Mother was at her yoga class, so I was home alone. I thought of writing a poem using only the letters in the word ALONE. One lone eon…but I didn’t let myself. And I couldn’t lie around listening to music either, because I had three midterms to study for.

Mr. Principal was having Dan, Rob, and me write essays on cheating. And as lame as that assignment sounded, it sure beat studying calculus. How about a research paper on: Great Cheats in Fiction or Famous Historical Cheats?

La. That sounded fun.

But the cheat paper was due Monday, and between then and now I also had to study for my other tests and do my regular homework, plus see my father tomorrow (unless he canceled on me again).

Nope, that wasn’t exactly true. Nothing would be due Monday unless I told on Jake. No calculus midterm or any other test if I didn’t turn him in. I’d just flunk? They’d flunk me for not tattling? How fair is that?

Well, I just couldn’t believe Mr. Principal would really do that. I’d just go back to school Monday and act like nothing happened. And the bad, ugly meanness

would

all

just

blow

away

like

smoke.

I gathered the essential study tools and arranged them on the table in front of me: pistachios, pretzels, strawberries, grapes, carton of orange juice, drinking glass, shortbread cookies, dried pineapple. Then I opened my calculus book and spread out my worksheets.

I thought of calling Jake Broder and asking him if his sister took calculus last year (hee-hee). But I didn’t think he’d appreciate the joke. I wondered if Jake was sweating it out this weekend, waiting for Mr. Principal to get word of his role in our little play.

How did it work, guilt-wise, I wondered. Was Jake as guilty as me? Was I more or less guilty than Dan and Rob? How much less guilty was Katie for not using the answers? Did that make her entirely innocent? Or did she at least get tiny black flecks on her soul for even considering cheating?

And how about if I hadn’t got caught? Would that make me guiltier or less guilty? Is there some kind of spiritual measuring stick or justice scales or something that assigns levels of guilt?

Hmm…there was a poem trapped in there, begging to get out. Calculus could wait.

Degrees of GUILT

1ST DEGREE

His first crime was stealing,

His next was revealing

His hot, stolen answers to me.

My crime was receiving

Those goods, then deceiving

My teacher with my treachery.

ADVANCED DEGREE

If guilt were a quilt made of patches

The icky green squares would be catches:

That’s the unlucky few, who somebody knew

Were cheating in bits and in flashes.

The catches are caught and blamed.

Their parents are equally shamed.

Their faces turn red. They take to their bed.