Backspace

My gaze traced the path of a single rain-droplet as it slid down the windowpane beside me. I was supposed to be watching my students as they took their final exam--to make sure no one was sharing answers or sneaking glances at surreptitious notes scribbled on the inside of their forearms.

What did it matter when I would be watched later, to make sure that I was going against the very principles this institution swore it valued? The Academy touted its integrity, diligence, and, and courage, making it easy for every student to trust the results of The Final--the test that categorized each student into their position for life, their opportunities and status eternally. Sure, the Academy hadn’t rigged the tests themselves, but the scores...I shrank in my seat as I thought about what was to come.

Someone exhaled passively, punctuating my reflections with an ellipsis. I scanned the room to find the culprit—it was the usual suspect. Second row, third from the left. The Empress’ son. He was quiet, unassuming, and unperturbed despite the test before him. Why would he be when he had the best resource at his disposal? Mommy.

I startled once more as the grandfather clock in the back of the lecture hall indicated that the exam period was almost over. Soon enough, the students would walk the length of the marble-floored room and drop their test booklets and answer documents in two separate stacks on my mahogany desk. Multiple choice. They’d leave with a sense of freedom and begin their summer holiday. I would stay and scan their answer documents through the Grader machine; freedom would be my fantasy.

She’d be there the whole time, observing my every move. She’d watch me enter the grades. She’d make sure I’d record her son’s score as the highest in the class. It would be over so quickly, I knew. I’d have to type the two digits of his score out of one hundred and then click the button labeled “enter” on my keyboard to seal his score as fact—as fate.

And if I didn’t do that? My stomach turned at the thought. We’d be alone. The walls would be too thick for anyone to hear me scream. Not that any of the Academy guards would think to spare my life in exchange for their own. The Empress was willing to destroy anyone if it meant maintaining their family’s status for another generation.

I looked at Susanna—the student who always had the topmost score on every assignment before grades were ‘adjusted’, as the Empress called it. My body tensed and I let the raindrops consume my vision again.

The rain droplet on the windowpane had reached its demise, but another had chased its tail and caught my eye. I cringed as it slipped towards the edge of the pane, meeting its inevitable death.

I blinked and shifted my gaze back towards the students. Susanna turned her exam in first, followed by the rest of the students in slow, lilting waves. I nodded at them as they left the classroom and went on their way, oblivious to the truth of the building they felt so secure in.

When the last student filed out of my classroom, a weighted beat passed, and then the Empress walked through the classroom door. She was wearing a dark green gown, layered with black netting. Pearls dripped from her ears, the roundedness contradicting the sharpness of her chin. Bright blue eyes locked with mine immediately and I felt self-conscious of all the ways we were different. She was tall, strong, full of power, and wealth. And there I was, a pawn in her kingdom. Short, rounded, afraid.

The candlelight from the chandelier above me painted strange shadows across her face and undoubtedly revealed the dread on my own. Her black, heeled shoes clicked precisely to the rhythm of the rain outside as she walked towards my desk. My breath became staccato, fighting its way through my lungs and through my nose.

I became all too aware of my body, suddenly feeling disconnected from each piece. What was I supposed to be doing with my hands again? I sprang to my feet, realizing I should be addressing her with more than an agape mouth. “Your Majesty,” I curtseyed.

She didn’t acknowledge me. She never really did if no one else was around. Instead, she placed a gloved hand into the pocket of her dress. I already knew what was in there; we’d done this dance before, and she always led. A sharpened, shining, silver dagger now rested in her grip, like it too was her baby.

“Right, then.” I sat back down at my desk and took the collection of answer documents and tapped the edge of the stack against the surface of my deck, buying time that I would never own anyway. The Grader ate each of the documents with ease, popping them out on the other side with a clearly printed score at the bottom. I didn’t take my eyes off the results as they appeared—of course, Susanna’s score couldn’t be beat. When the Empress’ son’s test was graded, my heart sank at the score. Twenty points lower than Susanna’s. Average—maybe lower.

The temptation to glance upwards at the Empress to see her reaction gnawed at me, but I didn’t take the risk.

I took the newly graded documents and scooted my wooden chair closer to the Records Screen. The moment was happening just as I had imagined it would, yet I was still sitting on edge. I opened the application in which scores were recorded for the final exam, knowing that these would be published as irrevocable truth.

Silently, I calculated her son’s score plus twenty-one points—just enough so he’d be best in the class. The top ranking would swing wide the doors that were already cracked open for him by association. And I was pulling the handle. Thunder sneered at me from outside and I knew it was the heavenly beings’ disgust at me.

Looking down at the keyboard underneath the Records Screen, I focused my eyes on the buttons for the two digits that would comprise his adjusted score. Just below the numbers and above my smallest finger was a button labeled “backspace.” I looked away from it angrily.

I typed the adjusted grade into to the application, digit by digit. My hands quivered—was I scared of her or scared of myself for being complicit?

The button above my pinky seemed to vibrate, to call to me.

Press.

Click.

And I did it.

[Backspace]

I backspaced one digit and felt her knife bristle with shock and confusion.

I backspaced again until the adjusted grade was deleted.

The Empress pressed the tip of her knife into the side of my neck.

“Meena, what are you doing?” The Empress hissed, bending down so her mouth was close to my ear. Her breath was hot and smelled of death and rum.

I felt my pulse beating where my palm and forearm joined at the wrist, quite sure the blood was rushing so fast it would tear my skin open any second. I thought of the Empress’ son. I thought of Susanna.

“Typo.” I said it nonchalantly; I think she wondered if I was having a stroke.

“Be careful what you type next,” she warned, her disbelief palpable.

I held my breath as I waited to see what my hand would do next. I refused to acknowledge my own actions to myself, but took note of the thunder outside softening and the raindrops next to me letting refracted sunlight wrap warmly over my hands.

I typed the first digit of her son’s actual score in.

No one will hear me if I scream.

I typed the next digit.

No one will know if she ends me here.

And I clicked [enter].

No one will--