Nazma flinched, her back straightening instantly as her name was called by Mrs. Ida. She looked hesitantly at the desk, staring at the two long objects lying parallel beside her test sheet.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Nazma cut in quickly. "But that doesn't belong to me."
Mrs. Ida raised an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation with a gaze that seemed to pierce right through the test paper.
Nazma took a breath, then pointed at one of the writing tools with her slender fingertip. "This one is indeed my pen, but this other one... this is Celline's pen, Ma'am."
"Oh, I see," Mrs. Ida murmured briefly. Her eyes shifted toward Celline, then back to Bright, who still maintained his innocent expression.
"In that case, Celline, since your pen is on Nazma's desk, give it directly to Bright. Nazma, return your focus to your work."
Nazma let out a sigh of relief that had been caught in her throat. She immediately pulled her own pen closer to the test sheet, as if wanting to protect it from anyone's reach.
The silence was broken by a low whisper from behind.
"Cel, the pen... hurry up," Bright whispered, his voice sounding raspy and pleading.
Celline remained motionless, pretending to be busy calculating. "Don't be so stingy. I'll replace it with new ink later. Promise," Bright urged again, this time leaning his body slightly forward, making his wooden chair creak softly, nearly catching Mrs. Ida's attention.
Nazma, hearing that, could only huff quietly. Strange, she thought.
How could someone come to school without bringing a single writing tool? Does he even intend to study or not?
Feeling annoyed by the constant whispering, Celline finally gave in.
With a lazy motion and a sour face, she took the pen from Nazma's desk and handed it back.
"Here, just this one! Don't lose it, that's my favorite pen!" Celline hissed softly.
"Sip, thank you, kind-hearted Celline," Bright replied with his winning smirk.
Nazma looked down again, pressing her focus back onto question number three. She caught a glimpse of her pencil case, which only contained a wooden pencil and a steel ruler.
Should I have given him a pencil? This is a daily quiz, it has to be in pen, she thought, defending herself against her earlier hesitation. If I gave him a pencil and Mrs. Ida got angry because it didn't follow the rules, I'd be the one in trouble.
Finally, with a long breath, Nazma began writing the first step of question number three with heavy ink pressure. It's a good thing he got one. Now, focus, Naz.
***
At the front of the class, Mrs. Ida placed the green folder down with a soft thud that sounded peculiar to the ears.
Her sharp eyes swept across the room. Lingering for a moment on several students, as if reading the fear on their faces one by one.
Nazma squeezed her fingers under the desk. Her heartbeat felt like it was racing against the ticking of the classroom wall clock.
This was the moment she had been waiting for, yet also the one she feared.
It has to be me. My name has to be the one called, she thought frantically.
Nazma's mind drifted to her father's tired face when he returned home from work late at night. She knew very well that every drop of her father's sweat meant everything to her.
If that perfect score slipped even a little, her chance to maintain the number one rank would falter.
And if she wasn't the best, a full scholarship for next year would be nothing but a pipe dream.