The classroom felt like a pressure cooker, the tension wrapping itself around each of us as we waited for Mr. Trinidad to call someone’s name. His clipboard looked impossibly official, like the kind of artifact you’d find in a vault holding secrets instead of a tool for assigning doom. Freshmen competing for the quiz bee wasn’t a casual affair. No one wanted to mess it up—not just for themselves, but for the school. The thought of carrying our school’s name against other universities was enough to make your palms sweat, even if you weren’t the type to crumble under pressure.
The chatter that usually filled the room before class was nowhere to be found. Everyone was suspiciously silent, heads down, eyes darting toward anything but Mr. Trinidad. Some students were whispering to their neighb
