I fingered my pencil nervously as I stared ahead at the big screen. A new question appeared. This was it. After this question, it would be my turn. I was terrified and excited at the same time. I have been looking forward to my turn for a long time but as it got closer, I became nervous. I was at the Mathcounts chapter competition and this was the countdown round.

It was Friday evening. The snow was supposed to start and keep going till the next evening. Sledding. It was the only thing on my mind. The snow made my mom worry about getting stuck while driving. At school, the snow made everyone discuss the sporting events that would be cancelled. But I was only thinking about sledding. Yet, by the time I went to bed, the snow hadn’t started. I was worried.

It was a beautiful fall morning. The sun was out. The sky was clear. A perfect day to go biking. "Did they call you back yet?" I asked my mom. Ever since my two friends and I had biked to a cafe for drinks in the spring, I’d wanted to do it again. It seemed like every Saturday there was something.

I am an Asian-American boy, born in America, but a descendant of China. My dad was born and raised in the Northeast region of China and my mom grew up in the Southwest part of the country. They met at Beijing University, got married in 1998, and moved to America before I was born. I have only been to China twice in my life.

As many people know, the state of California has burned with some 7,600 fires this year. Many of these were large and leveled entire towns, leaving thousands of people homeless. California's recent largest recorded fire ever was the Mendocino Fire. The fires have cost about 2.975 billion dollars in rebuilding and fire suppression costs. I live in California.

My fingers crept along, slowly following the pattern--wrapping the yarn, twisting, poking, prodding. My sister's fingers flew. "You are still there?" she would say, teasingly, every few minutes. By the time I had finished the first row, she was at the fifth, by the time I was at the fifth, she was at the fifteenth. How embarrassing.

The wooden doors loomed in front of us as we struggled to put aside the thought of what was on the other side. Blackness seeped in and the door swung open, cueing the circus music to blast and multicolored lights to shine on. “Who is ready for some theater?!” was cried and we burst out through the aisle and onto the stage. My hands are shaking uncontrollably and my teeth are chattering.