Exam bomb

- Kolya, fuck off ...
- Well, Ira ...
Kolya stood and mocked, plainly not knowing what. Warden Ira, the organizer to the marrow of bones, even supervised the preparation for the exam. Fifteen minutes were left before the professor arrived, and Ira ran about as usual, between students and asked everyone something. Kolya dragged along.
- Well Ira ... How can I be something ...
- Yes, you already got it, Kolya! If you don’t have brains, I’ll do something!
“But why not ... Look, what spurs I drew.”
Nick trembling little pieces of paper with trembling hands - they, I must say, were really good.
“Kolya ...” Ira moaned. - You were at the consultation, and at the discussion after it. What did we decide to do?
- I do not remember…
- BOMBS, KOLIA! Cried the headman. - He burns so that mother does not grieve! The tables are empty, just a leaf and a pen, and you dragged your spurs! What will you do with them?
- So it is, to write off the same ... - Kolya did not lag behind. - As always ...
- As always it will not work! Lord, what are you ... All, fuck off!
Kolya gave up, went to the wall and squatted sadly. Everyone around fussed with excitement, pushed bundles of paper written, whoever could where - under a T-shirt, skirt, one even managed to wrap around his arm, under his sleeve.
- Why you so sad? - Seryoga approached Kolya. Not friendship - alright, buddy. - Where are your bombs?
“Well ...” Kolya took out spurs, which he had already managed to hide in his pocket. “I did that.”
- So it's spurs. - Seryoga frowned. “And we agreed to make bombs.”
“I thought bombs were a metaphor.” Well, like, we’ll blow up the exam, then.
“Kolyan ...” Seryoga grinned. - Sorry, of course, but you ...
- Yes, I know. - Kolya waved his hand. “What kind of bombs, anyway?”
- Stupidly write the answers to all questions on large sheets, pull the ticket, select the desired bomb from the pile and hand it over. The main thing is to get a bomb. Well, sit for two hours, pretend that you write.
- Gorgeous. - sincerely touched Kolya. - I did not know that it is possible.
“Well, you ...” - Seryoga, like all the people of this planet, was quickly tired of talking to Kolya.
At this moment Fedya came up to the crowd of students - a cheerful, rollicking guy who had already visited the academy. He kept himself at the university somehow, and only the lazy one had not yet asked him how he managed not to fly out.
- What for kipish? - asked Fedya cheerfully.
- Exam, why are you ... - Seryoga was surprised.
- Yo ...
- You didn’t know?
- Well, how ... - Fedya scratched his shaved nape. - I knew, probably, the current was not being prepared. What are we renting?
- Machine parts.
- Oh yo, I’d better go further ...
- And where were you going?
- Swim, to the quarry.
- Yes, stay, why do you lose something. We have a lot of bombs, we'll give you one. Maybe you’ll hand it over.
- Seriously? No, but what, I agree!

And Fedya stayed. His reputation allowed him not to worry - most of the students and students would be happy to help him.

By the time the professor arrived, everyone was ready. Of course, they tried to move less so as not to drop the bombs, which made them look a bit like telepuziks or wooden idols. The professor opened the door.

The tables in the audience stood in four rows, one along the windows and the opposite wall, a double row in the middle. Deaf, closed on three sides, solid tables.

Kolya trailed in the middle of the crowd and could not think of where to sit down. If you sit close - you don’t write off, you’ll go to the end of the audience - they will transfer to the first desk, just to make fun. Even the teachers did not like Kolya.

Nearby was the headman Irina, and, seeing that she had occupied an empty desk in the fourth row, Kolya, not expecting himself from himself, abruptly stopped and flopped down next to him.

“Kolya, fuck off ...” Ira whispered furiously. - Here is busy ...
- By whom? - asked Kolya almost in a voice, drawing the professor’s attention to himself.
- Yes, your mother ... Go to another place! We agreed with Nastya! - the elder whispered slightly audibly.
- When? - sincerely, and still loudly asked Kolya.
- What happened there? - shouted the professor.
- Nothing, everything is in order! - Ira answered with a smile. - Sit down!
- Well, let's get faster, steal yourself. - muttered the professor, opened the suitcase and began to lay out tickets on the table.
- Kolya, get out of here! - Ira whispered again, and for greater persuasiveness she even pushed her neighbor to the side. But she overdid it a bit - the chair under Kolya moved slightly, making a nasty creak.
- So, Irina, now you’ll go to the first desk. The professor said sternly. - Come on, get a ticket, you will be the first.

As if by agreement - and most likely, just by agreement - almost everyone jumped up from their seats, and the crowd rushed for tickets. They crowded over the table, picked up the treasured pieces of paper, and, for some reason, without leaving the professor, began to study carefully. Only a few immediately ran back to their places.

The idea became clear quickly. While some stood and blocked the professor’s view, others took out bombs. Myself, neighbor, Feda. Only Kolya sat and blinked his eyes, until, finally, he remained the only free rider. He recovered himself, jumped up and ran to the professor.
The ticket was not very complicated, but Kolya still did not learn anything, so there was nothing to hope for. Excellent visibility, a careful look at the professor’s brown eyes above the glasses, no books and magazines. Full tryndets. Kolya could not even think of reaching into his pocket for spurs.

Around reigned imitation of violent activity. Most of the students laid a blank sheet of paper on top of the prepared bomb, and scribbled something intensely. The faces were serene, albeit with artificially frowning eyebrows.

- What are you sitting? - Ira muttered slightly, not looking up from the paper.
- Nothing. - Kohl answered bitterly. - Right now, I'll probably go home. I don’t know how to get a spur.
- Do not even think! - the elder whispered slowly, according to the syllables. - You’ll burn everyone. I'll give you the bomb.
Kolya could not restrain himself and smiled broadly. He quickly came to his senses, squinted his face, and buried his eyes on a blank sheet on the table.
- Just be quiet. - whispered Ira. “I'll give you the whole pack, find your ticket there, and quietly pull it out.” The rest under the ass sun.
- Good. - answered Kolya.

Ira masterfully, not ceasing to write with her right hand, climbed her left under the table and took the bombs sandwiched between her knees. Slowly, trying not to hurt the surrounding objects, she moved a stack of paper toward Kolya. He, like a real conspirator, just as slowly put his hand under the table and took a pack.

But here's the trouble - pulling out bombs from under the next table, he managed to cling to the partition. He led a little to the side, and a stack of paper rested on Irina’s stomach. She leaned back a little, Kolya yanked harder, but the bombs did not creep through. Finally, Kolya could not stand it, pulled with all his might, the paper slipped out of his fingers and all, without scattering completely, flopped to the floor.

There was dead silence. The professor naturally stared in the direction of noise, like an android robot from a science fiction film. It was evident that another second, and he would begin to speak.

- Sorry. - Irina said loudly. - The bag fell.
- Well, pick it up. - the professor said cautiously, not taking his eyes off the headman.

Irina gave an almost circus trick. She bent under the table, her right hand extremely quickly, and most importantly - she silently raked the bombs, her left - reached the bag, which stood in the far corner under the desk. Just in case, she moved back, the chair creaked, and Ira, using a loud sound, thrust Kolya bombs. She picked up her bag, showed it to the professor and laid it on the table.

- Bags from the table. - strictly said the teacher.
- Yes exactly. - Ira smiled and put the bag on the floor, in the aisle between the desks.

After a few seconds, all the students again buried themselves in their writings. Kolya pondered for a long time how he could pull out the necessary bomb under the wandering gaze of the professor. As a result, he hoped for Irina's love for order, and began to blindly count the sheets. He stopped when he reached the number of his ticket.

With the hand that was under the table, slowly inserted the edge of the sheet between the board and the stomach - so that the very edge protruded above the surface. He grabbed hold of it with his other hand and began to slowly pull out the bomb, as if passing it through the spin device on an old washing machine. It took him at least a minute to get the sheet on the table.

Of course, Kolya pulled out the wrong ticket. Tears almost burst out of her eyes from resentment, her chin shook, her hands trembled, and Kolya almost dropped the bombs again from excitement. Ira’s fierce gaze stopped him from hysteria - Kohl had never before seen so many emotions expressed by side vision.

Gathering his will into a fist, Kolya made simple calculations and realized that he had made a mistake a little bit, a couple of leaves. Hope again settled in his soul, and he enthusiastically began to get a new bomb. I applied the same algorithm, and soon the necessary sheet appeared on the table.
Kolya’s joy knew no bounds, and only a miracle kept him from a silly smile, a sigh of relief or, God forbid, verbal thanks to Ira.

Having reached the end of the exam, Kolya solemnly handed the paper to the professor. In joy, he was in such a hurry that he was one of the first to surrender. He returned to his desk, grabbed empty sheets and an erroneous bomb with his palm, put it in his pocket and fell apart in a chair.

The professor, without wasting time, began to check the work. Students fussed around, but he did not utter a word. I quickly read the first leaflet, crossed out the grade, put it aside. Second, third, fourth ... On the fourth, the professor stopped. Turned in his hands, even looked through the paper through the window, as if trying to see the watermarks.

- Whose job? - the professor addressed the audience. - Not signed.

Kolya gave a very, very strong jump. He did not even know where and what jumped, but the apprehension of trouble was very strong. Looking closely, Kolya realized that this was his bomb. Which he forgot to sign.

“Mine, probably ...” Kolya blurted.
- Why not signed? The professor asked sternly.
- I forgot ...
- So sign up! - Professor casually threw a piece of paper on the edge of the table and set to the next.

Nobody understood anything yet, there was a quiet but cheerful noise in the audience, classmates smiled, anticipating an easy victory and friendly drinking. Only Kolya already understood everything, and on cotton feet he was approaching the professor.

He went to the table, slowly turned the sheet toward him, reached for it with his other hand and stopped. Barely breathing, he turned and took a step in the opposite direction.

- Where to? The professor asked.
- R ... Ru ... I forgot the pen. - exhaled Kolya.
The professor silently held out his. Kolya, as in a nightmare, very slowly raised his hand, took a pen, turned to the table and began to display his name on a piece of paper.
“Yeah ...” the professor said.
“Yeah ...” Kolya answered.
Kohl’s handwriting wasn’t that unlike ... The letters were twice as large, tilted in the opposite direction - more precisely, each in its own direction.
- So they decided to bomb. - the professor smiled recklessly. - Charming. So it is. No one is leaving. You will hand over orally. And you, my friend, take a seat. I'll leave you for dessert. I think you will be pleased to see the consequences of your deeds.

I won’t even tell how Kolya got to his place. Never before, in his entire short life, had he received so much attention from so many people. He reached, slowly sat down, stared at the table, afraid even to squint toward his classmates. Only a few minutes later he managed to overcome himself and turn to Irina.

“Er, I'm sorry ...” Kolya muttered.
- Kolya, fuck off ...