(Based off of an experience I had from a national math competition.)

The exam hall was eerily familiar. The tension, the adrenaline, the anticipation. It was too real.

The pencil fumbled in my hands, the world blurring out around me. Except from the occasional sigh of frustration from the boy beside me, I was completely in my own planet.

I didn’t really understand why I was sitting in the exam hall. I had always been a loser. Giving me a chance to compete was like telling a dog to grow wings and fly to the moon. A pointless approach.

And even on a podium, I would look pathetic.

The term 2nd place, was all too familiar to me. It could have honestly been labelled “the runner up loser”, for it gave the same effect. Always a competitor, never a victor. I could never win.

Sometimes I had wished I could just disappear on the spot. Let me melt into the shadow of the winner’s spotlight.

I had a childhood friend. A genius. A natural prodigy, admired by all. His brain absorbed information like a sponge.

If someone won a competition, you could bet that it would be him.

Whenever someone referred to someone else “winning” a competition, they referred to 2nd place, as 1st place was forever guaranteed to be taken by him, the incomparable genius.

But the day of the country’s math competition told a slightly different story.

Luck was on my side.

Or the good fortune of the majority of the paper being biased towards algebraic problems and number theory, which I treasured like jewels.

At around 30 minutes into the paper, I stumbled upon the brief realisation, “I might actually survive this,” before promptly diving back into the problems, for who can afford to waste a second in these timed conditions?

The world felt numb afterwards. I found myself comparing answers with the geniuses, where I clearly did not belong. But after relating answer upon answer, my hopes were inflating exponentially. A fool’s hope.

Weeks later, the results arrived.

The assembly hall was cold. An eternally tense environment. The bland, monochrome walls of despair were never a source of comfort, and the glaring, buzzing lights from above were always a subconscious distraction.

An awards ceremony. Polite claps, announcing achievements, unspoken rivalries receiving harsh results.

I lost count of the number of awards my friend had accumulated. There was never any point trying. The awards always well exceeded the digit span of human fingers.

Everyone else was left to scrape for awards in the few subjects he hadn’t taken to study.

As usual.

They moved on to the math competition. A national paper, with awards distributed by top scorers, extending to participants overseas.

I was in the younger population competing. We were competing against seniors, with the same paper and boundaries. It was hardly fair. We were expected bronze awards at best due to our knowledge disadvantage.

I half zoned-out in spite, glaring almost menacingly into the projector board as if the displayed slideshow’s “math competition results!” were causing me great offense.

I felt someone nudge my shoulder. A classmate beside me who I had almost never spoken with.

I blinked, suddenly realising the alarming number of eyes glued seemingly to me. It was honestly more intimidating than surprising.

I almost looked back behind me to see if there was something standing there, like a mythological creature, judging from the surprise in their widened eyes.

But I heard my name.

“Congratulations on gold,” the teacher said, the words hitting my ear like a brick being thrown. “What a wonderful achievement!”

My brain could not even process what was happening. A clapping audience. For me.

I convinced myself that there must be a mistake, as I reluctantly found my legs walking up to receive the certificate.

It was made of thick cardboard, and it had a golden shine on its boarders.

My name.

On the certificate.

The award which only the highest few percentage of the country’s participants, and internationally, could receive.

The headmaster shook my hand, shooting me congratulations.

My head was spinning like a record.

And what shocked me even more was the presence of the person beside me.

My childhood friend. The unbeatable genius.

Holding a silver certificate.

We locked eyes, barely, briefly. I nodded awkwardly at him, a gesture which he returned.

Had the world switched our places?

…