Her fingers hover above my paper. I need ten more seconds.
I know today ma’am is collecting paper five minutes before the actual time, but I can’t argue with her. I look up, silently pleading.
“Should I take this paper?”
“Um…” I quickly write C and hand it over.
The moment it leaves my hand, my stomach drops as I see the question and realise it will be option B not option C.
What have I done? I should’ve written B.
“M-ma’am… can I have my paper back?”
“Yes, you may.”
She hands it back. My hands tremble as I change C to B and resubmit it.
Thud.
My identity card slips off the desk. When I bend to pick it up and look up again, she’s standing in front of the bench ahead of me, returning a paper to another student.
Wait.
Didn’t I just…? I think I can ask for my paper back too.
I raise my hand. But this time she says sharply, “Nobody else is getting their paper back. This is your half-yearly exam. You must finish within time. How will you manage in your finals?”
Tring!
“Students, leave your seats and form a line!”
My heart starts racing. Seeing my question paper I am mentally calculating my scores. If I lose five marks, that’s one percent.
If I lose one percent, that’s 89.50%.
If it’s not above 90… Mum’s face flashes in my mind.
“You said you’ll score above 90 this time.”
My throat tightens.I close my eyes. Just ten seconds. If I can just have those ten seconds.
Click.
The classroom sound bends as if rewinded a video. The ringing of the bell stretches and snaps backward. The rustle of papers moves in reverse. My identity card flies up from the floor and lands back on my desk.
My eyes fly open.
5:55 pm.
Her fingers are not touching my paper yet.
She is two benches away.
Ten seconds.
This is it.
My chest pounds so loudly I can hear the beats in my ears. But all I see is my paper and the blank where I have to write an option. I write B.
Her shadow falls across my desk.