Waiting for the wheel to land on me

The last few minutes of class always have this specific kind of quiet. It’s not the silence of boredom, but a waiting stillness. You can almost hear everyone thinking, hoping the random wheel doesn’t land on their name next.

The quiet before the question

My eyes are fixed on the screen where the wheel spins. It’s just a colorful circle with our names, but it feels like a lot more. The teacher clicks it, and for a second, everything slows down.There’s this split second where your brain tries to prepare for anything. You’re not trying to guess the right answer yet, you’re just trying to be ready to hear the question. It’s less about being smart and more about being present.

When the wheel stops

When it finally lands, there’s a weird relief if it’s not you. But if it is, the world narrows. The teacher reads the question out loud, and for me, the first thought is never the answer. It’s just trying to understand what’s being asked.I’ve learned that rushing to speak usually means I’ve missed the point. So I take a breath. I let the words hang in the air for a second. The goal isn’t to be the first one with a hand up, it’s to be the one who actually gets it.

The space to think

That pause, the one that feels awkward, is where the real learning happens for me. It’s where the jumble of information from the lesson starts to sort itself into something I can actually say.

What stays with you

Afterwards, I don’t really remember if I got it ‘right’ by the teacher’s standards. I remember the feeling of the idea clicking into place, of finally seeing the connection I’d missed before.