A few weeks after my election as class prefect, we had exams. End of term examination.
All desks were spaced out. No copying. And we were to take our bags outside the class. Our teacher invigilated. Before every paper, he would write the subject and the duration of the paper on the board.
In the course of the exams, the school accountant came to call out names of some pupils who still owed fees, and asked them to go home.
During each paper, all eyes were glued to the question and answer sheets. But invisible pair of eyes on our foreheads secretly scanned every movement of Master Kutcher. If he turned his back to the class and looked at something going on at the assembly grounds adjacent out class, whisperings mounted and tiny bits of paper switched hands. Some pupils were bold enough to stand up to other desks, but were back to their seats in lightening speed.
There were friends who had stopped talking to me because I wrote their names whenever they made noise in class. But in the heat and difficulty of the exams, they were forced to smile to me, apologize and ask for help.
I hesitated. Then after deciding to let it all go, I fixed my gaze on the teacher while whispering answers, that way, I know when to stop talking when the dragon turned in my direction.
The teachers called it cheating. We called it teamwork…
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