The Ghosts of Exams Past

“You may begin.”

You flip over the test paper in front of you. Rather than studying for this global history exam, you spent the week working out in a failed attempt to become attractive, a decision you now regret. Chills run down your spine as you realize you don’t know anything on the test. The Mongol Empire? The effect of trade on South Asian religion? None of it makes sense.

You shiver. Did a breeze just sweep through the room? Maybe that was just the blood draining from your face. Your body tenses up, as if someone’s putting their cold, clammy hand on your shoulders. Then, from behind you, a translucent blue hand points to the answer sheet. “That one’s wrong. And that one. Have kids gotten dumber or something?” Offended, you turn around. Standing behind you is a girl, hazy and clear like a mirage.

You scream out of pure fear and fall out of your chair. You begin sobbing hysterically, wondering if sleep deprivation has finally driven you insane. Your teacher and fellow students, accustomed to the cries of pain during exams, ignore you. It seems as if you’re the only one who can see the ghost. She puts her hands up. “Whoa, whoa! Calm down! I can help!”

Slowly climbing back into your chair, you whisper back to the ghost, “Who are you? And why do you look like a teenage Casper the Friendly Ghost?”

The ghost replies, “Because I AM a ghost. I used to go to Stuy too, but then I died in a freak moose-related accident. I had this exact test 10 years ago!” The ghost points to your work. “Look, you misspelled Confucianism here. Also, Melbourne isn’t in Canada, and Leonardo DiCaprio is not an artist from the Italian Renaissance.”

You hesitantly erase what you wrote and fill in what the ghost tells you to write. She nods encouragingly, giving you a thumbs up. You’re suspicious. Can you really trust the answers she gives you? The last time you cheated during an exam, you got a 54, and you don’t want a repeat of that.

You point to another question. “What about this one? What’s the biggest port city in Hungary?”

The ghost girl’s face falls. “I don’t know.” Before you can put in a random answer, she continues, “But my friends might!”

With these words, ghosts start flying out of every corner in the room. Some poke their heads through the floor or walk through the walls. One even flies down from that one strobing ceiling light. It’s as if everyone from the last century is here; you see prim and proper girls with calf-length skirts and fashionably curled bobs, a boy wearing eyeball-assaulting patterns that scream hippie, and scene kids who look like they just robbed a 2000s-era Hot Topic. The wild assortment of ghosts gather around your desk and spew decades of answers at you.

“The textbook indicates that Australia and China both lost wars to birds. Quite fascinating.”

“That one’s, like, totally wrong broski. Ronald Reagan’s still president. Wait, he isn’t? Since when?”

“The Great Depression started in 1939. Trust me on this, I was there.”

Your confidence renewed, you bubble in everything the ghosts tell you. You finish 20 minutes early and get up to hand in your work, full of confidence. However, like true Stuy kids, the ghosts yell at you and force you back into the chair. Only when you’ve checked your work five times over do the ghosts allow you to leave your desk. They cheer you on as you drop the paper on the teacher’s desk and walk out the door, head held high.

TWO MONTHS LATER

As you enter the classroom, you see a familiar pile of tests on your teacher’s desk. One by one, your teacher hands them back, and the sobs of students grow louder as kids get their tests back. You smirk. Imagine doing poorly on this exam? Couldn’t be you.

You feel a cold tap on your shoulder. You turn around, and there’s the army of ghosts who so kindly helped you two months ago. You give them a bro-nod of acknowledgement as the paper falls on your desk. The ghosts gather around you, excited to see what they’ve helped you achieve. You scan for the number at the top of the page. The ghosts gasp. One faints, passing straight through the floor. Others weep. Your heart sinks.

A 64.

You really should have studied after all.