Next Question

The words tumble in my head like lotto balls, organizing themselves into the perfect answer, the moneyball. Clear my throat, once, twice. My voice won’t catch, it won’t scratch, I won’t have to re-clear it once I start speaking. I study the question I’ve decided to answer. I can’t mess it up, I know all the words. I picked the verb I could conjugate flawlessly, the sentence is short, simple. My sneaker toe flutters into the linoleum as Senor surveys the room. I avert my gaze, the foot taps increasing as my heart does. Don’t pick me yet, I haven’t practiced my answer enough. Everything lingers in the air for a second that feels an eternity, and I should raise my hand NOW. Someone else raises their hand. Senor nods, and she flawlessly delivers the answer. Next question.