Her hands were sweating. She wiped them on her gray school trousers.
The classroom was silent except for the soft clicking of mice. Mrs. Davison paced slowly between the desks, her gaze neutral but watchful. On the wall hung a banner: “Potential is not a score.” Maya wasn’t sure she believed it. cat4 level e
Then the spatial awareness section — her favorite, secretly. Cubes folding, nets unfolding, shapes reflected across invisible lines. For a moment, she forgot it was a test. It felt like solving a puzzle for fun, the way she used to play with tangrams at her grandmother’s house. Her mind slid into the shapes like a key into a lock. Her hands were sweating