After the lunch break, we returned to the classroom for our next class, Social Studies.

The teacher droned on about historical events and geographical features, and I did my best to focus, though my mind wandered at times.

The English period followed, filled with discussions about literature and grammar, which was more engaging but still felt like a countdown to the end of the day.

Finally, the bell rang for Physical Education, the class most of us had been eagerly awaiting.

In the gym, Mr. George had us run laps and practice basic exercises, and though it was tiring, it was a refreshing change from sitting in a classroom all day.

The final bell rang, signaling the end of our first day.

A wave of relief and excitement washed over the room as we packed up our books and made our way out.

It had been a long day of introductions and new faces, but nothing too dramatic had happened.

I had begun to settle into this new routine.

We all walked out of the classroom, heading toward the exit together, our laughter and chatter filling the corridor.

As we stepped outside, the warm afternoon sun greeted us.

The school bus was already parked at the curb, waiting for the students.

I spotted it immediately and quickened my pace.

Normally, Mr. Thomas, who worked nearby, would drop me off at school in the morning, but in the afternoons, I always took the bus back home.

My friends and I clambered onto the bus, finding seats together as it filled up with students.

The engine hummed to life, and soon enough, the bus was rolling down the familiar streets, stopping every few blocks to let off another group of kids.

When it was my turn, I waved goodbye to my friends and hopped off, my feet hitting the pavement with a small thud.

I took a deep breath, feeling the comfort of home wash over me as I made my way up the front steps.

I hurried inside, kicked off my shoes, and headed straight to the sink to wash up, the cool water refreshing against my skin.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of routine — finishing homework, eating dinner, and preparing for the next day.

Before I knew it, the morning had come again, and Mr. Thomas was honking outside.

I grabbed my bag and rushed out, catching a smile from him as I climbed into his car.

The drive to school was familiar, the passing buildings and streets like old friends.

As we pulled up to the school gate, I thanked Mr. Thomas and hopped out, adjusting my bag over my shoulder.

I looked around, and there they were — Steve, Paul, and Gunther, waiting for me just inside the gate, their faces lighting up as they spotted me.

“Morning!” I called out, walking toward them.

“Morning!” they replied in unison, and just like that, another day began.

We reached the classroom just as Mr. Charles was beginning to write on the board.

He glanced our way and gave a small nod, gesturing for us to enter.

We hurried to our usual seats, and I quickly glanced around to take in the scene.

Sarah was already in her seat, just as she had been yesterday.

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She was surrounded by a few other students, who seemed to be chatting and laughing with her. It looked like she had made friends quickly.

I caught myself staring and shook my head, trying to push the thought aside.

'Not that it matters,' I told myself, turning my attention back to the blackboard.

Mr. Charles had written a few math problems for us to solve, and I focused on the first one, quickly scribbling down my solution.

I worked my way through each step, confident I had the answer.

“Sir, the answer is 24,” Sarah’s voice suddenly broke the silence.

I blinked, looking up just in time to see Mr. Charles nod in approval.

Her answer was correct.

I felt a small pang of competitiveness stir within me.

'She’s fast,' I thought, a bit surprised.

Before I could get to the next question, Sarah's hand shot up again.

"Sir, the answer is 37," she announced confidently. Another correct answer.

I glanced at the problem in front of me, realizing I was still a few steps behind her.

I tried to speed up, determined to solve the next question before she did.

My pencil scratched across the paper, numbers and formulas flowing in my mind, but again, her voice came first.

"Sir, it's 56."

I felt a rush of frustration.

She was getting ahead of me with every question.

I could hear Steve chuckling beside me.

“Hey, Michael, you also should answer,” he nudged me with his elbow, his grin wide.

“What? Is it really that necessary?” I mumbled, not entirely understanding why he cared.

“Of course it is,” Steve insisted, leaning closer. “You need to show everyone who the real topper is around here.”

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Umm… okay, if you say so,” I replied, a bit skeptical but willing to go along.

I wasn’t really interested in proving anything, but Steve’s encouragement, mixed with a hint of teasing, made me feel like I should at least try.

I focused back on the next problem, my mind now racing not just with numbers but with the quiet determination to match Sarah's speed.

She was good—there was no denying that—but I wasn't about to let her take all the spotlight.

“Sir, 17.”

I was a fraction too slow.

Sarah had beaten me to it, her voice crisp and clear.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

I couldn't let this go on much longer.

The next question appeared on the board.

It was tricky, but I recognized a familiar pattern—I had done a similar one before.

Without hesitation, I called out, “Sir, 53.”

This time, I was first. I could feel a small rush of satisfaction.

I glanced sideways to see her reaction, and for a brief moment, I caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes.

The next question appeared, and I didn’t waste any time.

“Sir, 43,” I blurted out, just as her hand was about to shoot up.

Her expression shifted slightly—there was a hint of frustration, maybe even a spark of determination.

Then, the next question.

“Sir, 73,” she beat me to it, her voice calm and steady.

I bit back a sigh, feeling the heat of the challenge rising in my chest.

The following question arrived on the board.

I leaned forward, gripping my pencil so tight I could feel my fingers pressing into the wood.

“Sir, 37!” we both shouted at the same time, our voices overlapping.

We both turned to look at each other, eyes locking across the room.

I could see a flash of something in her gaze—anger, defiance, and maybe even a touch of amusement.

I refused to look away, meeting her stare with just as much intensity.

The challenge was now unspoken but unmistakable.

The next question flashed on the board, and this time, she won again.

I gritted my teeth, feeling the tension in my jaw. I wasn’t going to let her get away with that so easily.

I quickly refocused, determined to beat her on the next one.

With each question, the atmosphere in the classroom seemed to shift.

The competition between us intensified, our voices filling the room with answers that came faster and faster.

Neither of us was willing to back down. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, adrenaline surging with every problem solved.

I heard a few murmurs around me and realized the whole class was now invested in our impromptu battle.

The room seemed to split into two camps—my friends rooting for me, and her new friends cheering her on.

It was like a silent war, fought with pencils and numbers instead of swords.

Mr. Charles, who had initially planned to ask just a few questions, seemed to be enjoying himself.

I caught a glimpse of a sly grin on his face as he began writing out more problems, each one more challenging than the last.

He seemed eager to see just how far we’d take this.

The tension was palpable, electric.

This was no longer just a quiz; it was a showdown.

I felt a strange exhilaration coursing through me.

I had never thought of math as exciting, but right now, with every glance and every question, it felt like the most important thing in the world.

Sarah’s eyes flicked to the board again, ready for the next question.

So did mine. I wasn’t going to give up, not now, not ever.

The bell rang, signaling the end of Mr. Charles' class, and with it, the conclusion of our impromptu duel.

I had lost, though only by a single question.

Steve clapped a hand on my shoulder, trying to cheer me up. "Don’t worry, man. You’ll win next time."

"Yeah, it was really close," Gunther added, a reassuring smile on his face.

"She just got lucky," Paul chimed in, trying to sound upbeat. "You’ll get her next time."

I nodded, but their words didn’t erase the sting of defeat.

It was strange—this wasn’t like me.

Normally, I wouldn't care so much about losing a few questions.

But this time, something about it gnawed at me, a little thorn of irritation lodged deep inside.

I glanced over to where Sarah was sitting, surrounded by her friends.

She looked pleased with herself, her smile wide and genuine.

Her friends were congratulating her, a few of them casting smirks in our direction.

I felt a flash of annoyance at their grins, but I pushed it down.

Next time, I thought. Next time, I’d win.

But I hadn’t expected that our competition would spill over into the rest of the day.

After the lunch break, during the social studies period, Gunther began asking questions, one after another, trying to outdo Sarah’s friends, who were also hurling questions at the teacher as if we were in some kind of game show.

I could see the glances exchanged across the room, the little nods and signals.

This wasn’t just a casual contest anymore—it had become a full-blown rivalry.

In every class, it was the same. Steve and Paul joined in, tossing out answers, raising their hands.

Sarah’s group mirrored our every move, and soon, it felt like every subject had become a battleground.

By the time the final bell rang, I felt exhausted.

As we all headed outside, Mr. George, our P.E. teacher, called out to Gunther, Paul, and Steve, asking them to help with some equipment.

They agreed, and I told them I’d wait by the gate.

Leaning against the metal bars, I watched the stream of students passing by, my thoughts still tangled up in the day’s events.

I replayed the competition over and over in my head, trying to figure out what I could have done differently.

Why was this bothering me so much?

And then, I saw her.

Sarah, with her group of friends, walking toward the gate.

I straightened up slightly, our eyes meeting for a brief moment.

There was something in her expression—was it curiosity? Amusement?

She seemed like she wanted to say something, her mouth opening slightly.

But before either of us could speak, I heard my name being shouted from across the yard.

"Michael!" Steve's voice broke through my thoughts. "Come on, we're done!"

I turned back to look at Sarah, but she had already turned away, her friends pulling her in another direction.

I watched her go, feeling an odd mix of frustration and anticipation bubbling inside me.

As I joined my friends, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted today.

The rivalry wasn’t over—it was just beginning.