The Last Summer. Chan Howell
not nervous, although I hoped we could pull off a miracle. Tomorrow would be the longest day of the year. I hoped the game would be a distraction, as my thoughts were on the math placement exam. I always had anxiety for our end-of-grade exams and other state tests, but this was something different. If I passed, I would move on to prealgebra and not basic math. Basic math likely meant a classroom full of bullies, and math was my worst subject. If I failed, I would also be in the lower-level science, language arts, and history classes. I wanted to be in the advanced classes despite the fact I would likely no longer have classes with a few of my best friends.
I dressed for the game, but I only thought of tomorrow’s test. Tonight, we had a chance to shock the league, but I was worried with prealgebra, not double plays. Drake, Duckworth, and I would get one more shot at beating Ogre. The winner would go on to the championship. Duckworth deserved a championship. He had earned it. It was obvious Duckworth was worried about winning. He paid his dues when we were still climbing the dugout walls during our Duckling years. Jack, on the other hand, had the best chance to take down Ruby and Alex. I was ashamed I thought about stupid school and not tonight’s critical game.
Jack started RJ, and he mowed everyone down except Drake. I reached on a dropped third strike, and miraculously Drake drove me in. Ogre homered off Drake in the third inning. After three innings, we were down 3–1. Ogre loomed in the event we would tie or take the lead. Duckworth knew the game was essentially over once Ogre took the mound.
RJ struggled in the fifth inning. We scored one run, and Jack was forced to bring Ogre in to finish the game. Frankie closed his store early and walked over to watch his nephew take the mound in the fifth inning. We were down 3–2 when Ogre was called upon to get the last three outs. We had runners on first and second, with the top of the order due to bat. I was set to face my quiet friend first. Ogre’s typically kind gaze was gone, and his eyes turned black. It was a fearful sight.
Ogre made quick work of me. I was no match for three straight fastballs. Ogre tipped his hat after he struck me out. Ogre was one of the few people that knew I worried about tomorrow’s test more than driving in the tying run. Drake did not even swing his bat while in the batter’s box; he focused solely on Ogre. Ogre and Drake had battled many times. Ogre was victorious half the time, while Drake had bested him the other half. Ogre had to face our best eleven-year-old, Adam, before he and Drake would break their tie.
They would stay tied. Adam weakly bounced back to Ogre. Ogre fired the ball to second to start the game-ending double play. The threat was over. We lost 3–2. Duckworth, Drake, and I shuffled off the field as Coach Alex and Ruby looked on. Another showdown between Ogre and Ruby was set. This year’s championship had more at stake, as the winning coach would choose the all-star team.
I shook Ogre and Jack’s hands, then I begged my parents to rush home. I did not care if I ate BBQ or a cheese sandwich. I needed to study, and dinner out meant nothing. Whitley mocked me, and she seemed indifferent about tomorrow’s test. Whitley’s confidence did not spill over to me when she told me it would be easy. She assured me we would both pass the dreaded math monster. She even said, “Ruby and Ogre might pass.” She chuckled at the thought.
I studied and practiced every test strategy Mr. Troutman had given me. Whitley loudly played her music in an effort to distract me. She would shout foolish advice and insults, like, “Solve for X, choose your best answer, 2+2=4, dah ta dah!” She openly mocked me. Whitley’s best subject was math, and she knew she would pass. I was unable to focus. I scratched my head until flakes of skin fell onto the pages of my math book.
I was tired of her nonsense, and I came up with a plan to silence her. I stopped studying and looked through some old pictures. I finally found the picture of Whitley at Halloween when we were five. She was dressed as an Octopus, and Ruby was dressed as a Roman soldier. My parents had snapped a picture of the two innocently kissing. My parents promised her the picture was destroyed, but my mom told me she had kept the embarrassing photo. I found it.
I swung her door open and shouted, “Shut off your music now!”
She laughed and said, “Try to make me.”
We had not been in a physical fight in two years. Whitley had embarrassed me in front of my friends; thus, I had not challenged her since. I pulled the photo from behind my back and said, “Don’t make me take this to school.” She gasped and lunged for the photograph. I dodged her and grabbed her from behind to put her in a headlock.
She squirmed to free herself until she went limp. She gave up and said, “You win.”
I fell asleep with my calculator and the picture on my chest.
The next morning, Whitley demanded to search my book bag and check my pockets. She angrily recounted my victory to my parents. My dad made me swear I would not take the photograph to school. He told me, “Don’t embarrass your sister.”
I laughed and only said, “It’s in a safe place.”
The picture was my bookmark for my library book. Neither Whitley nor I had breakfast, as our argument nearly made us late for school.
I checked into homeroom before being assigned my test-taking teacher and classroom. I would head to Mrs. Joplin’s room. I was in the same room with Ruby and Wyatt. The two rivals openly joked, and neither was worried with the placement test. Our test administrator was the most menacing teacher in the school. Mrs. Joplin did not tolerate anything. She threatened both Ruby and Wyatt in the first five minutes. She warned everyone just before she handed out the test, “If I believe you are cheating or you are being a distraction, you’ll be asked to leave and you will forfeit your test.”
Mrs. Joplin read the directions, and she wrote the start time on the chalkboard. She stared directly at both Ruby and Wyatt and said, “You may now begin.” The room was flooded with the clicks of the calculator buttons. I was shaking with fear as I opened my test booklet. Sweat began to pour down my forehead and my armpits. Every time I looked up, Mrs. Joplin seemed to be staring directly at me. The test proctor paced the back of the classroom. Her high-heeled shoes loudly tapped the floor. After ninety minutes of torture, Wyatt closed his test booklet and laid his head on his desk. He had given up. I envied him. Wyatt would likely be in basic math next year.
Ruby’s eyes searched the room for answers. The walls of the eighth-grade science classroom provided no answers. Mrs. Joplin’s classroom walls were covered with oceans and seas describing extinct sea creatures. Mrs. Joplin focused on the giant’s eyes. They were wandering. His neck stretched as he looked at my answer sheet. I noticed Ruby had the same color test booklet. My stomach growled, and hunger pangs began to distract me. I was starving and nervous. My fellow classmates looked back at me with every unpleasant echo from my stomach.
Two hours into the three-hour test, Mrs. Joplin sneaked up behind me. It was easy for her since she did not wear the typical shoes of a woman teacher; she wore sneakers, and she did not have the normal click-clop of heels. I felt her staring over my shoulder for what seemed like an eternity. A drop of sweat the size of a quarter released its hold on my brow and fell onto a word problem about a baker. The minute hand on the old industrial clock clicked, and I jumped. I looked over my shoulder at the women’s-basketball-coach-turned-teacher, and I brushed the hair off my forehead. My anxiety was winning the battle. The room had grown silent, and only a few of my classmates were still fighting the test.
Mrs. Joplin tapped my shoulder, then she directed the class to close his or her test booklets. I finished bubbling my answer as Mrs. Joplin uncrossed her arms. She had me follow her to the front of the class. I felt I had a trail of sweat and shame following me. She scribbled quickly on the chalkboard the time before asking me to follow her into the hallway. The proctor was given control of the room. Everyone’s eyes followed me and my sweat-covered brow.
Principal Overstreet greeted me with, “Carson, are you cheating?”
I stuttered and said, “N-n-n-n-no, ma’am.”
Mrs. Joplin then told Principal Overstreet, “His answers were intentionally left out in the open.”
I argued, “No, they weren’t.”
Principal Overstreet