Hewitt School - Venturer Yearbook (New York, NY)

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calmly over to the sink and once more rinsed off a piece of apparatus. M-Mrs. Gibsonf' I stammered, D-Do you know there are frogs in there?,' Louise shrieked. Mrs. Gibson looked at me blankly for a moment. What? Oh . . . oh, yes,', she said simply. Now, please, Joanne, pay attention to the experimentf' Impressed, I obeyed. -Joanne Warner This is the last time I,ll look at that clock! How many times have I said that? When I am writing an exam, it seems that clocks have a peculiar fascination for me. I had entered the room calm. cool and confident. Now, thanks to the endless tick-tock, tick--tock, tick-tock of that leering face on the wall, I am reduced to a doddering, panic-stricken fool whose chances of passing are slim. I had come in, sat down at the desk, and written the first half on my paper when the strangest feeling came over me that someone, something was taking a more than usual interest in my work. Glancing hurriedly up, my eyes met the blank face of a clock on the wall directly in front of me. I stared at it, it stared at me, letting out explosive tick-tocks at regular intervals. Returning to my paper, I concentrated as well as I could. Four more questions to do and then the end. How much time do I have? Slowly, and with a guilty feeling, I raised my eyes to the clock again. Its minute hand held my attention. It was impossible to tear my eyes from it. Steadily it moved, minute by minute passed with a distinct and audible click as three o'clock was reached. Half an hour for four questions! I tore my eyes from the clock and again riveted them on my paper. As my ears strained to catch each sound that it made, I found myself writing and muttering, Two words for the tick, one for the tockf' My pen flew over the paper, trying to keep up with the ticks and the tocks. Now, how much time was left? Fifteen minutes! As I gazed on the clock's face with terror and awe, watching the minutes tick away, my mind was silently counting the ticks, multiplying by sixty, subtracting the number of days in a week. The answer should be the number of tocks in half an hour. Why didn't it come out? Perhaps if I . . . Ten minutes left! Back to my paper I went. All self-control had vanished. The remaining ten minutes were spent between glaring at the clock and quickly writing short phrases which made absolutely no sense. Now it is over. I am con- vinced that time will pass, but will IP -Lynne Sawdon 29

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It was Spring Vacation when I found out I could go to a day school in New York. This excited me to no end. Within the next few days we were making appointments to see different schools. The minute I en- tered the first school, I knew I didnit want to go there, but I still made a great attempt to be charming. The next day was Miss Hewitt's Classes. I walked in and talked to Mrs. Comfort, my head hanging down, while she was telling me all the wonderful things that went on during the school year. My mother was disgusted with me for hanging my head, but when I walked out of the school, I told her that i-t was the place for me. I took the test the next day, before I went back to boarding school. The next three weeks there was great tension as to whether I would get in. Well, I did, and here I am today, a senior. --Nance Boyd I was slouched in the farthest corner of Physics class chewing an eraser and staring out the window at the brick wall that surrounds the school courtyard. It all seemed horribly symbolic. And I hadn't done my homework. And I didn't know how to, any way. And the cold air currents were pushing the heat from the radiator up, up, up, so that my feet were freezing. If it weren't for physicists always coming up with discoveries like that I'd be nice and warm. I yawned. Come up to the desk to watch the experiment, girls. I looked around drowsily. Apparently Mrs. Gibson had been repeating that request for quite awhile, because everyone else was standing around the desk looking at me expectantly. Resigning myself, I slid off my chair and scuffed my loafers across the linoleum to the desk, where I immediately folded up into my perennial Monday-Morning Slouch. Through the fog I was able to distinguish my classmates' voices coming from far off in the distance. Louise was crying, Oh, let me try it! Bergie was reconstructing the whole experiment and theorizing on Somebody-Or- Other's Principle. Barbara was laughing in amazement Oh, yes . . . I see. But what is it? And Mrs. Gibson: No, no, girls! Pleaselv Class and classmates droned on and on. The only thing of which I was clearly aware was Mrs. Gibson dashing over to the sink every few moments to rinse off the apparatus. Strange she didn't turn the water on. Out of idle curiosity, I managed to lift one eye-lid to peer down into the sink. Nol It couldnit be. Not the first thing Monday morning. But . . . it was! The eye popped open. There, floating peacefully in the sink, were three fat frogs left over from biology class. I gulped in astonishment as Mrs. Gibson came 28

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