Robyn Hoodie, the Virgin Diary - Chapter 24: The Rest Is History
Created | Updated Jun 22, 2024
Chapter 24: The Rest Is History
MEEEEP!!! MEEEEP!!! MEEEEP!!! MEEEEP!!!
Crash!
Who set that infernal alarm clock? Oh wait, I did. Why would I do it though?
Hang on... Another exam today!!! The last one (unless I need a second go on one that failed to work out).
But which one? Let's see. We started with Maths, then Biology, then Economics, Dutch, English and Fine Arts (which might have turned out to be Coarse Arts in my case). Oh no! History!
Halfway down my breakfast, I remembered my lack of bicycle and panicked. Last few days I was able to borrow Robyn's, but not today. That leaves the rusty space-scooter and another exam starting with a sweaty back and sloshing armpits.
I rammed my sandwiches and writing stuff in my daypack and pulled the scooter from the shed. The reciprocating chain creaked in protest as I kicked off to school. The see-saw plate also made scary noises. It probably doesn't help that it isn't the adult-weight approved version.
Out of breath I arrived, realising I didn't have a lock for the space-scooter, so I took it inside and made an attempt to fold it into my locker. It nearly fitted, so in the end I managed to close the locker using an overdose of cable-ties. Getting it back open would be a problem I had to tackle after my exam.
The invigilator from hell once again let me in, tapping her watch and her foot intermittently, like clockwork.
Right... History exam... Three hours, twenty-five questions... Why not 24? Intervals of seven-and-a-half minutes are much easier to track than seven minutes and 12 seconds... Let's not dwell on this, otherwise I will only have seven or six minute intervals left.
'You may now lay down your historically-approved piece of timekeeping equipment on your desk!' The invigilator bellowed. 'Extra points will be awarded for originality, although it must be noted that you cannot claim any rights with respect to elapsed exam time from your own piece! The exam is over when we say it is! (But we will keep the clock in the gym covered to not spoil the surprise.) Good luck!'
I plonked my grandfather's silver filigreed hourglass on the table with a piece of paper indicating its year of manufacture and a short essay on the history of the hourglass. (Most of which was shrouded in the mists of time. The earliest surviving evidence was fourteenth century). Good thing I didn't come in my usual fully-unprepared state. (My thanks go out to the lovely Micelli Twins for pointing out this arcane piece of bonus assignment and to myself for not unthinkingly taking the hourglass and paperwork back out of my bag.)
From the corners of my eyes I saw some really interesting timekeepers, although it must be said that they didn't help creating an atmosphere where you could really concentrate on answering the questions. At least my hourglass was relatively compact and quiet, compared to the Chinese water clock on the table next to me (the sound of running water is perfect for anyone who forgot to go to the lavatory before the exam. Luckily, I lost most excess water through sweating on the way here). Someone even brought a floral clock. That must have been an awful lot of research to tune the flowers to match the opening and closing of petals to the exact exam times. Well... at least it does make the place smell nicer (when the alternative is adolescent sweat). One of the more universally annoying ones was the candle clock that dropped steel ball bearings to clatter onto a porcelain dish at (approximately) one-minute intervals. I did feel kind of bad for the enlightened soul who decided to bring a Roman sundial inside for his timekeeping and the one who kept asking how he could get the monoliths inside to set up his stone circle (I did notice the queue of large trucks outside the school when I arrived earlier).
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Time to answer some questions... Let's see, two questions where we need to put statements in chronological order. I'll start there before I have a blackout or get incapacitated by a competing time piece.
Apart from the recurring activity of turning over the hourglass, the actual exam wasn't that hard. Things looked positively positive for me. But that was about to change.
At three-quarters along the exam (according to my hourglass-accurate timing) an ear-shattering noise made all candidates jump. The elaborate incense clock of the shy girl in the back of the gym had finally triggered the fire alarm and sprinklers. This really messed up the water clock and the flower clock and it did momentarily led to an actual fireball as the water reached the burning wax of the candle clock.
Despite my valiant efforts to save my exam papers from the wet onslaught, we were quickly informed (after the evacuation to a drier place) that an event of this magnitude would invoke an automatic repeat test at a later date. Given my progress today, I would have preferred to have finished it here and now.
Walking to my locker (and leaving a wet trail) the only upside I could see was that the invigilator had to remain in the deluge to secure the gym while others tried to turn off the sprinklers. I was happy to see they didn't seem to be in much of a hurry.
In a later statement, the school told us the bonus assignment would be scrapped for the repeat test. The grading for that bit would be done based on what could be recovered from the gym. Just to be sure, I sent them a photo of the hourglass (which I declined to leave at the crime-scene/indoor pool/gym for reasons of emotional value and because I hadn't asked Mom or Dad whether it was fine to take it out of the wall safe of which I did not officially know the opening sequence) plus a copy of my essay.
It took me the better part of four hourglasses to non-destructively dismantle the cable-ties on my locker with the reamer thingy on my (moderately illegal) Swiss Army knife.
When I came home, Robyn looked at me in my dripping clothes with an emerging grin and asked in a deadpan voice: 'Was it about sea battles?'
