Heads You Win

When Sasha reached the entrance to the dining room he peeped inside, to see rows of long wooden tables laden with food, and benches occupied by undergraduates who obviously felt very much at home. Suddenly fearful of joining such an elite gathering, he turned around, and made his way out through the college gates and onto King’s Parade. He didn’t stop walking until he saw a queue outside a fish and chip shop.

He ate his supper out of a newspaper, aware that his mother wouldn’t have approved, which only caused him to smile. When the street lights flickered on, he returned to his little room to revise two or three more possible exam questions, and didn’t climb into bed until just after midnight. He only slept intermittently, and was horrified when he woke to hear the clock in the court chime eight times. He was just thankful it wasn’t nine. He jumped out of bed, washed and dressed, and ran all the way to the dining hall.

He was back in his room twenty minutes later. He went to the lavatory at the end of the corridor four times during the next hour, but was still standing outside the examination hall thirty minutes early. As the minutes ticked by, a trickle of candidates joined the queue, some talking too much, others not at all, each displaying his own particular level of nervousness. At 9:45, two masters dressed in long black gowns appeared. Sasha later learned they were not masters, but dons, and that the title of Master was reserved for the head of house. So many new words to learn—he wondered if the college had its own dictionary.

One of the dons unlocked the door and the well-disciplined flock followed the shepherd into the examination hall. “You’ll find your names on the desks,” he said. “They are in alphabetical order.” He then took his seat behind a table on the dais at the end of the hall. Sasha found KARPENKO in the middle of the fifth row.

“My colleague and I will now hand out the examination papers,” said the invigilator. “There are twelve questions, of which you must answer three. You will have ninety minutes. If you can’t work out how much time you need to allocate for each question, you shouldn’t be here.” A ripple of nervous laughter spread around the room. “You will not begin until I blow my whistle.” Sasha immediately recalled Mr. Sutton’s first law of exams: the person who finishes first won’t necessarily be the winner.

Once an examination paper had been placed face down in front of each candidate, Sasha waited impatiently for the whistle to blow. The shrill, piercing blast sent a shiver down his spine as he turned the paper over. He read slowly through the twelve questions, immediately placing a tick by five of them. After considering them a second time, he was down to three. One was similar to a question that had come up seven years ago, while another was on his favorite topic. But the real triumph was question 11, which now had two ticks by it, because it was one he’d tackled the night before. Time for Mr. Sutton’s second law of exams: concentrate.

Sasha began to write. Twenty-four minutes later he put his pen down and read through his answer slowly. He could hear Mr. Quilter’s voice: remember to leave enough time to check your answers so you can correct any mistakes. He made a couple of minor emendations, then moved on to question 6. This time, twenty-five minutes, followed by another read-through of his submission, before he moved on to question 11, the double tick. He was writing the final paragraph when the whistle blew, and he only just managed to finish before the papers were gathered up. He was painfully aware that he hadn’t left any time to double-check that answer. He cursed.

Once the candidates had been dismissed, Sasha returned to his room, packed his small suitcase, headed downstairs, and walked straight to the station. He didn’t look back, fearing he would never enter the college again.

On the journey to London, he tried to convince himself that he couldn’t have done any better, but by the time the train pulled into King’s Cross, he was certain he couldn’t have done any worse.

“How do you think it went?” Elena asked even before he’d closed the front door.

“It couldn’t have gone better,” he said, wanting to reassure her. He handed his mother eleven shillings and sixpence, which she put in her purse.

When Sasha returned to school the next morning, Mr. Sutton was more interested in studying the examination paper than in finding out how his pupil felt he’d done, and although he smiled when he saw the ticks, he didn’t point out to Sasha that he’d missed a question on a theorem they had gone over in great detail only a few days before.

“How long will I have to wait for the results?” asked Sasha.