"Due respect, sir, this not a salvageable exam situation. His solution for x squared was 'Old Hickory,' for Christ's sake!"
Principal Jones worried about the unnatural shade of red that Jay Terry, his math department head, was turning. If Jay had a heart attack in his office, there'd be trouble. The shrinking budget had forced them to lay off the school nurse last month.
"Well, let's look at this from a different angle," Jones suggested. "We're always encouraging students to treat all their subjects creatively, including math. Perhaps 'Old Hickory' was Tim's way of, er, expressing variables. What are some of his other answers?"
"The entire proof on page two apparently boils down to 'The Emancipation Proclamation.' "
"Hmm. That is fairly -- unusual. Anything at all in the ballpark?"
"I think the key to the matter lies at the top of the test, where he wrote 'American History B' under 'Subject.'"
Principal Jones winced. Nearly every student on the school football team could bench press about twice his own IQ, but only Tim Jenkins was too dumb to even cheat effectively.
"Jay, I know we pride ourselves on our academic integrity, our unimpeachable standards, our top-notch educational offerings and our district-leading 67% graduation rate. But this is the first time in decades the Rubber Ducks are going to the district championship, and I won't have them competing without their star running back. Think of the town! Think of our higher moral obligations! Think of partial credit! Isn't there anything on that test that shows young Timmy has soaked up some of your pearls of wisdom?"
"On question 7, he wrote '1776.' The correct answer is '17.'"
"Excellent! Here, let me see the test."
Jay held the paper out between two fingers. He'd considered donning gloves before handling it.
Principal Jones peered intently at the test, then beamed beautifully. "Take a look at this. Here -- see this speck, between the two sevens? Clearly a decimal point."
"Sir, I think that's a crushed mosquito. I've been putting in requisition forms for months to try to get the missing screen on my classroom window replaced."
"Nonsense, it's a decimal. Tim's answer was 17.76, which is somewhat akin to the correct answer. Surely you can award some points for that. And, with a generous curve -- since, let's be frank here, Jay, despite your absolutely sterling efforts, it's not like any of those kids of yours are going to be Nobel prizewinning mathematicians -- "
"They don't give Nobels for mathematics --"
" -- so I'm sure you'll be curving the test a bit. And our little problem will be taken care of."
Jay considered protesting, but doing so would mean sticking around into his about-to-start free period, and that would mean missing his chance to snipe an eBay auction for a vintage HP 15C calculator. Mint condition, in the box, with the manual.
A man had to have his priorities.
Wordlessly, Jay snatched back the paper and stomped out of the office.
Principal Jones sighed. He'd have to have a word with Tim's tutor, preferably before the boy tried to explain on a history exam that Andrew Jackson's nickname was '9.'
Jones reached into his desk and pulled out the good bourbon. He had a lot riding on this game. A whole lot more than a paltry district championship.
---
Sue, normally the epitome of caution on the road, raced toward home at four miles above the speed limit. She didn't know how she would explain the situation to John, but she knew she had to be home before him in case one of the dreadful missives had arrived at their domicile. Mandy, equipped with the school's emergency copy of "Stand and Deliver," had agreed to cover her afternoon classes.
Stifling a sob, Sue wondered how she could have enmeshed herself in such a dreadful tangle of secrets. Who would have thought Hillglen could contain such treacherous villains as her apparent blackmailer? That it could harbor such darkness? Such terror? Such an expensive Mercedes?
A Mercedes?
Just as realization penetrated the fog of Sue's brain, Bob's coupé penetrated her windscreen.
--
Is this the tragic end for Sue and her unborn child of dubious paternity?
What else was at stake for Principal Jones, beyond glory for the Rubber Ducks??
Will David continue to reduce our word count by replacing Stacy's lengthy passages of purple prose with cheap in-jokes for his friends from back home???
These questions, and a free bonus question for lucky reader #37562 of Peoria, Illinois, will be answered in the next electro-shock therapy inducing installment of... CLIFFHANGER.