Fall from Grace by Charles Benoit Page B

Everything off your desks but your calculator and your pens. And no pencils this time, right, Alicia? Very funny. Just don’t use it on the test.”
    Mr. Young was making his way down the aisle, handing out the packets. Four pages of questions, double-sided, stapled at the top left corner, five pages of official blank paper to SHOW ALL WORK clipped to each test.
    â€œRemember, it’s a B day. You’ll have the full ninety minutes, so pace yourselves. There’s plenty of time. And do I have to say anything about keeping your eyes on your own papers?”
    Sawyer took the glasses out of his shirt pocket. They were as big and ugly as they were the day before, maybebigger and uglier. He flicked out the tape-covered arms and took a deep breath.
    Less than a minute after he had hit Send last night, he’d gotten a reply.
    NP meet u at Starbucks by your school 7AM
    And she was there when he pulled up, a table by the window, laptop open, checking a celebrity gossip page. He walked over to her and she smiled. She didn’t give him any grief, didn’t go off on an I-told-you-so rant, didn’t get all smartass on him, just gave him the glasses.
    Where’s the power switch?
    They’re on already.
    What about the volume?
    Isn’t any. Cup your hand over your ear like this or you won’t be able to hear me.
    How good will you be able to see?
    Good enough. So watch where you’re looking.
    Anything else?
    Yeah. Trust me.
    â€œIf you finish early that’s a good sign you made a lot of mistakes. Go back, double-check your work. Wrong answers can still earn you partial credit but I have to beable to read it, so write legibly.”
    Sawyer looked at the glasses, at the lumps of black tape, at the clear plastic tube that stuck out so damn obvious now, the whole thing an impossible joke.
    He could put them on, find out they didn’t even work, all that sweating for nothing.
    Or they could work and everything could be going fine. Until Mr. Young figured it out and he got busted.
    Or they could work and Mr. Young wouldn’t notice, and he could learn that Grace was no better at precalc than he was.
    Or he could put them back in his pocket, do the test on his own. And fail.
    Or it would work and—
    â€œCheaters,” Mr. Young said, standing next to Sawyer’s desk, looking right at him as he said it.
    Sawyer didn’t move.
    â€œCheaters,” he said again, nodding at the glasses in Sawyer’s hands.
    â€œI, uh, I can—”
    â€œThat’s what they used to call reading glasses. Cheaters. Not prescription but still a help.”
    Sawyer forced a smile and put the glasses on. Fast. “I never heard that before.”
    Mr. Young dropped a pile of papers on the desk, blank-side up. “That pair’s seen better days.”
    â€œYeah. Kinda rough. They were uh, my, uh grandpa’s. My mom’s dad. Before he died.”
    â€œWell, I hope they bring you luck.”
    â€œMe too,” Sawyer said, thinking about his grandpa and how he’d never wear such ugly glasses. And how surprised Grandpa would be to hear that he was dead.
    So that was it, he was wearing them now.
    He glanced up when Mr. Young asked the class if they had any last questions, but everything was fuzzy so he looked back down and focused on the magnified paperclip.
    â€œOkay, your time starts…now. Good luck.”
    Sawyer turned the papers over and wrote his name on the line in the upper left-hand corner. Then he skimmed the first ten questions, looking for an easy one to start with.
    He didn’t see any.
    He folded back the page and ran his eyes down the next set.
    Even worse.
    He was flipping the packet over and was halfway down when he heard a mosquito by his left ear. He went to flick it away when he remembered. He cupped hishand over his ear and leaned to the side, all casual.
    Nothing.
    He adjusted his hand, feeling for the plastic tube with his thumb, maneuvering