut to fit. I'm just securing the paper with tape when someone taps on my door.

I shove the bracelet onto my wrist. “Who is it?”

“Just me, honey,” Mom calls. “Can I come in?”

I push the paper scraps, tape, and scissors into my desk drawer. “Sure,” I call out.

“What's up?” she asks as she comes into my room and looks around.

“Just studying.”

“That's what I thought.”