Exam bomb

- Kolya, back off ...
- Well, Ira ...
Kohl stood and boomed, he did not really know what. Warden Ira, the organizer to the bone, even led the exam preparation. Before the arrival of the professor, there were about fifteen minutes left, and Ira ran around like a student between students and asked everyone for something. Kohl was dragged along.
- Well, Ira ... How can I be something ...
- Yes, you already got, Nick! If you have no brains, I'll do something!
- Yes, why not something ... Look, what I drew spurs.
Kohl, with trembling hands, tugged at small pieces of paper - they must be said, they were really good.
- Nick ... - moaned Ira. - You were at the consultation, and on the discussion after it. What did we decide to do?
- I do not remember…
- BOMBS, KOLYA! - shouted the elder. - It burns so that mom do not grieve! The tables are empty, only a sheet and pen, and you brought your spurs! What will you do with them?
- So it is, write off the same ... - Kohl did not fall behind. - As always…
- As always, it will not work! Lord, what are you ... Everything, back off!
Kohl gave up, went to the wall and sadly squatted on his haunches. Everyone around was excitedly bustling around, pushing through packs of paper covered with paper, who could where — under a t-shirt, skirt, one even managed to wrap around his arm, under his sleeve.
- Why are you so sad? - Seryoga approached Kolya. Not a friend - so, buddy. - Where are your bombs?
- Why, here ... - Kohl took out the spurs, which he had already managed to hide in his pocket. - I made such.
- Well this is a spur. - Seryoga frowned. - And the bombs agreed to do.
“I thought bombs are a metaphor.” Well, like, let's blow up the exam, that-that.
- Kolyan ... - Seryoga grinned. “Sorry, of course, but you ...”
- Yes, I know. - Kohl waved his hand. - And what a bomb, after all?
- Stupidly you write answers to all the questions on large sheets, pull the ticket, choose the right bomb from the stack and hand over. The main thing is to get a bomb. Well, sit for two hours, pretend that you write.
- Gorgeous. - sincerely moved Kohl. - I did not know that it was possible.
- Oh, you ... - Seryoga, like all the people of this planet, quickly got tired of talking to Kolya.
At this moment Fedya came up to the crowd of students - a cheerful, rollicking guy who had already been to the academy. At the university he stayed together somehow, and only the lazy one had not yet asked him how he managed not to fly out.
- Che for kipish? - fun asked Fedya.
- Exam, what are you ... - Seryoga was surprised.
- Yo ...
“You didn't know, did you?”
- Well, how ... - Fedya scratched his shaved head. - Knew, probably, the current was not prepared. What are we renting?
- Machine parts.
- Oh, I’d better go on ...
- And where were you going?
- Swim, to the quarry.
- Yes, stay, why do you lose something. We have a lot of bombs, give you. Maybe you pass.
- Seriously? No, but what, I agree!

And Fedya stayed. Reputation allowed him not to worry - the majority of students and students would gladly help him.

By the time the professor arrived, everyone was ready. We tried, of course, to move less so as not to drop the bombs, which is why they were a bit like either teletuzas or wooden idols. The professor opened the door.
')
Tables in the audience stood in four rows, one by one along the windows and the opposite wall, a double row in the middle. Deaf, closed on three sides, solid tables.

Kohl walked in the middle of the crowd and could not figure out where to sleep. You sit down close - you can't sleep, you go to the end of the audience - they are transplanted to the first desk, just to make fun. Even the teachers did not like Kohl.

Near there was the elder Irina, and, seeing that she took a free desk on the fourth row, Kolya, not expecting anything from himself, stopped abruptly and flopped down next to her.

- Kolya, back off ... - Ira furiously whispered. - It is occupied here ...
- By whom? - Kolya asked almost to his voice, drawing the attention of the professor.
- Yes, well, your mother ... Go to another place! Nastya and I agreed! - the elder whispered faintly.
- when? - sincerely, and still loudly asked Kohl.
- What happened there? - shouted the professor.
- Nothing, all right! - Ira answered with a smile. - Sit down!
- Well, let's faster, you are robbing yourself. The professor mumbled, opened the briefcase, and began laying out the tickets on the table.
- Kolya, get out of here! - Ira again whispered, and for greater persuasiveness even pushed her neighbor in the side. But a little overdone - the chair under Kolya slightly shifted, uttering a nasty creak.
- So, Irina, now go to the first desk. - strictly said the professor. - Come, come, take a ticket, you will be the first.

As if by agreement - and most likely, precisely by agreement - almost everyone jumped up from their seats, and rushed in crowds to get tickets. Huddled over the table, took the cherished papers in their hands and, for some reason, without departing from the professor, began to carefully study. Only a few immediately ran back to their places.

The idea became clear quickly. While some were standing and blocking the review by the professor, others were getting bombs. Himself, neighbor, Fede. Only Kohl sat and blinked his eyes, until finally he was left the only ticketless. He came to his senses, jumped up and ran to the professor.
The ticket was not particularly difficult, but Kolya still did not teach anything, so there was nothing to hope for. Excellent review, attentive glance at the professor's brown eyes over his glasses, no books and magazines. Full tryndets. Kohl could not even think about reaching into his pocket for spurs.

Imitation of violent activity reigned around. Most of the students put a blank sheet of paper on top of a prepared bomb, and scribbled something hard. The faces were placid, albeit with artificially frowned brows.

- What are you sitting? - Ira barely heard muttered, not looking up from the paper.
- Niche. - sadly answered Kohl. - Right now, I’ll probably go home. I do not know how to get a spur.
- Do not even think! - Slowly, in syllables, the headman whispered. - All slept. I'll give you a bomb.
Kohl could not resist and smiled broadly. He quickly came to his senses, squashed his face and turned his eyes to a clean sheet on the table.
- Only quiet. - whispered Ira. - I'll give you a whole pack, find your ticket there, and gently pull it out. The rest of the ass sun.
- Good. - answered Kohl.

Ira skillfully, without ceasing to write with her right hand, crawled with her left under the table and took bombs sandwiched between her knees. Slowly, trying not to touch the surrounding objects, moved a pack of paper in the direction of Kolya. He, like a real conspirator, just as slowly put his hand under the table and took the pack.

But here's the trouble - pulling bombs out from under the next table, managed to cling to the partition. Led a little to the side, and a pack of paper rested in the belly of Irina. She leaned back a bit, Kolya jerked harder, but the bombs didn’t get through. Finally, Kohl could not stand it, jerked with all his might, the paper slipped from his fingers and all, completely, without crumbling, fell on the floor.

There was a dead silence. The professor, naturally, stared in the direction of noise, like a robot-android from a fantastic movie. It was evident that another second, and he will begin to speak.

- Excuse me. - loudly said Irina. - Bag dropped.
- Well, so raise. The professor said cautiously, never taking his eyes off the headman.

Irina gave an almost circus stunt. She leaned under the table, with her right hand extremely quickly, and most importantly, silently scooping up bombs, with her left hand reaching for the bag, which was standing in the far corner under the desk. Just in case, she moved back, the chair creaked, and Ira, taking advantage of the loud sound, gave Kohl a bomb. She picked up the bag, showed the professor and put 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 in their writings. Kohl thought for a long time how to pull out the necessary bomb under the wandering gaze of the professor. In the end, he hoped for Irina's love of order, and began blindly counting the sheets. He stopped when he reached his ticket number.

With the hand that was under the table, slowly insert the edge of the sheet between the board and the stomach, so that the very edge protrudes above the surface. With the other hand, I grabbed hold of it, and began slowly pulling out the bomb, as if I was passing it through a spinning device on an old washing machine. It took him at least a minute for the sheet to be on the table.

Of course, Kohl pulled the wrong ticket. From the insult, tears almost spilled from his eyes, his chin shook, his hands trembled, and Kohl almost dropped the bomb again with excitement. From hysterics, he was stopped by Ira’s fierce gaze — never before had Nahol seen so many emotions expressed by lateral vision.

Collecting the will into a fist, Kolya made simple calculations and realized that he was mistaken quite a bit, for a couple of leaves. Hope again settled in his soul, and he enthusiastically began to get a new bomb. He applied the same algorithm, and soon the necessary sheet was on the table.
Kohl's joy knew no bounds, and only a miracle kept him from a silly smile, a sigh of relief, or, God forbid, verbal gratitude to Ira.

Seeing the end of the exam, Kohl solemnly took the piece of paper to the professor. Joy 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 them in his pocket and lounged on a chair.

The professor, without losing time, began to check the work. Students bustled around, but he didn’t say a word. Quickly read the first sheet, scribbled assessment, set aside. The second, third, fourth ... At the fourth, the professor stopped. He turned it over in his hands, even looked through the paper through the window, as if trying to see the watermarks.

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

Kolya sank very, very much. He did not even know where and what sank, but the premonition of trouble was very strong. Looking closely, Kohl understood that it was his bomb. Which he forgot to sign.

“My, probably ...” Kolya bleated.
- Why not signed? - strictly asked the professor.
- Forgot ...
- So sign up! - Professor casually threw a piece of paper on the edge of the table and began to follow.

No one understood anything yet, there was a quiet but cheerful noise in the audience, classmates smiled, anticipating an easy victory and a friendly drunk. Only Kohl already understood everything, and on cotton feet he approached the professor.

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

- Where? The professor asked.
- R ... Ru ... I forgot the pen. - breathed out Nick.
Professor silently handed his. Kohl, as in a nightmare, very slowly raised his hand, took a pen, turned to the table and began to show his name on a piece of paper.
“Aha ...” the professor drawled.
“Aha ...” answered Kolya.
Kolya’s handwriting was not something that didn’t look like ... The letters were twice as large, tilted in the other direction - or rather, each in its own direction.
- Bomb, then decided. - excitedly smiled professor. - Charming. So it is. Nobody leaves. You will donate orally. And you, sir, sit down. I'll leave you for dessert. I think you will be pleased to look at the consequences of their affairs.

I won't even tell you how Kolya got to his place. Never before, in all his short life, has he received so close attention of so many people. Reached, sat down slowly, stared at the table, afraid to even glance in the direction of classmates. Only a few minutes later he managed to overcome himself and turn to Irina.

“Er, I'm sorry ...” Kohl moaned.
- Kolya, back off ...