April 1, 2025: The Book Contest

I was winning.

In Mrs. Hunter’s 3rd grade class, my name sat at the top of the leaderboard. The contest? Who could read the most books during the school year.

This was my wheelhouse. Even as a kid, I devoured books. My parents fed the habit, buying me any I wanted. The highlight of my week was the Scholastic Book Club, a magical little catalog that was basically Amazon before Amazon, full of titles you could order right from your desk.

With a few months left, I was comfortably in the lead. In a distant second place was my friend, Michelle. A strong rival, but I wasn’t worried. No sweat.

And then one day, everything changed. Mr. Vines, our principal, walked in and dropped the bomb: “Because of classroom sizes, we’ve got to transfer some of you to a new room.”

And just like that, they reassigned me to a first-year teacher named Mrs. Sox. Different teacher. Different rules. No book contest.

When my name vanished from the rankings, I argued my case, but it was no use. Weeks later, Michelle claimed the prize to great fanfare. Brutal.

Ah, core memories.

To this day, I’m still a rabid reader. But I’ve developed a frustrating habit: I juggle too many at once. Right now, it’s a 1,000-page fantasy doorstopper, a marketing guide, and two histories — all in rotation.

I also have a daily The Wall Street Journal addiction. Paper copy only.

Come to think of it, I’m reading like I’m angry. Mr. Vines, you did this to me.