Monkey Business

layla thinks she failed (again)

Thursday, December 18, 10:58 a.m.

“Two more minutes,” Flynn, the proctor/TA says.

I’m going to fail. Completely fail. How am I going to get a job this summer if I fail? It is humanly impossible for a mere mortal to answer all these questions. I still have so much more to write for this last question. My heart is racing and my hand is scribbling and I have to get this all down. Why can’t we write with computers, why why why? Paper and pen are so archaic. How am I supposed to think? To delete? To spellcheck? I should have gone to sleep earlier. I need at least seven hours of sleep to perform properly on an exam. Next semester I’m going to bed early the night before all exams. At eight.

Only four of us are left in the room. Everyone else has somehow finished. How have they possibly finished? I haven’t even started proofreading yet.

· 11a. With a squared multiple correlation coefficient of 78.6 and a standard error of 4.347, these numbers represents a better correlation than the single variable models in 1 and 2.

“Thirty more seconds.”

· 11b. As long as there is not a significant correlation between X1 and X2, a significant multiple linear regression should give you a higher r-sq and therefore a better predictor model.

“Time up, everyone. Pencils down.” One more question!

· 12. Yes. With such a high r-sq value store size is a good predictor of profit.

Done! Flynn picks up my paper. His hands are thin and hairy. “How’d you find it?”

“Impossible.”

“Layla, I’m sure you did fine.”

All my TAs and professors know my name. I ask a lot of questions.

I walk to the door, disgusted with myself. Kimmy is waiting for me outside, smiling. “Not bad, huh?”

“I failed for sure.”

“What?” She’s shaking her head in disbelief. “No way. It was everything we talked about. You knew that stuff cold. You taught it to me.”

“There was too much to write and not enough time.”

Kimmy gestures to the cafeteria, but I have to get away from school. “Let’s go for sushi,” I suggest. “On me.” I know Kimmy doesn’t like spending money when she’s already paid for the food plan. I’m getting tired of cafeteria food.

She hesitates. “I want to get to the library. What about sushi for dinner?”

“Deal.”

“I still don’t believe you failed,” she says as we enter the cafeteria. “You’ve claimed to have failed every exam so far. And you said the same about midterms and you aced them. It’s a little annoying, actually.”

She’s probably right. I do always think I’ve failed, yet I always do well. But I’m not lying when I say the exam was hard. They’re all hard. “We’ll see. You found it all right?”

I take a grilled cheese and fries and she just takes fries.

She nods. “Yeah. Not easy, but much better than the midterm.” She watches me drench my plate in ketchup. “Would you like some sandwich with that ketchup?”

“Ha-ha.” Yum.

We sit in our regular seat. Jamie and Russ aren’t here. They left the exam a half hour ago, so they probably already ate and are either studying or napping.

“I’ve been into vinegar on my fries lately,” she says, dribbling the clear shaker over her fries.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Russ does it, and now I’m addicted.”

I pop a sopping red fry into my mouth. Yum. “Let’s eat quickly so we can get back.”

I think I’ll miss the library when we’re done. Is that weird? I love the quiet, the smell, the sense of purpose. I wonder if the hotel we’re staying at in St. Bart’s has a library. No, that would be weird. To be honest, I’m going to miss taking exams. The rush. The blood pouring from my brain to my fingers. I know I always think I failed, but I also know I won’t.

“Only one more,” Kimmy says. Her voice sounds almost wistful. Semester’s end means Russ goes back to Toronto. To Sharon.

“Only one more,” I repeat. We eat our fries slowly, as though hoping to prolong the day.