A quiet review before the questions begin

The classroom is quiet, but it's the kind of quiet that hums. Everyone is in their own little world, flipping through pages one last time. I was there too, my notes a blur of highlighted text and scribbled margins, trying to hold onto the shape of an idea before it slipped away.

The scramble to make sense of it all

My mind kept jumping from one chapter to the next, a frantic tour of everything we'd covered. It wasn't about memorizing dates or formulas right then. It was more like trying to remember the story, the thread that connected all those separate lessons into something whole.I realized I was looking for the wrong thing. Chasing perfect recall just made me more nervous. The real task felt simpler, almost quiet: just understand the main idea well enough to talk about it. If I could do that, the details might find their way back when I needed them.

When the wheel decides who goes first

Then the teacher brought out the wheel. It was just a simple digital spinner with all our names on it. That soft whirring sound it made before landing felt louder than anything else in the room. It wasn't scary, exactly. It was more like a shared breath, a moment of collective suspense we were all in together.Whoever it landed on would just have to start the conversation. There was a strange relief in that randomness. It took the pressure off deciding if I was 'ready' or not. The focus shifted from performing to simply participating, from a test to a discussion we were all about to have.

The quiet hope in a shared start

In that moment, I wasn't alone with my notes anymore. We were all just waiting for the wheel to pick a place to begin, and then we'd follow from there.