3:26 a.m.
Quietly typing at my computer, I’m curating a username so inconspicuous that not even the most tigerest of tiger moms would catch on. As I (Aunty_Priya_FUSD) carefully create my account, I keep in mind my one objective: to infiltrate the Irvington parents’ WhatsApp group and report back to my teacher, hoping she’ll round my grade up.
5:09 a.m.
After a few hours of careful social engineering — and a generic image of a sunset from Mission Peak — I’ve been able to secure an invite into the highly selective WhatsApp group: Irvington Parents. As soon as I’m added to the group chat, my phone immediately blows up. Parents are interested in knowing who I am, and more importantly, who my child is. They ask about my child’s extracurriculars, their standardized testing scores and their grades. Is my child competitive? Are they a threat to them when college admissions come around? It’s a little overwhelming, but I tell them that my kid is a 3.8 GPA student in DECA, with a few participation awards in debate. That seems to cool them off — at least for now.
7:45 a.m.
I check in on the group chat again. Most of it seems innocent for now — or at least as innocent as a parent group chat can get. Most of the moms are on their usual spiel about course registration, with a few dads chiming in about the recent stolen phone debacle.
9:41 a.m.
I’m in the middle of second period when my phone suddenly blows up. It’s not just a few messages every now and then, but a continuous stream of notifications appearing on my phone. Luckily, my sculpture and ceramics teacher doesn’t notice as I quickly step out of the room to see what the fuss is all about. As I check my notifications, I see a little banner: 490+ messages since 7:45 a.m. I scroll and scroll and scroll until it feels like my thumb is about to fall off its joint. Finally, after about three minutes and twenty seconds of scrolling, I see it: a PDF file named “10H_Chem_TeacherCopy.” My heart suddenly skips a beat — this is just what I needed. I currently have a crisp 79.8 percent in Chemistry, and with a copy of the teacher’s solution sheet, I might just be able to pass the next test, bringing my grade up to a B. I think about it for a while before turning off my phone and going to advisory.
1:33 p.m.
After pondering it throughout fourth period, I came up with a new idea. What if I chose the ethical route and told my chemistry teacher about the leak? Would it be worth it? Or should I take the guaranteed route and memorize the answers?
3:12 p.m.
Filled with a new sense of righteousness after watching a few Instagram edits, my mind was made up. I’d do the right thing for once and go to my teacher to tell her about the leaks. And as a small reward, maybe she’d even round my grade up. That sounds like a win-win…right?
3:52 p.m.
It turns out that my teacher didn’t share the same view as me. Not only did she yell at me for not telling her earlier, but she also called me incompetent for doing absolutely abysmally on my latest test. I suppose this was a lesson learned the hard way. At least now I know what I’ll do next time
