Mrs. Walsh’s car would not start that morning. She was going to be late and wouldn’t be able to take her first year’s maths class. Mr. Hughes was alone in the staff room. The head nun asked him to supervise the free class. He sat at the top of the class and buried his head in his newspaper. The pupils were given nothing to do. The boys at the back started a game of cards. The girls were bored. A group of them decided to rate the boys in the class. They took out the centre pages from one of their copy books. They turned the sheet sideways and neatly wrote their names across the top. They then wrote all the boys’ names down the left hand side. They were not to know it, but they had just created a spreadsheet. The plan was that each girl, in turn, would give the boys marks on how attractive – or not – they found them. Ten was the highest score. Zero was the lowest score.
The process was carried out amid a lot of giggling and sideways glances at the boys in the room. It was obvious some of the group were reluctant to reveal their true feelings. Rating the boys they didn’t like was not a problem. It was the boys they fancied that caused the hesitancy. Eventually, encouraged by their friends, each girl went down the list of names and awarded every boy a score. They stopped occasionally to check on Mr. Hughes. He did not budge from behind his paper. The girls assumed their favourite teacher had fallen asleep on the job again. Once they were finished, the girls called over some of the boys – one by one – and showed them the results. These were the boys that had scored the highest marks. The boys came back to their seats, pleased but slightly embarrassed to be singled out. The class ended soon after. Game over, one of the girls rolled the sheet of paper into a ball and threw it in a waste paper basket. It was the 11:00 AM break and the classroom very quickly emptied.
He had watched the proceedings with genuine interest. He was impressed by the efficient way the girls had gathered and recorded the data. Their quick analysis of the results had also been quite remarkable. He had not been one of the boys called over – but he was not surprised at that. Now on his own in the classroom, he goes over to the waste paper basket and retrieves the rolled up sheet. He flattens the sheet out on the desk in front of him. He searches down the list of boys’ names until he finds his own name. It is near the bottom of the list. He checks the numbers beside his name, finger under each column. A row of zeros spreads depressingly from left to right. He checks again in dismay. His eyes have not deceived him. All zeros. Noughts. Duck Eggs.