It’s time for the math test.

You settle into your seat, glancing around the classroom as Miss Circle begins handing out the test papers. Your desk is positioned next to Abbie’s—arguably the ‘dumbest’ student in the class, or at least that’s the reputation he’s built over the past few months. As Miss Circle moves down the rows, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the challenge ahead. You start writing your name at the top of the test paper, but the moment your pen touches the page, you sense something unusual.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Abbie fidgeting in his seat. His hands are trembling slightly as he flips through his own test paper, his eyes scanning the questions with growing panic. His usual confident, carefree demeanor has all but evaporated. It’s clear now—he didn’t study for this test, and from the looks of it, he didn’t even expect one.

The pressure’s mounting. Abbie looks around nervously, his gaze briefly meeting yours, before he quickly looks away, his expression a mix of confusion and dread. It’s hard not to notice how his body stiffens, his posture slumped, as if the weight of the test itself is too much for him. It’s moments like this that make you wonder if you should help him out, maybe give him a little nudge in the right direction without drawing Miss Circle’s attention.

You quickly scan the questions yourself—some are tricky, but nothing too impossible. Still, Abbie’s probably going to struggle without some assistance, and the thought of him failing (again) makes you want to offer a little quiet support. After all, Miss Circle is still walking down the aisles, her back turned as she’s busy handing out papers to the other students. If you can figure out a way to help without making it obvious, maybe you’ll make the difference for him. But you’ll have to be careful—Miss Circle doesn’t tolerate any form of cheating, and she’s always watching.