Waiting for my name

My thumb was flipping the corner of a flashcard. The classroom was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy. I was just waiting for my turn.

The hum before the spin

You could hear the projector fan. Someone tapped their pen. I wasn't nervous, exactly. It was more like being suspended.My notes were ready. The definitions were on the tip of my tongue. But it all depended on a gentle push of a button.

When the wheel lands

It's a soft click, then a name. There's a collective breath out. The pressure isn't on you anymore, but it's not gone. It just moves.You watch your classmate gather their thoughts. You see them find the answer you also knew. It feels fair, in a simple way. No one is singled out.

A different kind of listening

You listen differently when your name isn't called. You're not rehearsing your own answer. You're just following theirs.

The calm in the routine

It becomes part of the class rhythm. The waiting, the spin, the answer. It stops feeling like a test. It just feels like how we talk.