Waiting for my name to be called

My notebook is open, but my eyes keep drifting to the front of the room. The teacher has that familiar, thoughtful look, one hand hovering over the laptop. We all know what comes next. It’s that quiet, shared moment before the wheel decides who gets to speak.

The quiet before the spin

There’s a low hum in the classroom, the sound of pages turning and pens clicking. I’m trying to review the last few points from yesterday’s lesson, but my mind keeps jumping ahead. It’s not really about being unprepared, more about that sudden shift from observer to participant.The teacher gives a small, almost apologetic smile as they open the wheel on the screen. It’s a simple digital thing, just colored slices with our names. That smile does something, though. It takes the edge off, makes the whole process feel less like a trial.

When the wheel lands

You hear the soft digital *click-whirr* sound effect, and everyone holds their breath for a second. It’s strangely unifying. For that brief moment, we’re all in it together, waiting to see who the spotlight finds. The pressure isn’t gone, but it’s distributed differently.When it lands on someone else, there’s a collective, silent exhale. When it lands on you, your heart gives a little jump. But it’s a clean jump, a clear signal. There’s no wondering ‘why me?’ today. The answer is right there, spinning in gentle colors.

A different kind of focus

Knowing your turn is truly random changes how you listen. You pay closer attention to your classmates, because their answer might be the one you need to build on next.

The relief in fairness

There’s a quiet comfort in the impartiality of it. No one feels singled out or overlooked. It just is.