CHAPTER 15: DEBATE
902 Words
The classroom debate is announced a week in advance, but it feels like it arrives overnight.
Mr. Santos, our literature teacher, stands at the front on a Monday morning, arms crossed, looking pleased with himself.
“Today we begin oral argumentation,” he says. “The topic: ‘Should academic rankings be abolished in favor of holistic evaluation?’ Two teams. Four speakers each. Pro and con. Volunteers first.”
Hands shoot up immediately. Debate kids mostly—Hiro’s group, a few from section A. I don’t raise mine. I’m good at writing arguments. Speaking them in front of thirty people is different.
Reagan doesn’t raise his either.
Mr. Santos scans the room. His eyes land on me.
“Verano. You’re first on the pro side. You’ve been first in rankings for months. Defend abolishing them.”
The class laughs. Not mean. Just amused.
I feel my face heat. “Sir—”
“No excuses. You’re perfect for this.”
Then his gaze shifts to the back.
“Ty. You’re first on the con side. You’ve held the top spot longer than anyone. Defend keeping rankings.”
Reagan doesn’t flinch. Just nods once.
The class goes quiet. Everyone knows what this is.
Us. Again.
On opposite sides.
Mr. Santos claps. “Pro team: Verano, Aquino, Cruz, Santos. Con team: Ty, Nakamura, Lopez, Garcia. Thirty minutes to prepare. Debate starts after lunch.”
Sofia Aquino is on my team.
Of course she is.
Lunch is tense.
Andra sits with me at our usual table. “You okay?”
“No.”
She squeezes my hand under the table. “You’re going to kill it. You always do.”
I glance across the canteen.
Reagan is at his corner table. Alone. Textbook open. But he’s not reading. He’s looking at me.
I look away first.
The debate room is the old audio-visual room—projector off, chairs arranged in two rows facing each other. Mr. Santos sits in the middle like a judge. The class fills the back seats. Phones out. Recording.
Pro side goes first.
I’m lead speaker.
I stand at the podium. Heart hammering.
“Academic rankings create a toxic culture of comparison,” I start. Voice steadier than I feel. “They reduce students to numbers, ignore creativity, mental health, personal growth. Holistic evaluation—portfolios, extracurriculars, teacher recommendations—sees the whole person. Not just test scores.”
I list examples. Burnout stories. Students who excel in art but fail math. Pressure leading to cheating.
I sit. Applause. Small. Polite.
Sofia goes next. She’s good—confident, loud, gestures big. Mentions mental health stats. Quotes studies. Ends strong.
Then con side.
Hiro first. Charming. Easy. Talks about meritocracy. How rankings motivate. How they prepare students for real-world competition. Applause louder.
Then Reagan.
He stands. Walks to the podium. No notes. No fidgeting.
“Rankings aren’t perfect,” he begins. Voice calm. Low. Everyone quiets. “But abolishing them doesn’t solve the problem. It hides it.”
He looks at me for half a second. Not accusing. Just direct.
“Holistic evaluation sounds fair. But who decides what’s ‘holistic’? Teachers? Rich parents who can afford expensive extracurriculars? Connections? Rankings—at least—try to be objective. Numbers don’t care about your family name or your charm. They measure what you do. Consistently.”
He continues. Talks about accountability. How rankings push students to improve. How they expose inequality instead of masking it.
He ends with: “If we remove the scoreboard, we don’t remove competition. We just make it invisible. And invisible competition is the most dangerous kind.”
He sits.
The room is silent for a beat. Then applause. Louder than mine.
My turn for rebuttal.
I stand again. Heart racing.
“Objectivity in rankings is an illusion,” I say. “They measure test-taking ability. Not intelligence. Not creativity. Not resilience. A student who memorizes well wins. A student who thinks differently loses. That’s not merit. That’s standardization.”
I look at him. Directly.
“And if the scoreboard is dangerous when invisible, it’s even more dangerous when it’s the only thing visible. When it becomes the only measure of worth.”
I sit.
More applause.
The rest of the debate blurs. Sofia and Hiro exchange points. The other speakers add. But the class keeps looking between me and Reagan.
When it ends, Mr. Santos calls for a vote.
Pro wins. Barely.
He smiles. “Good arguments on both sides. Verano and Ty—excellent leads.”
The bell rings. People leave.
I stay. Gather my things slowly.
Reagan stays too.
When the room is empty, he walks over.
“Good debate,” he says.
“You too.”
Silence.
Then he says, “You were right about one thing.”
I look up.
“The scoreboard can be dangerous. Even when it’s visible.”
I swallow. “You were right about another.”
“What?”
“Invisible competition is worse. But visible competition can still break people.”
He nods.
We stand there.
Then he reaches for my hand.
I let him take it.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. Quiet. “Even when you’re against me.”
I smile. Small.
“I’m proud of you too. Even when you win.”
He laughs—soft, real.
We walk out together. Hand in hand.
No more scoreboard.
Just us.
Arguing.
Debating.
Loving.
Still.
- Writer
