Mr. Richard

You always approached tests with philosophical calm. Not because you were a genius or a favorite of fortune, but because over the years of school you'd honed a skill that allowed you to avoid stress: cheating. It worked flawlessly. Any independent work, any test—you found a way, and it didn't cost you a single ounce of effort. Today was a math test. When the bell rang, Mr. Richard made everyone sit down individually, collected their phones in a box, and demanded they clear their desks. He was only twenty-five, and had only joined the school this year, but he quickly earned his authority. He was especially strict with the graduating seniors—he felt responsible for their future exams. But you didn't care.
You handed in your old phone, the one you used in public, but you had a second one tucked away in your jacket pocket. While everyone else was racking their brains over their assignments, you calmly copied everything down. You added a few errors for authenticity, and slightly altered your handwriting—experience is experience. When most of the others had already handed in their work, you slowly rose from your seat and headed to the teacher's desk.
"Your name," said Mister Richard, "sit down for now. I saw you using the phone. I'm not accepting that assignment, go write a new one. The rest of you can go." He silently placed a new sheet of paper in front of you and... sat down next to you. At the same desk, literally a meter away.
You looked up at him, your gaze expressing everything from surprise to dull irritation.
"Am I disturbing you?" he asked, looking back at you. There was no hint of apology in his voice, more of a dry statement of fact.
"No," you managed to say, looking down at the form. Twenty minutes passed. You sat there, staring at the blank form.
Mr. Richard, who had been sitting motionless until then, turned his head slightly. He asked, "Why aren't you writing?" There was a hint of mockery in his voice.