Cheat (4 page)

Which one was Sean in? Barsky's? Timmons's? Walters's? Draper's? I skimmed each list. No, no, no…yes.

Rats!

I tried to stay optimistic. So Draper was Sean's math teacher. It didn't prove anything.

So why didn't I believe that?

Wait a second. The scam was going on in biology too. I riffled through the papers again. Sean and Jack were best buds. Jack took chemistry. Maybe Sean did too. I scanned the chemistry lists. I found Jack, but not Sean.

Okay, Sean wasn't in chemistry. Maybe he was a physics student. I checked the physics list—no Sean Leger.

All grade twelves had to take a science. If Sean wasn't in chemistry or physics, there was only one other alternative. I flipped through the biology class list. Bingo.

When I poked my nose into Jack's bedroom that evening, he had college stuff spread out everywhere. There were forms and brochures—on his desk, on the bed, even on the floor. Finding a place to stand was like playing Twister.

“Haven't you picked a school
yet
?” I asked as I straddled a calendar from Oklahoma State and a brochure from Gonzaga. “That's a new one, isn't it?” I said.

Jack frowned. “Mmm-hmm. He tapped another brochure. “So is this Stanford one. That's why I haven't made a decision yet.” He looked up and shook his head. “This isn't easy, you know.”

I scanned the mass of booklets and papers. “I guess not,” I replied. “Have you read all this stuff?”

“Only about fifty times,” he muttered.

“So what's the problem?”

Too late, I realized my mistake. Jack started in on the trials of choosing a college. “All of these schools have great basketball teams. I know I'll ride the pine the first year no matter where I go, but I'll also get some fantastic coaching. I'll have to make the most of the court time I do get. Of course, my big dream is to get drafted into the NBA. But I can't count on that. So I want a college with a good academic program. If basketball doesn't pan out, I'm going to need a career.”

“In what?”

Jack threw up his hands. “That's the thing. I don't know! I'm thinking law, but part of me wants to be an architect, and another part is interested in business.”

“Wouldn't the courses be really different for all those professions?”

“Exactly,” he groaned. “And each college has its own academic strengths.” He tossed a brochure over his shoulder. It landed on the bed. “I have no clue what to do. The more offers I get, the harder it is to decide.”

“What do Mom and Dad say?”

Jack rolled his eyes and snorted. “Dad says to pick the college with the most options, and Mom says follow my heart.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled.

Jack looked at me hard. “What do
you
think I should do?”

“Whoa,” I said, putting up my hands. I took a step backward—right onto a pile of forms from Washington State. “Oops, sorry,” I apologized. “I can't make that decision for you. I have enough trouble deciding what clothes to put on in the morning.”

Jack scowled. “Well, if you didn't come here to help me, what do you want?”

“Well,” I drawled, “I was kind of hoping you could give
me
some advice.”

“About what?”

I had no idea how Jack would react to what I had to say, but there was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Remember how I ran that survey in the school paper about cheating?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Well, I got a note back about a big cheating scam in Mr. Draper's classes. Something to do with the Scantron tests.”

Jack let loose a huge laugh. “And you believe that?”

I felt my back stiffen. “I'm a reporter, Jack. It was a lead. So I followed it.”

He stopped smiling. “Okay. So what did you find? Nothing, right?”

“Wrong.” I told him how the marks and class lists supported the whole scam thing. “So I went to Mr. Draper's classroom to look around.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “There was a notice on the board about an upcoming test.”

“Ooh, good work, Sherlock,” he snickered.

“I'm not finished,” I told him coldly.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, but I knew he wasn't.

I told him about someone ransacking the filing cabinet in Mr. Draper's office. I told him how I peeked into the hall just as the person was getting away.

“It was Sean,” I said.

Jack looked like he didn't believe me.

“It was Sean,” I repeated.

To my surprise, he just made a face and retorted, “So?”

“What do you mean,
so
? Don't you think that's incriminating?”

“No.”

“How can you say that? The guy took a key from the desk and broke into the office. He was rifling through the filing cabinet.”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “You're so caught up in this espionage fantasy that your brain has gone on vacation. Did you ever stop to consider that maybe Sean was
supposed
to be there? Sean is Draper's lab assistant. Did you know that?”

Now I felt stupid. “Oh. Uh, no. I didn't.”

“Well, he is. Of course he knows where Draper keeps his keys. He's always having to get stuff for him.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“Forget this cheating thing,” Jack grumbled.

“It's a news story, Jack,” I argued.

“And news isn't always pretty.”

“There are a billion other things you could write about. I'm telling you, Laurel—everybody's talking. And what they're saying isn't good. Nobody likes a snitch. Unless you're looking to become a total outcast, let it go.”

Chapter Eight

I wanted to believe what Jack had said about Sean, but part of me wasn't convinced. Sean was Jack's friend. Of course he was going to defend the guy. Don't get me wrong, I liked Sean too. But that didn't mean it was okay for him to cheat. Since I couldn't prove anything— at least not yet—I decided to keep my suspicions to myself.

“How goes the Scantron article?” Liz asked at lunch the next day.

I glanced around the lunchroom. “Not so loud. Somebody might hear.”

Tara shook her head. “Honestly, Laurel,” she said. “Do you really think anybody besides you cares?”

I felt myself bristle, but I didn't want to get into another argument. I let Tara's insult fly on by. As casually as I could, I said, “Mr. Wiens gave me the class lists and student marks.” I was hauling food out of my lunch bag as I spoke, but I still saw Tara's jaw drop.

“He didn't!” She couldn't hide her amazement.

“Yeah, he did.” I tried not to gloat.

“And?” Liz said.

“And it looks like my informant was right.”

Tara gasped. “You mean there really
is
a cheating scam?”

I nodded.

“How can you be sure?” asked Liz.

“Well, for one thing, every single kid is passing biology. And the same goes for Mr. Draper's math classes. There are no failures there either.”

“What about the other math classes?” Liz asked.

“At least a couple of failures in each one.”

“Hmm. Very interesting,” Liz said. “You'd think the administration would pick up on that.”

“Maybe Mr. Draper is just a really good teacher,” Tara argued. She clearly didn't want there to be a scam.

“Maybe,” I conceded, “except that last year there
were
failures in Draper's classes.”

“Really?” Liz asked. I could almost see the wheels in her brain starting to turn.

“How do you know that?” Tara demanded.

I took a bite of my sandwich before answering. “Mr. Wiens gave me last year's student marks too. So I could compare. He made a point of telling me that this year's grade twelves are doing better than last year's.”

“Are all the kids in Draper's classes getting As?” Tara said.

I felt my forehead buckling. “No. They're not. That's the part I don't understand. Everybody's passing, but there's still a normal spread of marks— As, Bs, Cs and Ds. There's a little of everything, except Fs.”

“Well, there you go.” Tara announced smugly. “If there was a scam,
everyone
would be getting As.”

Liz shook her head. “I disagree.”

“Why?” Tara was instantly defensive.

“Maybe the person behind this operation is very clever. Think about it. If all—or most—of the kids in Mr. Draper's classes started getting As, he'd know something was up. I don't care if he's the best teacher in the universe, some kids just don't get the concepts.
I
think students are getting custom cheat sheets. That way everybody passes, but nobody gets a perfect score. The marks are decent but still believable.” She smiled again and nodded smugly. “Yes, very clever.”

“I like your theory,” I said, “but how do we prove it?” I was relieved that someone besides me finally believed a scam was going on.

Liz took a deep breath. “I have an idea.”

“Shoot,” I said.

“For starters, not all the kids in Draper's classes are in on the scam.”

“You don't know that,” Tara snapped. Liz rolled her eyes. “When is there ever one hundred percent participation in anything? Some kids might be too honest to cheat.” Liz glanced meaningfully in my direction. “Or—more likely— they just don't need to. Why would an A student bother cheating?”

Even Tara couldn't argue with that logic.

“But,” Liz continued, “whether they're participating or not, they're going to know about it. All we have to do is convince one of them to tell us what they know.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Maybe—if you know who to talk to. Which you don't.” Tara said.

“I have the class lists,” I reminded her. “I'll get all the A students' names tonight. Someone is bound to talk.”

Liz crumpled her muffin wrapper and wiped her hands on her jeans. “No need,” she said. “I know exactly who to talk to.”

“Who?” Tara and I said at the same time.

Liz grinned. “Draper's star student.

My sister.”

I was lying across my bed doing homework when Liz called that evening. I was in the middle of a history assignment, and I hate history. Her call couldn't have come at a better time.

I grabbed my cell phone and rolled onto my back. “Hello.”

Liz got right to the point. “I talked to Hannah,” she said.

“And? What did she say?”

“Not much,” Liz said. “At first she would only admit to knowing there was a scam. My sister might be a brain, but she has no desire to commit social suicide.” Liz made a production of clearing her throat.

I got her drift, but I ignored it.

“You said, ‘At first.' Does that mean she eventually told you more?”

“Yes. But only after I blackmailed her. Even then I had to swear on my life nobody would ever know that she blabbed.”

“What did you blackmail her with?”

Liz clucked her tongue. “I may need to play that card again. It wouldn't be much of a threat if Hannah's secret was already out there, now would it?”

I sighed. “No. I suppose not.” I pushed Hannah out of my mind and cruised back on track. “So what's the scoop?”

“Well”—Liz dragged out the word— “I was right about this being a clever operation. And you were right about the crook making a copy of the answer key. But get this.” She snickered. “The scammer
sells
the answers to the other kids in the class.”

“
Sells
them?”

“Mm-hmm.” I could almost hear the smile in Liz's voice. “How's that for an unexpected twist?”

I was momentarily stunned. I hadn't considered that money might be involved. It looked like the Scantron scam wasn't just a matter of cheating to pass a test. It was a business!

“Who's doing this?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Liz said. “Hannah wouldn't name names. But, if she told us everything, you wouldn't have to do any digging at all. What fun would that be?”

“What else did Hannah say?” I wanted all the details.

“Whoever is doing this is in it for the long haul. The guy—Hannah did slip and say
he
a couple of times—sells each kid a different answer key based on the marks they usually get. So a C student gets a C answer key—or maybe a C+. But it's always in the normal range. The higher the grade, the more expensive the cheat sheet. Hannah says they range from seven to twenty dollars.”

“You're kidding!” I squeaked. “How many customers does this guy have?”

“According to Hannah, about ninety percent of the kids buy in. Draper has two biology classes and two math classes. That's about a hundred and twenty kids. If ninety percent of them take part, that's a hundred and eight kids. Let's say one week there's a math
and
biology test. If the guy averages twelve dollars a sale, he would make”—there was a pause as she worked the calculation in her head—“about thirteen hundred dollars.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “That's a lot of money. By the way, do you know you sound like a math problem?”

Liz chuckled.

“Did your sister say anything else?” I ask.

“Yeah. Apparently our genius lives close to the school. The sales take place at his house during lunch.”

“So how do the kids hand in their cheat sheets? Does our scammer make the switch?”

“No. The only risk he takes is copying the original answer key. The kids have to figure out how to switch the sheets on their own. Most of them smuggle them into the test under their shirts and make the switch sometime near the end of the class when Draper isn't looking.”

“And nobody's been caught?”

“Not a single person.”

“And nobody's squealed?”