A name on the board

The teacher’s hand hovers over the wheel on the screen. The classroom is quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that’s full of thinking. I can feel my own heart beating a little faster, and I’m just trying to hold onto one last piece of information before the wheel stops.

The page in front of me

My notebook is open to a page of scribbled diagrams. The ink is smudged in one corner from where I’d been resting my hand. I’m not really reading the words anymore, just letting my eyes trace over the shapes I’d drawn.It’s a strange comfort, seeing my own handwriting. It feels like proof that I was here, that I tried to understand. The teacher’s voice is a soft murmur, asking if we’re ready, and I just give a small nod without looking up.

Waiting for the click

There’s a soft whirring sound from the projector as the wheel begins to spin on the whiteboard. Names blur together into a colorful streak. My own is in there somewhere, a tiny slice of possibility.I’m not hoping to be picked, but I’m not hoping to be skipped either. It’s more like I’m just waiting for the uncertainty to be over. The tension isn’t bad, it’s just… present, like the hum of the lights.I take one more breath and look away from my notes, up at the spinning colors. My mind goes quiet, ready for whatever name lands at the top.

When the wheel stops

It’s never my name. Or, it almost never is. The wheel clicks to a halt on ‘Maya’, and there’s this collective, silent exhale that ripples through the room. The focus shifts, gently, from being inward to being outward.I watch Maya sit up a little straighter, gather her thoughts. My own notes suddenly feel less urgent, just a personal reference again. The pressure to perform dissolves, replaced by a simple curiosity to hear her answer.It’s a relief, but a quiet one. It lets me listen properly now, without the static of my own anticipation. The lesson continues, and I’m just part of the room again.