The Winner Takes it all

CHAPTER 4

Quizzy Rivalry

Everett approached our desk, took a seat, and flashed me a small, playful smile. I returned a slight nod, my gaze dropping to my pen. Why did it have to be him? I hadn’t expected to share a quiz with him of all people.

Sir Alfonso handed out the questionnaires. “No pressure; you have 45 minutes to complete this,” he instructed before leaving our table.

Before I could even start reading, Everett leaned over and whispered, “Good luck.” I glanced at him, offering a brief smile before looking away. He grinned wider and dove into his answers.

Luckily, I had studied everything, so the quiz wasn’t too challenging. I stole a glance at Everett to see how he was managing. To my surprise, he looked completely different—serious, focused, but still effortlessly charming. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy, he seemed to know every detail.

I sighed, pushing my hair back in frustration. The quiz had two sections: multiple choice and identification. I had nearly finished the identification part when I stumbled on one question.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, anxiety creeping in as I bit my pen. I couldn’t recall the answer. I remembered it being discussed while I was out during a journalism meeting—one mistake could ruin everything.

Frustrated, I tugged at my hair, trying to focus. I glanced at the wall clock above Everett. It was already 12:56, meaning I had only four minutes left before lunch was over. I groaned, thoughts swirling. My concentration wavered as I reread the question: “Explain the process of titration and how it can be used to determine the concentration of an unknown acid in a solution. Include the role of the indicator and the significance of the endpoint.”

Nervously shaking my leg, I attempted to form a coherent answer, though I had no clue what titration even was.

Just then, a crumpled piece of paper rolled in front of me. I looked up at Everett, realizing it was from him.

He leaned in, his expression teasing. “Open it. You might be surprised.”

I raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because I’m your only hope right now,” he said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Reluctantly, I unfolded the paper. His handwriting was surprisingly neat, and my heart raced as I read the answer I desperately needed.

“Titration is a method used to find the concentration of an unknown solution by reacting it with a solution of known concentration (the titrant). In acid-base titration, a base like NaOH is gradually added to an acid until they are completely reacted, known as the equivalence point.”

I quickly crumpled the paper again and shot him a glare. He just smiled, unfazed. “Come on, you don’t want to miss your next class, do you?”

My eyes widened as I glanced at the clock—12:57. Three minutes until class. I smacked my forehead in frustration and hastily wrote down what I had just read, the tension in my chest easing just a bit.

As soon as I finished writing my answer from Everett, I realized I was the last one left on the quiz. He had finished before me and seemed to wait so we could pass our papers together. Just then, the bell rang, signaling it was time for our next class. We stood side by side, glancing at Sir Alfonso as he approached us, giving a thumbs-up before collecting our papers.

We said our goodbyes and followed the other teachers leaving for their respective rooms.

As I walked, I noticed Everett was heading in the same direction. My mind raced with a mix of thoughts—should I thank him for his help or insult him for his so-called generosity? Did he share his answer to genuinely assist me, or was it a way to show me I was just worthless brain rot?