Repitrage

Another test. I won't be the one taking the test and even so the prospect is exhausting. I scan the questions. Seriously, who writes these? And question three! None of those multiple choice options are even correct! Oh, there’s a note from the department chair:

Skip question three.

I sigh and then quickly muster a smile to greet the earliest arrivals for first period.

“Good morning, Jackie.”

“Good morning, Ms. Windham”

“Good morning, Tristan.”

Tristan grunts.

Me too, Tristan. Me too.

The rest of the students trickle in.

“Alright, class,” I declare. “Bad news is we have another test to take. Good news is there’s fifteen questions and one of them is a bad question so it’s only fourteen questions.”

A chorus of groans and sighs ensues.

“We are skipping question three. Everyone, find question three at the bottom of page one and cross it out.”

Jamaal raises his hand.

“Jamaal.”

“Which question are we skipping?”

“Question three.”

Shelby startles. “Wait! We’re skipping a question! Why? Which question?”

“Question three, because there’s a mistake in the question.”

Maria raises her hand.

“Maria.”

“We’re skipping question four?”

“Question three.”

“Three and four?”

“No, Maria. Just question three.”

Twelve minutes pass.

Tristan raises his hand.

“Tristan.”

“I don’t understand question three.”

I close my eyes. I see the color red, nuclear mushroom clouds, earthquake fault lines ripping open, forest fires, and landslides. The repitrage courses through my body. I take a deep breath. “We are skipping question three.”