“You really want to be a part of this? Are you crazy?” exclaimed my friend, sounding too old for someone who was just 10 years old. Taking notice of the underestimation in her voice, I narrowed my eyes at her.

“Yes, I want to,” I said, returning my gaze to the paper in my hand that had the words “Spelling Bee” boldly printed across it. I tightened my grip on the paper as I argued, “I’m sure I’ll make it to the next round, and I don’t care what you think!”

“I was just saying you should give it more thought,” my friend argued back in the same tone as we continued walking back to our classroom.

I was in grade four and the school I attended was hosting its annual Spelling Bee. It was open to all ages, but none from my grade had ever participated. On the contrary, I believed in myself and prepared day and night for it.

Feeling as proud as a peacock, with my ego touching the tip of Everest, I entered the idyllic yet suburban-looking classroom where the first round was being held. After an hour of hearing strange English words and writing them, I stepped out of the classroom.

Still riding a surge of pride, I was sure I would pass. And, as expected, the next day, the results were out, and I had qualified.

I was over the moon at this ecstatic news. So, like any typical 10-year-old, I bragged about my results quite literally everywhere. It reached such an extent that by the end of the day, every corner of the school was aware of my nomination. I prepared a lot that whole week — I had maybe never prepared for any of my exams that way.

The bright lights blinded me and the crowd in front could easily be up to a hundred. Even with the AC on, I was sweating like a maniac — my soul seemed to have left my body. In a failed attempt to distract myself, I stared at the crowd of hundreds in the hope of finding my friend’s face amidst the restless sea of people. Before I could spot her, the judge called my name, making it echo around the hall.

The judge said the first word: “Sesquipedalian!”

I started spelling, “S, e, s, c —”, but before I could finish, a loud beep interrupted me, and the judge screamed, “Wrong!”

For the next ten rounds, the only sounds that echoed across the hall were the loud beep and the judge’s loud “Wrong!”.

I stared at the crowd, with my lips trembling, as it stared back at me. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and fiddled with the hem of my shirt, trying to distract myself from the embarrassment I was going through. I felt red creep up my neck and my face went beet red. If only I could, I would have dug a hole right there and buried myself.

After 10 minutes, the judge asked me and another girl to head back to the crowd. On my way back, I knew I couldn’t face anyone, so I took a turn and headed out to the school ground.

I sat on the cold grass with my face covered by my hands, sobbing, when suddenly I sensed a shadow standing in front of me. I raised my eyes and caught my friend’s concerned eyes staring at me.

Then all of a sudden, I was startled by my friend embracing me in a gentle hug, radiating positivity. This heart-warming gesture made me realise how blinded I had been by my ego. It also made me realise that I had truly won something that day, not some ‘Spelling Bee’ prize, but rather a friendship that’s priceless and irreplaceable.

Published in Dawn, Young World, March 22nd, 2025