Teen Distress, Depression, and Danger

This Is Not a Test
Unit tests took place every four or five weeks in Mr. Hirsch's class. When he was starting out teaching, he used to refer to them as quizzes, thinking that might minimize students' test anxiety. And once he even called them, in a lighthearted moment, "quizzies." But that was when somebody piped up from the back of the room, "If this is one of his quizzies, I'd hate to see his testes." Teachers learn fast if they're going to survive in the profession

. In any case, today's was the seventh exam of the year. If you had heard all the weeping and gnashing of teeth, though, you would have thought it was number seventy. Tests are not exactly the highlight of the teacher's day either, to be honest. But at the same time Mr. Hirsch would also like to add—for the record, in case anybody's keeping one—that a test could be a teaching tool. He felt that, if you do a good job, you can design a test that not only reveals the student's knowledge but also teaches something to those who take it. Well, anyway, officer, that's Mr. Hirsch's story, and he was sticking to it.

Luke usually did all right in this class, Bs—never Cs, never As. But Mr. Hirsch was almost embarrassed to make the following admission: he barely knew Luke, who was one of his 152 students this term. Luke did keep mostly to himself, hardly opened up in discussion, and rarely walked into the room in the company of anybody else.

Maybe Mr. Hirsch did get hung up in his classroom, at his desk, in committee meetings, or at games, but he happened to know a lot more about some other students. In fact, he would never have thought much about Luke today if it hadn't been for the incident.

After handing out the test and answering the inevitable procedural questions (whose answers inevitably appeared as numbered instructions in boldface at the top of the test), he sat down at his desk. There he could review notes for next period and, of course, keep an eye out on the whole class. It's not that he is a mistrustful sort. It was just that there's no need to furnish anyone incentives to give in to temptation.

In this school, it's acceptable for students to leave the room after finishing a test, as long as they don't disturb the other test takers and the other classes in session. Compared to other schools, this one was little bit casual in these sorts of matters. A fair number of faculty thought the institution was a little too casual and could benefit from more traditional rules.

On this day, it wasn't very long—maybe twenty-five or so minutes into the period—before Luke was gathering up his things, slinging on his backpack, and advancing to the teacher's desk. When he arrived, his eyes shifting slowly from side to side, he allowed the test pages to flutter down before the teacher.

"Done already?" Mr. Hirsch asked. Not a great question, he would have to concede, but he had been surprised by Luke's finishing so fast and hadn't had time to warm up.

"Oh, I am done all right, I am really done." His voice was so cool the climate in the room seemed to change. "I've had enough," he asserted.

"It's not worth the hassle. I'm going to shut down this circus once and for all."

Mr. Hirsch asked him to repeat what he just said.

"Never mind, I am outta here, I need some oxygen." He wasn't asking for permission to leave the room.

When Mr. Hirsch picked up the test and scanned it, it was clear that Luke had completed about half, and none of it with great care. "Forget to study, Luke?" he whispered. There was no need for students to hear, though everybody seemed wrapped up in their own work anyway.

"No, I didn't forget." His voice carried as he loomed over the desk. "It just doesn't make any difference is all. Why bother? I'm just a choke. Don't waste your time grading the test. It doesn't matter anymore. Adios."

Mr. Hirsch's head snapped back. It took a minute to register that Luke had abandoned the room.

Then Mr. Hirsch recalled the single time when the two of them had talked, and their subject was taking tests. On that occasion he had just handed back a corrected test, and Luke seemed very disappointed with the results. He thought he had been ready that day and he had been counting, he said, on a higher grade. He went on, describing his tendency to become too tense and to blank on what he had studied. Mr. Hirsch made a few suggestions for preparing systematically and doing simple things such as reading the whole test first and then rereading one by one the questions as he proceeded. He had said, "Hey, I want you to do well on a test. I could easily write a test that I myself would fail. What would be the point?"

Anyway, after Luke had left the room today, Mr. Hirsch took a walk around the classroom to get his bearings. Then he settled back in his desk chair. What Luke had turned in was right there, on top of the grade book. On the back of page two was a stick-figure drawing of somebody strung up on a hangman's noose and a caption: "Now it's off to hang myself I go. Thanks for nothing."

The next thing Mr. Hirsch felt was his heart racing as he gripped onto the desk as if it were the safety bar on a roller coaster. What in the world was Luke telling him? Should he do something? There were thirty-two minutes left to ride out before the bell rang and released them.

Mr. Hirsch pulled Luke out of his next period.

"What's up?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth. The note, on your test, remember?"

"That? No big deal."

"In my mind, it is."

II can't afford to miss any more class, so why don't you and everybody else stay out of my life?"

"That's not so easy anymore, after the note you left me."

"I didn't leave you anything. And who invited you into my life?"

"You did. Look, I don't know what's going on . . . "

"There's a news flash."

Mr. Hirsch didn't have time to deal with the sarcasm. "But I can't ignore what you did on that test."

"Just requires a little practice. Some of my so-called friends ignore me all the time."

"Can you just give the attitude a rest, Luke, and talk with me for a few minutes? I'm not trying to make your life harder, honest."

Luke was poised to reply—obviously it was going to be another wisecrack—but for some reason he paused and stared at his teacher. Finally, he announced, "All right. Talk."

Mr. Hirsch guided him over to the picnic tables where students ate their lunch. They were empty at this time of day because everybody was in class, so it was a private enough place for them. "Thanks for sitting down with me."

Luke studied his wristwatch.

Mr. Hirsch tried to organize his thoughts. He wanted to be careful. He stared at the carvings on the table, all the black-marker hearts encasing initials and pierced with arrows, all the character smears and phone numbers and more than a few crude words. He hardly ever sat at these student tables and looking at the inscriptions made him feel a little sad, to tell the truth. It was hard being a teenager, and here was plenty of evidence that very few kids were getting out of high school unscathed.

"I'm pretty troubled about what you wrote."

"I've been frustrated, is all."

"When you said you were off to hang yourself, it sounded to me like a lot more than frustration."

"I shouldn't have written that, you're right. Had something to eat, I'm feeling better."

"I'm glad to hear that, but you can understand why I'm worried."

"Just keep it between us, would you? You're not going to get sued if that's what you're worried about, because I'm really not going to kill myself. That'd be pretty cheesy."

"Are you talking with anybody? Friends, parents, counselor?"

"Like a shrink? Nah. I can deal with my problems. I just get angry sometimes. Of course, I wouldn't get so angry if people weren't such a pain in the ass."

"But you did put me in the middle, you know, writing that."

"You'll get over it."

"I thought you were going to cut the wiseass."

"All right. I mean, just keep it between us. I'm not going to do anything."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Now would be a perfect time for somebody to trust old Luke, you know that?"

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