The Knowledge Bee, by Renee Beauregard
Thirty wooden desks supported a classroom of nine-year-old girls. Each girl folded her hands neatly on her lap, and crossed her legs neatly at the ankle. Thirty pairs of eyes watched Miss Sharon expectantly. The day was rainy, and recess was to be spent indoors. This meant that an alternate activity must have been planned, and each of the thirty girls was eager to find out exactly what that would be.
Miss Sharon paced the front of the classroom. “Good morning, girls. I have a surprise for you today.” Thirty girls quickly let out an excited breath. “I would like to introduce you to Miss Andrews. She is going to lead this Rainy Day Recess for us, and I’m sure she would appreciate your full attention.” Each girl turned quick attention toward the door, through which walked a sharp, pointed-looking woman. The woman looked around the classroom quickly, giving a small nod in acknowledgement of the thirty girls. She began to speak. “Girls. Hello. I am pleased to work with each of you today.” She took a stance at the center of the front of the room, beside Miss Sharon. “I think we will have a great deal of fun together. This morning we will participate in a Knowledge Bee.” The girls squealed, delighted, and waited for the inevitable explanation of the rules.
Miss Andrews continued. “I would like all thirty of you to line yourselves up at the front of the classroom, against the chalkboard. I will then ask each girl a science, social studies, English, or mathematical question, starting with the first young lady at my right. If she answers correctly, she may move to the other end of the line, to be further questioned. If she is incorrect, she must take her seat. She will have lost her chance to be one of the ten winners of the Knowledge Bee. The last ten girls standing will be the winners, and each will be rewarded at the end of the recess period. You may line up now, and you may line up quietly.”
The thirty girls excitedly and quietly moved to the front of the room, assembling themselves into a perfect line. Miss Sharon took a quiet stance at the back of the room, and Miss Andrews stood near the front, shuffling her index cards. “Are we ready to begin, girls?” The thirty girls shouted their unanimous “yes!” and the game began.
Miss Andrews raised one eyebrow at the first girl in line. “Young lady. What is the name of the third president of the United States of America?” The girl rocked slightly back on one foot for a moment, sticking her tongue between her teeth in thought before answering. “Ma’am, I believe the third president of the United States of America is Thomas Jefferson.” The girl held her breath as Miss Andrews paused a moment. “That is correct. Stand at the end of the line.” She directed her attention toward the next girl in line. “Young lady. What is the capital of Russia?” The girl’s face showed her nervousness. “Ma’am, I believe the capital of Russia is St. Petersburg.” Miss Andrews paused again, and this time said, “No. Sit down.” The young lady dropped her immediately quivering chin, and took her seat as the first Knowledge Bee loser.
“Next,” ordered Miss Andrews. The next girl in line stared nervously at the wooden floor of the classroom. “Ma’am, I believe the capital of Russia is Moscow.” Miss Andrews nodded sharply, and continued in her line of questioning. “Young lady. What is the sum of thirty-nine and forty-two? Young lady, what is the definition of a cumulous cloud formation? Young lady. Spell the word ‘magnanimous.’ Young lady. Name the parts of the respiratory system.”
The game continued in this manner as twenty girls slowly took their seats. The ten girls left at the front of the classroom beamed in excitement at their newest accomplishment. At the end of the game, these ten were congratulated by Miss Andrews and Miss Sharon, and each of the ten waited patiently to hear what their award would be. Miss Andrews did not humor them. “Nice job, ladies. Now take your seats. And I would like the twenty girls who lost the Knowledge Bee to line up once again at the front of the room.” The twenty embarrassed girls slowly walked back to the chalkboard. Miss Andrews nodded at them. “Young ladies, follow me.” She opened the classroom door, and promptly walked out. Twenty uncertain girls followed.
The ten girls remaining in the classroom looked at one another in both disappointment at a lack of immediate reward and in smugness at having won the Bee anyway. Miss Sharon gave the ten girls a tight-lipped smile and said, “Again, girls, well done. I am proud to be your teacher. It is time for individual reading, now, and I will turn on the CD player while we read quietly at our desks.” She walked to the counter at the side of the classroom and turned on one of Beethoven’s more rousing symphonies.
As the girls pulled out their worn copies of Mark Twain novels, of S.E.Hinton books and of George Orwell classics, faint murmuring was heard within the classroom from somewhere in the hallway. Miss Sharon turned the CD player’s volume up slightly. She walked back and forth, looking over the titles of the books the girls had chosen to read. A small cry was heard from the hallway, and two of the girls looked up from their books. Miss Sharon laid a pointed finger against her pursed lips, and shook her head. The two girls continued reading. A moment later, another series of cries were heard, this time more clearly. Miss Sharon hurried to the CD player and turned the volume up once again. A few more girls looked up from their books, foreheads crinkled and eyebrows raised, but were silently instructed again to return to their books.
Miss Sharon leaned against the counter, hand poised above the CD player. By now, the symphony was playing rather loudly, and each of the ten girls tried to ignore the volume of the CD player as well as the strangeness of Miss Sharon’s behavior.
A shrill scream sounded from down the hall, and the ten girls in the classroom looked worriedly at their teacher. Miss Sharon replied with a stern “Read. Your. Books. I won’t say it again.” More screams exploded from the hallway, and the ten girls within the classroom bit the insides of their cheeks. The screams did not come from Miss Pinkerton’s office, and they did not come from the bathroom. They did not come from the eight-year-old classroom, or from the seven-year-old classroom. It sounded as though they came from the Gassing Room, the one room in the tiny schoolhouse each girl wished to avoid more terribly than they wished to avoid the inside of Miss Pinkerton’s office. Only the Deviant Girls were sent to the Gassing Room. Not a single girl was quite sure of what went on inside the Room, but whatever it was must have been awful, as the girls who were sent there left school entirely and were not seen again.
The screaming continued, sometimes growing louder and sometimes sounding like quiet yelping. The ten girls in the classroom continued reading, and the symphony continued playing at an exaggerated volume. Slowly, and somewhat pathetically, the screaming stopped. The yelping stopped, and all of the cries stopped. The ten girls were almost relieved. Miss Sharon turned the volume of the CD player back to its normal quiet, and even the rain outside seemed to stop.
A moment later, Miss Andrews returned briskly to the classroom. She stood at the front, and addressed the girls. Although her hair was still tightly in its bun and her outfit still crisp and neat, her face was flushed.
“Young ladies. Congratulations on winning the Knowledge Bee. Each of you will be presented with a gold star and a letter of achievement at the end of the school day. More importantly, however, each of you has earned herself a potential lifetime of intelligent contribution and service to your society. Not everyone deserves a lifetime, but you ladies have earned it. Please give yourselves a round of applause.”
The ten girls quietly clapped their hands together as ordered, some looking forward to the gold star they would be able to show their mothers, and others wishing the reward could have been an extra ration of ice cream or something more useful than a star and a letter.
Miss Sharon clapped her hands together briefly, and nodded at Miss Andrews. “Girls, Miss Andrews will be leaving us now. She is going to help some of the other teachers with their classrooms today. Please thank her for being here this morning!” Ten girls replied with their unanimous “Thank you Miss Andrews,” and Miss Andrews exited the room, tapping her way down the hallway and into the seven-year-old classroom.
Miss Sharon glanced at the clock in the room. “Alright, girls, we will have our mathematics lesson, and then snack time.”
Forty-five minutes later, ten girls crunched hungrily on their carrot sticks and apple slices. Their teacher stood, once again, at the counter beside the CD player. As soon as the first few screams were heard from the Gassing Room, Miss Sharon quickly turned the volume up, and the girls continued snacking.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Renee Beauregard is pursuing her MFA in creative writing at Hamline University. She has a tailless cat named Bean, and once bit a urinal cake on a dare. It tasted a lot like chemicals and burning. Recent and forthcoming publications include The Northern New England Review, The Rectangle, and Arsenic Lobster.