What Are Common Mistakes To Avoid In A Closed Book Exam?

Mom is very biased. Every night, she will pour me a glass of milk before bedtime, simply because my grades are the best. My twin sister, Melody York, and my younger brother, Jason York, have never received this treatment before. On the night before my college entrance exam, Mom brings me a glass of milk before my bedtime as usual. But the next day, I end up collapsing in the exam venue even though I've always been healthy. Because of that, I miss out on the college entrance exam, causing me to fail. Meanwhile, Melody, whose grades have always been terrible, miraculously gets into an outstanding university. Mom consoles me, telling me that it's fine to just repeat the senior year. Every night, she prepares the same glass of milk for me as usual. Before the second college entrance exam, my cousin, Annie Wood, is staying over at my place temporarily. She wants to have a taste of my nighttime milk, only to get berated by Mom for being shameless. But halfway through the exam, I suffer from an intense stomachache all of a sudden. After that, I get sent to the hospital for emergency treatment. That year, I end up failing the exam again. But Annie, who comes from a vocational high school, gets into a pretty good university thanks to her scores. The entire family is elated, to say the least. But the fact that I have to repeat my senior year for the third time makes me the butt of everyone's jokes. I don't understand why all sorts of health problems will plague my body when it's time for my college entrance exam. When I'm taking the exam for the third time, I tell myself that this is my final chance, so I mustn't slack off no matter what. Three days before the exam, the only food I've ingested is the food offered by the school's cafeteria, just in case I run into more health problems on the day of the exam. But on the night before the exam, Mom brings me yet another glass of milk before bedtime.

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

Flynn Watson, the actual heir of the Watson family, reported me for cheating during the exams. As I stared at both copies of the test papers with perfect grades and the same answers, I found it difficult to explain what happened. Everyone took Flynn's side. Because of that, I was painted as a cheater, which resulted in my exile from the Watson family. The Watsons went as far as to get me blacklisted from all industries just so they could appease Flynn. I ended up on the streets as a homeless person, where I got tormented incessantly. In a daze, I got hit by a car. I still failed to understand why my test papers would show the same answers as Flynn's even when I was on death's door. When I open my eyes again, I've gotten reborn on the day of the exams. This time, I choose to not write anything on the exam papers at all. I'd like to see just how I can be branded as a cheater now that I'm not given any marks at all.

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

During the national college entrance exam, I didn't write a single word, yet I deliberately waited until everyone else had left before walking out of the testing center. Facing the reporters camped outside, I said confidently, "A top university? I've practically got it in the bag." My biological parents, who had only recently brought me back into their wealthy family, couldn't stop smiling. Even the fake heiress of the family could barely hide her excitement. I only smiled without explaining and signed the early-admission confirmation my teacher had secured for me in advance. In my previous life, my biological parents had bound the fake heiress and me to a score-swapping system for the national exam. She effortlessly used my score to get into Thornwood, while I couldn't even qualify for an ordinary trade college. I became the laughingstock of the entire school, and the fake heiress led the accusations that all my earlier grades had come from cheating. Unable to endure the humiliation, I jumped from the school building. This time, I'll make her learn exactly what it feels like to rank dead last in all of Westbridge.

I spent three years studying like my life depended on it before I finally earned a government job. Then, on my first week there, I saw a familiar face. My cousin. The same cousin I’d met at that awkward family reunion back home. Somehow, he had gotten hired by the same department. A few days later, at a family dinner, he made his move. With my uncle sitting right there at the head of the table, acting every bit like the important city official he was, my cousin shoved a classified file into my hands. The pages had clearly been tampered with. Before I could say a word, he let out a sharp cry and dropped to the floor. The file spilled open across the tile. “Ethan!” he shouted, his voice trembling with fake disbelief. “That’s confidential government material! How could you steal it and show it to outsiders? Was the finder’s fee really worth selling us out?” My uncle slammed his hand on the table and stood up, his face dark with rage. He said he would not protect family at the cost of justice. He said he would fire me on the spot and report me to the higher-ups himself. That was when a string of floating comments appeared in front of my eyes. [This cousin is painfully stupid. Does he seriously not know the male lead was brought in from above as the head of the internal inspection team? He’s here to investigate him.] [And the uncle is still acting. Hilarious. The inspection team’s car is literally about to pull up outside.] I read the comments, then calmly lifted my teacup and took a slow sip. Across from me, my cousin was still trying to look loyal and outraged. I set the cup down and smiled. “You’re right about one thing. This file is confidential.” His eyes lit up. Then I added, “But you changed the wrong section.” The color drained from his face. I turned to my uncle. “And Uncle, didn’t you just say you’d put justice before family?” I pushed back my chair and stood. “Great. Then come with me to the Special Investigations Unit and explain how many people you’ve illegally helped into the department over the years.” My cousin stared at me, completely stunned. He had fought so hard to get into public service. He had no idea I was the one sent to clean it up.