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This story is about a typist who is in a class competition. |
"Go!" my teacher called. The race was on. My fingers flew across the keyboard, and the people surrounding me cheered. My opponents, Erin and Max were frantically typing, just as I was. I knew that everyone expected me to win, judging as my typing was the best in the class. I made a mistake and angrily kept typing. My peers were running around the competitors, and our teacher was probably rooting for someone too. I was almost done, and my classmates were surprisingly less rowdy after being told off by our teacher. My friends knew I do NOT work well under pressure, but no one else seemed to understand that. Most of them bet I'd win. I took deep breaths and tried to relax. It was only school. It wasn't being taken for a grade. But my classmates would probably judge. I was good at typing, but could I do it? At the time, I wasn't so sure. In an ugly red, a mistake was highlighted. Onlookers groaned. Max, one of my opponents, asked someone to find out how far his own opponents were. I was in the lead. People patted my shoulders, and most of them figured out to leave me alone. I bit my lip as I made another mistake. How could I win when I'd made so many mistakes? People shook their heads, apparently agreeing with me. My thoughts brightened as I reached the last line. So close! The other competitors were no where finished. I typed in the last character. I still remember that moment today. I crossed my fingers, hoping for less than four mistakes. I sat there for a few minutes, unable to believe my score. I smiled weakly at my friends, but my mind was going crazy. "Done!" cried Max. Had I beat him? My teacher came to record my score, and had just moved on to Max's when Erin announced her finish. The class ran around excitedly, calculating the winner. I kept thinking, 'Did I win?' You, reader, can decide that for yourself. |