Free Cheating Lessons: A Novel by Nan Willard Cappo Page A

“Hey, did you know Lori invented a cheer for us? ‘Break their pencils, stomp the finks, bust their buzzers, Pinehurst stinks!’ ”
    She loved that she had made him laugh.
    “Our Lori scored 720 on the verbal SAT. You didn’t know? She’ll do very well in the Bowl. And I never underestimate the power of red hair on elderly contest judges.”
    He gave her a subtle wink. It so clearly signaled their shared understanding about Lori’s useful—but secondary—physical assets that Bernadette smiled, and didn’t wonder until much later how sex appeal could possibly matter in a contest where you either knew the right answer or you didn’t. Did he say 720?
    He downshifted for the exit to Ann Arbor.
    There were no empty meters near the library. Mr. Malory swung into a parking garage and stopped on a tiny space crisscrossed with diagonal blue lines.
    “Uh—this is handicapped,” Bernadette said.
    The engine roar died away among the concrete pillars. “Not officially.”
    She had to climb over the gearshift to get out. They were in a loading zone against the wall meant for wide-opening doors or wheelchair lifts. Another vehicle—a Yugo, maybe, or a Schwinn—could still squeeze in beside them. And the remaining handicapped spots were empty.
    Mr. Malory hoisted a fat briefcase out of the trunk. The boot, he called it. “All set?” he asked. “We’re late.” She had to run to keep up with him.
    They climbed the broad stone stairs of the library past a gauntlet of feminine appraisal that didn’t seem to faze Bernadette’s companion one whit. She sneaked a glance at their reflections in the entrance door. She looked older than sixteen, she decided. People might think they were a couple.

CHAPTER TEN
    Theirs not to make reply,
    Theirs not to reason why,
    Theirs but to do and die.
    —Alfred Lord Tennyson,
    “The Charge of the Light Brigade”
    T he Wizards were watching cartoons.
    Anthony had powered up a TV-VCR on its portable cart and when Bernadette and Mr. Malory arrived in the library conference room, he and David were reclining in their chairs with their feet propped up on the long table. More wheeled carts sagged under books that, even from the doorway, had a “required” smell about them. Lori was twisting Nadine’s slippery hair into a French braid.
    Both girls looked up at them with curiosity.
    “My car wouldn’t start,” Bernadette said. She sat down, and Lori whispered, “Ooh. How’d you think of that?”
    Bernadette had to laugh. She could see where, under certain circumstances, for short periods of time, Lori Besh might be fun.
    Mr. Malory was all business tonight. He unpacked his briefcase and fed a tape into the machine. On the TV, Roadrunner was replaced by fuzz. He produced a giant bag of chocolate chip cookies, asked if anyone needed to use the loo, then doused the lights.
    Swelling orchestra music. NATIONAL COMPUTER SYSTEMS PRESENTS CLASSICS BOWL IX , announced big yellow letters.
    “Hey, like the Super Bowl,” David said.
    “Shhh. I want to hear this.” Bernadette blinked her lenses into focus and rested her elbows on the table.
    Mrs. Phoebe Hamilton acted as moderator. They would hear three rounds of questions plus a Champion Round, she informed the studio audience in a plummy voice reminiscent of Queen Elizabeth. Thirty questions per round selected from twenty-five possible categories.
    Teams could substitute players once a round, if they wished. Each team had one time-out per round. Only four of a team’s five members played at a time.
    The camera panned the teams. Pinehurst, of course. Versus St. John’s School for the Gifted.
    Pinehurst selected “Greeks.”
    “In Sophocles’ tragedy Oedipus the King,” Mrs. Hamilton read, “what is the answer to the Riddle of the Sphinx?”
    It was an Open, meaning either team could answer. St. John’s buzzed in first. “What is ‘Man’?” a plump boy with glasses asked.
    There was a ripple of laughter from the audience. “Man it