Test Day, with the exam at 8am and the results at midnight, was known as Schroedinger’s Day. Even the brightest graduate feared they might not be among the 90% that passed, and be allowed to live.
Some families, everyone knew, had more to fear than others.
This year that included the Mercers. Jason Mercer was a popular, lazy boy, who couldn’t be bothered to comb his hair, let alone learn algebra, even though his life depended on studying. Three generations of the Test had weeded out not just the academically weak, but the temperamentally rebellious, but Jason had sprouted like a dandelion on a monument.
To the bafflement of all, on test day Jason’s nonchalance was unabated. He overslept, strolled in with that bird’s-nest hair, and sat the test.
At midnight his parents ceased offering him cheesecake and Betelgeusian beer, and held his hands. “We love you…” his mother began.
The knock at the door made everyone but Jason jump.
The Tester handed over the envelope and left, head bowed.
Mr Mercer opened the envelope, trembling, and collapsed. “Top 10%!” he gasped. “Jason lives!”
Mrs Mercer had one question: “How?”
Jason shrugged. “Everyone else studied,” he said. “That’s not my bag. So, like, I learned to cheat.”
In the fall-out that led to the dismantling of the entire Test system, Jason never revealed how, exactly, he had cheated the uncheatable Test.
“There’s more than one way to win,” he said, flicking his hair. “I cheated – and we all won.”
100 Museums In A Year 