The Exam

“All right girls, turn over your papers, and…..START!”



I think this system is crazy. It’s eight ‘o clock in the morning and I’m being expected to do a two hour long exam. In French.



The girls around me quickly turn over their papers and start writing frantically, as if the time was going to run away. The teacher frowns. She hasn’t been at school long enough to understand the way I work.



“Abigail Whittington, why have you not started?” I don’t reply, just turn my paper over, almost lazily, and start to read with what I consider to be a studious expression. And then, I take out my pen and begin to write.



It’s surprisingly easy. Some lonely hearts advertisements and a sci-fi film review. I quickly jot down my answers, long enough to please my French teacher but not so long that my arm gets worn out. When I’m over, I slowly lift my head and look at the clock.



It’s only nine.



I have no idea what I’m supposed to do for the next hour. First, I get out my ink eraser and try to rub out all the ink blots on my page, with only a marginal amount of success. Then I get out my calculator and try to see how many words I can create with the minimal selection of letters. Finally, having exhausted all possible means of entertainment, I stare at the teacher at the desk in front of me.



She’s young, maybe twenty-seven. Blonde hair, blue-green eyes and a ridiculous amount of telephone-box red lipstick. I guess nobody told her how long the exam would take, because she seems bored too. Having finished her marking, she’s scribbling on a scrap piece of paper. I can’t really see what exactly she’s writing- the desk is too far away. So I lean forward, and I can just about make it out.



Mrs…. Something, looks a bit like Martin. She looks up and sees that I’ve been looking, and I quickly lean back in my chair. The lipstick looks a bit more natural now that her face has gone crimson. Then she narrows her eyes at me, and says:



“Abigail, would you like another piece of paper?”



I nod cautiously, and she hands one over. One piece of slightly yellowed lined paper. It’s a pity it’s not plain. I could have done a portrait.



There’s still half an hour to go. I proceed to draw random scribbles around the border of my page. Squares, triangles, circles, flowers, dolphins… My boredom is just made worse by the fact that I am terrible at drawing.



Driven to desperate means of occupying myself, I start to count the words on the exam paper. There are 698. Then the letters. 3,923. I think I’m being driven mad. There’s only five minutes left. Then four, three, two, and….



“Pens down please, ladies!”



I let out a contented sigh. French is finally over.



It’s a pity that exam week has only just begun.