Trapped (4 page)

“You really think so?”

She nods in a sad way. “I know so.”

“How do you know?”

“I've seen them, GraceAnn. With my own eyes, I've
seen
them.”

“You're kidding? You've actually seen people cheating?”

“Keep your voice down.” She gives me a warning look.

“Why?” I look around.

“Because this is a dangerous subject.”

“What are you talking about?” Suddenly I'm curious as to how my best friend is an expert on cheating. “Dangerous how?”

“Dangerous in that some kids take it very seriously. I've heard it's a big business.”

“That's crazy.” Now I try to remember the times I've been taking tests … if I've ever observed anything suspicious. “I've never seen it happen. I know I would remember that.”

“I've seen you during an exam. You get so focused on your own test that you're oblivious to everyone else.”

I nod. “I suppose that's true.”

“And that's just because you're always obsessed with doing your best.”

“And you're not?”

She shrugs. “I try … I just don't obsess. I'm okay with average grades.”

“Your grades are better than average.”

“Maybe. But I don't take the kinds of classes you do.”

I let out a long sigh. “Now I'm wishing I didn't either.”

After lunch, in AP Biology, I feel like I'm experiencing déjà vu when I get the results from last Friday's test only to discover I got a D minus. This is bad. Really bad. But as I look over my answers on the quiz, I realize that once again I got most of them right. And yet I received a D minus for my effort. How is that fair? Yes, I know … the curve. But even so, it seems so wrong. And now I'm really wondering about what Mary Beth said — what if everyone really is cheating?

I glance over at Kelsey Nelson, who is sitting across from me. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this girl … wondering when she turned into such an academic. Because I remember when she had serious trouble with her multiplication tables back in fifth grade. Anyway, I'm trying to be discreet, but I want to get a peek at her test grade. Finally she lifts her hand to push a strand of hair away from her face, and I see she received an A.
An A!

I try not to let my astonishment show, but I'm in shock. Kelsey getting an A is as stunning as me getting a D minus, and I wonder how Ms. Bannister doesn't scratch her head over this one. But as usual, Ms. Bannister has her head partly in a book as she starts up PowerPoint and is obviously preparing for a lecture.

I glance back at Kelsey, and I've got to admit that she's nice enough and, despite being a cheerleader, not stuck up at all. But, no offense intended, if you looked up the definition of
dumb blonde
in the dictionary, I'm pretty sure her picture would be next to it.

Okay, that's a bit harsh. But seriously, the girl has never been a brainiac. I was more than a little stunned to see she was taking AP Biology this year. Still, it's not my job to judge her, and to be honest, I thought she'd help push the bell curve grading system in my direction anyway. Apparently I was wrong. Dead wrong.

I'm still mystified by this as I attempt to focus on Ms. Bannister's lecture. By the end of the period, I feel almost certain that Kelsey must be one of those that Mary Beth mentioned — a
cheater
. And yet I've never seen anything to prove this new theory. Of course, as Mary Beth pointed out, I've never been looking either.

But the idea that someone like Kelsey might be cheating, might be changing the whole grading system for everyone in this class — especially me — well, it just totally irks me. Seriously, I am livid. Not only that, but if what Mary Beth says is true, Kelsey is probably not the only one doing this. It is so wrong!

By art class at the end of the day, I'm still fuming. I try not to show it, but I am so enraged. The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Today Bryant and Jorge have moved to our table. I suppose they think if they're taking us to the dance on Saturday, it buys them the right to sit with us. And really, I don't mind. I just don't want to talk to anyone.

“What's eating you?” Bryant asks me toward the end of class.

“Huh?” I look up from where I've been staring blankly at my drawing.

He points to the paper in front of me, and Mary Beth looks uncomfortable for me. She probably thinks I'm moping over Clayton again, and I suppose on some levels I am, but this cheating thing is what's really got me frustrated. I look at Bryant's face. Is he one of them? Is he a cheater? And if he is, do I still want to go to the dance with him? I don't think so.

“If you really must know,” I begin slowly, trying not to sound like I'm seething although I clearly am, “I'm obsessing over the fact that there are kids in this school who think it's acceptable to cheat.” I lock gazes with him in a challenging way.

Bryant simply laughs. “You mean you just figured that out, Lowery?”

I nod indignantly.

“She got an F in math.”

I toss Mary Beth a warning look.

“Ouch.” Bryant seems truly sympathetic. “That's gotta hurt. Especially for a brainiac like you.”

“And I got a D minus in AP Biology,” I confess bitterly.

“You take AP Biology?” Jorge looks impressed.

“And Kelsey Nelson got an A,” I continue hopelessly.

“Uh-oh.” Mary Beth looks concerned now, like I'm saying too much. But I don't care.

“So what are you saying?”

“What do you think I'm saying, Jorge?” I toss back. “Tell me, how does someone like Kelsey Nelson suddenly turn into an A student? Especially in AP Biology?”

“She studied?” He gives an apologetic grin.

“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes.

“You think Kelsey Nelson cheats?” Bryant asks quietly.

“Duh …”

“Did you
see
her cheat?” Bryant asks me.

I shake my head. “No. It's just a theory.”

“I've seen people cheating.” Jorge uses a hushed tone. “Lots of times.”

“Why didn't you tell someone?” I demand.

His dark eyes get wide. “Are you kidding?”

“Why not?” I turn to Mary Beth now. “And how about you? You said the same thing — that you've seen students cheating, but you don't tell.
Why not?
”

Mary Beth bites her lip, and I can tell the idea of ratting on someone is terrifying to her.

I look at Bryant. “I suppose you agree with them?”

He just shrugs.

“I just don't get it. I mean, it's so unfair. Cheaters ruin the grading system for the rest of us.” I look at Bryant and Jorge. “Do you guys cheat?”

Bryant chuckles. “If I did, do you think I'd tell you?”

I consider this.

“And Jorge doesn't need to.” He grins at his friend.

“Really?” Mary Beth looks interested.

“Jorge doesn't like anyone to know, but he's got a seriously high GPA,” Bryant says.

“It's nothing, man.” Jorge turns red.

Now the release bell rings, and we're gathering up our stuff and getting ready to leave, but I'm still fuming. Bryant and Jorge make small talk as we head out, and Mary Beth reminds me that we planned to do some shopping today … for the Winter Ball. Although I was enthusiastic before, I couldn't care less now. As a result of my dismal test grades, my heart is just not in it. However, I see the hopeful look in her eyes, and I don't want to let her down. So we bid the guys adieu and I brace myself for shopping.

“You'll bring your grades back up,” Mary Beth assures me as I silently drive us toward the mall. “You always do.”

“I don't know …”

“I know. You're such an academic, GraceAnn. No way will you let these past couple of weeks bring you down. By winter break your grades will be stellar.”

“I hope you're right.” But as I'm turning into the mall parking lot, I'm not so sure. For some reason I feel like I'm standing on the edge of that “slippery slope” that our youth pastor warns us about from time to time. Not that I've done anything wrong exactly — well, besides not studying enough. And really, that wasn't intentional. But even so, it feels like my feet are unsteady beneath me … like one misstep and I could tumble downward.

However, as we go inside the formal wear store, I figure that I'm just obsessing. As usual.
Lighten up
, I tell myself as we start looking at dresses. Mary Beth is right. I'll work hard and pull my grades out of the toilet, and by Christmas this grim scenario will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

“I have a feeling I'll need to do my shopping at Déjà Vu,” Mary Beth tells me after we've perused several dress racks. “Most of these are out of my price range.”

“What do you think of this one?” I hold up a red satin dress. “It's kind of like what I imagined I'd wear if I went with Clayton.” I frown, wishing I could get that boy out of my brain.

She frowns and shakes her head. “No offense, GraceAnn, but it looks kind of trampy.”

“Trampy?” I walk over to where I can hold it up in front of the mirror and see it more clearly. It's not that I don't trust Mary Beth's taste, but she leans way toward the conservative side. I study the fitted red dress carefully, imagining how it would look. “I think it looks quite festive. And Christmassy. And this color reminds me of cranberry sauce.” I turn to look at her. “You really think it looks trampy?”

“Go ahead and try it on if you want,” she tells me. But her expression says this is a waste of time. Even so, I pick out several sizes of the same style and carry them back to the dressing room. After a couple of tries, I find the one that fits best and step out of the changing room to show her. “What do you think now?” I twirl around in front of the three-way mirror.

“Well, it does fit you nicely.” But she still looks unsure.

I stop and look more closely, gather up my hair in an upsweep do, and strike a pose. I imagine myself in a great pair of shoes and some sparkly faux diamonds and think I'll look like a million bucks — and I might even turn Clayton's head. “Well, I
love
it!”

“But I thought we were going to wear
long
dresses,” she says in a disappointed tone.

I shrug. “From what I've heard around school, most of the girls are going with cocktail dresses for this dance.”

“Does that mean you plan to
drink
cocktails too?” She scowls at me.

“No, of course not.” I laugh. “And don't worry, you can wear a long dress if you want to — it's not like there are rules about this stuff.”

“No … if you're getting that, I'll try to find something that works with it.”

“You should just get what you like,” I tell her. “What you feel comfortable in.”

“Well, you know I don't like showing my legs — ”

“You have great legs, Mary Beth. I don't see why you wouldn't — ”

“I have enormous calves and you know it!”

“That's how
you
see it. I think your legs are very shapely.” I give her a sly look. “And I have a feeling Jorge would agree.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, don't remind me. I still can't believe we agreed to go out with those two gangsters.”

“Gangsters?” I let out a hoot. “Bryant and Jorge are not gangsters, Mary Beth. They just walk to a different drummer. And the more I get to know them, the more I like them both.”

“Maybe, but I'll bet we are the laughingstock of youth group by Sunday night.”

“We'll just tell them we're evangelizing.”

“Yeah … right.”

Okay, I'm not as confident about this as I sound. But I am glad I'm going to the dance, glad I'm going to look hot in this dress, and I'm hoping Clayton will be pea green with envy when he sees me laughing and dancing with Bryant Morris. It will serve him right!

. . . [CHAPTER 4]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

L
ater in the week, I'm relieved to see that Mary Beth hit the jackpot at the thrift store. “That is gorgeous,” I tell her as she models a vintage cocktail dress in a deep forest green. “It's beautiful with your green eyes.”

“You don't think we'll look too Christmassy with you in red and me in green?”

“I think we'll look like knockouts,” I assure her.

“And check out these shoes.” She holds up a sweet pair of black velvet wedges. “I got them at that new discount shoe store.”

“Perfect.”

“Did you get your shoes yet?”

I confess that I haven't.

“Then you need to check out the discount store,” she urges me. “They have everything.”

So we agree to go there after school. But as I'm driving, all I can think about is how my grades in trig and AP Biology have still not recovered and, at this rate, there is no way my GPA won't be impacted.

“You're awfully quiet,” Mary Beth points out as I park in front of the shoe store.

I shrug and turn off the engine. “Sorry.”

“Are you thinking about Clayton again?”

I want to tell her that's it, but I don't want to lie. “I'm obsessing over my grades again,” I confess as we get out. “They're not getting any better.”

“Oh …” She nods sympathetically. “I'm sorry.”

“I don't know what to do.”

She pats me on the back. “I know what you'll do, GraceAnn.”

I look hopefully at her. “What?”

“You'll study hard and pull As on all your finals and your grades will improve.”

I frown. “I'm not so sure.”

She gives me a confident smile. “Maybe I know you better than you know yourself.”

I force a smile. “I hope so.”

For a while, I distract myself with shoe shopping, but in the back of my mind, I'm still obsessing over two things: (1) that my grades are in the toilet and (2) that some kids are cheating and getting away with it.