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Chapter 20

"Dean?" Dr. Collins calls out, her voice firm yet laced with anticipation. She's asking for his final verdict—the last, decisive point that will determine the winner of the debate. I can barely breathe. The tension in the auditorium is thick, electric. My hands are clenched behind my back, fingers digging into each other. I know I'm supposed to be objective, to treat this as an academic exercise, but let's be honest—I want this. I want it so badly. I love it when my kids win.

The Dean stands slowly, scanning the packed room. Silence falls like a curtain.

"I must say," he begins, "the Sociology majors have carried themselves with grace and professionalism. Their arguments were well-structured, thoroughly researched, and articulated with confidence."

There's a ripple of polite applause from their side. He pauses—long enough to send my heart into a temporary state of cardiac arrest.

He turns slightly toward our group, his expression unreadable.

"However," he continues, his voice rising just enough to reclaim every ear in the room, "the passion, coherence, and sheer force of the Psychology majors—especially in the strategic construction and delivery of their rebuttals—was nothing short of extraordinary."

The air is buzzing now.

"And so," he says, after yet another pause that feels like a year compressed into three seconds, "the final and deciding point... goes to the Psychology team."

The auditorium erupts.

Cheers. Applause. Whistling. Even a few happy screams. My students shoot out of their seats like fireworks. My cheeks ache from how wide I'm smiling. I clap along, loud and proud, trying not to let my heart explode from sheer joy.

I rush to them, caught in a flurry of hugs, kisses, and back pats. I'm so proud. So moved. They did it. We did it. I spot Harry in the crowd, standing just behind the last row of seats. His hair is up in a bun, a few tendrils escaping near his temple. His grin is wide, those signature dimples deepening with satisfaction. He winks at me—and of course, the cocky little thing knows exactly what he's doing.

I look away, pretending I haven't noticed, and dive back into the chaos of my victorious team. I reach Rebecca, who's practically glowing, and pull her in for a tight hug.

"You were amazing," I whisper, and she beams, her excitement palpable. She deserves this.

And Harry... Harry deserves a portion of this win too. He worked with them every step of the way—sourcing research, brainstorming angles, running mock debates. He was relentless in his effort, grounded and focused. You'd never think he was the international superstar with private jets and platinum records. He was just Harry. One of us. One of them.

And yet, despite everything, he refused to be on the official debate team. Said he didn't want his presence to stir unnecessary speculation. "I don't want to taint our win," he told me with that signature smirk. "Because let's face it, with a professor like Mrs. Cameron and students like us... it's a sure thing."

Cheeky bastard. He knows exactly how to walk the line between charm and audacity. I didn't let on at the time, but his words stayed with me. He knew how much this mattered to me. To us.

And here we are. Victorious.

Just then, the Dean's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"So, I officially declare the Psychology team the winners of this year's annual debate!"

Another round of celebration swells through the room. Students are practically bouncing out of their seats. I'm about to fade into the background when suddenly Elizabeth and Monet appear at my sides like mischievous fairy godmothers, each grabbing one of my arms.