Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Now, is the testing on computers?” Mike asked.
Bishop tensed.
“Yes. But you have the option of paper. We have a lot of students who aren’t comfortable testing on computers. Do you want me to indicate paper test?”
“Sure do.” Mike winked.
Bishop squirmed at the beads of sweat rolling down his spine. Shit, that sounded like a lot at once. How was he going to even… Bishop wanted to scream that he wasn’t ready, that he couldn’t do it, but he kept his lips firmly together while he followed Mike to a set of chairs in the lobby. And without thought, the same as Trent did, his dad began filling out the forms for him.
“I know you weren’t expecting to test today, but maybe that’s a good thing. Sometimes it’s best to just get it out the way,” Mike said while scribbling information. “Knock it out.”
“Maybe. I think we should come back some other time,” Bishop said, glancing around. Anywhere but at his father. “I’m gonna do the test. But won’t we be too late for work if I take it now? I can do it on… on another day.”
Mike glared at him for long moment. “Nope,” he said and kept writing.
Dammit. “Dad,” Bishop murmured, feeling as if his chest was caving in. The pressure was crushing and the truth he was facing was terrifying.
“Just do your best, Bishop. Like that chick said. There are no good or bad grades. Think of it as testing yourself.”
“Yeah, okay.” Bishop rubbed his hands together and his right knee bounced nonstop until a young guy with ripped skinny jeans and an Avengers T-shirt called his name.
His dad held his fist out, and Bishop was mortified when he tapped a shaky fist to his father’s. Mike’s dark eyes shone with concern as he gave him a quick nod. He was telling Bishop that he was gonna be fine but that was the complete opposite of what he was feeling. He put one foot in front of the other, his construction boots feeling as heavy as boulders. Every step felt as if he was going to face plant into the shiny linoleum.
“Right this way,” the young guy said. “Second door to the right. Make sure your cell phone is silenced and there are no other electronic devices of any kind allowed to be used during testing.”
Bishop went inside the room that was set up just like a classroom, with three rows of tables with computers in front of each chair and a bare table that Bishop assumed was for the paper test takers. There was even a dry erase board and desk at the front. The kid sat and pointed at the far table. “Your test is at your seat, Mr. Stockley.”
Ugh. It was bad enough that the only other two people in there appeared to be no older than twenty-five, but did he have to be treated like the elder? The other testers were sitting at computers at opposite ends of the table and both watched him curiously until he settled into his seat. He was the outcast, once again he stood out. Whenever he had shown up for class in high school, the other kids had always known that Bishop had special needs.
The guy began to rattle off a few more details about the rules of testing and what to do when they were finished, but Bishop couldn’t hear as the ringing in his ears got louder. When everything suddenly went quiet he heard the faint clicks of the other test-takers’ computers, he figured he was supposed to start. He tore open the tab, ignoring the paragraph on the first page, and flipped to the second one.
The first section was math. The question was so basic, a simple addition problem, that Bishop almost laughed. He quickly answered it and moved to number two, feeling the rigidness in his spine loosen. This wasn’t so bad. The math on the first page progressed gradually, but Bishop felt confident in his subtraction and multiplication answers. It was the third page that almost made him break his pencil as he balled his fist on top of the table. Fucking word problems. He went through each line catching a few words but not enough to know if he should divide those numbers or multiply them. Fuck. This could be an answer he might could get right if he just… goddammit.
Bishop moved to the next one. Same thing. The problem after that was twice as long. The next page was math problems he’d never seen before. They had numbers and shapes and shit in them. Bishop’s knee began to bounce. He left those answers blank—meaning wrong—and when he turned the page again, he was at the science section which looked to be a ton of lengthy sentences and paragraphs he was supposed to read and circle one of the four answers beneath it.