The teacher, a fossil named Mr. Howell, had told us the day before the exam that anyone who didn’t bring his own slide rule would get an automatic F. He didn’t want anyone passing rulers covered with answers, and the test promised to be a bitch. I stayed up all night cramming and remembered to bring a slide rule. Unfortunately, Wheeler, sitting behind me, forgot his, and since the ruler only came into play on a third of the test and he was giving me a headache, I let him borrow mine at the beginning of class. I breezed through two-thirds of the exam and then waited for my ruler. And waited. Finally, I whispered over my shoulder, “Hey, Wheeler, give the ruler back.” He didn’t look up.

When there were about twenty minutes to go, I said, “Come on, cough it up.”

Wheeler leaned forward. “Stop worrying, moron. I’ll write the answers on the back.”

“Don’t do me any favors. Just give me the ruler.”

With about two minutes left, he slid the ruler up the aisle. Ten feet past my seat. Just as I was about to make a dash for it, the kid whose seat it was laying beside picked it up and began checking the answers with his own. I considered walking over and ripping it out of his slimy hands, but I noticed a teacher named Mr. Swanson watching me. Next thing I knew, Howell was collecting the tests and Jonathan Wheeler was reminding me that man decides his own fate and I didn’t have to give him the ruler in the first place.

“You killed me,” I said.

“Spare me the heartache,” Wheeler said, “I never held a gun to your head.”

I went back to my room and crashed. Woke up at six o’clock, depressed. I sat on the edge of my bed, not having enough energy to pull the shades or reach for the light. A soft knock sounded on the door. Wheeler, I figured. “Go away,” I groaned. The door, however, opened, and in the doorway appeared an adult figure. I couldn’t make out who it was but he could see me all right, sitting there in the dark, eyes puffed, sporting a chaotic mound of bedhead.

Mr. Swanson asked if he could turn on the light.

“Sure,” I said.

He came in and leaned against my desk. I didn’t move, just sat there in my boxer shorts.

“I’d like to have a chat with you.”

“About what?”

“About today. I saw what went on during the test.”

“Yeah … ?”

“You were cheating.”

“Well, no—”

“When you gave Wheeler your slide rule, that was cheating.”

I sighed.

“Look, Mr. Swanson—”

“Dave.”

He was a young guy, just out of Amherst College, which turned out to be a lucky break.

“Um … I didn’t mean to cheat, I was just—”

“Trying to pass?”