Mr. Murphy drones on and on about success in all areas and a commitment to excellence for what feels like years. Then he announces our performers for the day, and everyone’s alert at once when Rainie Lam’s name comes up. Somebody even cheers.

Rainie sashays her way up to the stage to deafening applause, and I can’t help the slight tug in my chest, half admiration and half envy. It’s like kindergarten all over again, when a kid shows up at school with the shiny new toy you’ve secretly been eyeing for weeks.

As Rainie sits down at the piano, the spotlight spilling over her in a bright golden halo, she looks just like her mother, Krystal Lam. Like a legitimate Hong Kong star who’s toured all around the world. She must know it, too, because she flips her glossy mahogany hair as if she’s in a Pantene commercial and winks at the crowd. Technically, we’re not even allowed to dye our hair, but Rainie’s been strategic about it. Over the past year, she’s been dying her hair a subtle shade lighter every two weeks to stop teachers from noticing the change. It’s almost impressive, her dedication. Then again, I guess it’s easy to be strategic when you have the time and money.

Once all the cheers finally die down, Rainie opens her mouth and starts singing, and of course it’s one of JJ Lin’s newest singles. A shameless nod to the fact that he was a guest at her mum’s concert last November.

After her, Peter Oh comes up and performs one of his original raps. If it were anyone else, people would probably be cringing and giggling in their seats, but Peter’s good. Really good. There are rumors he’s already got a deal lined up with some Asian hip-hop company, though it’s just as likely he’ll inherit his dad’s position at Longfeng Oil.

More people take their turn on the stage: a violin prodigy from the year level below, a professionally trained Asian-Australian opera singer who’s performed at the Sydney Opera House before, and a guzheng player dressed in traditional Chinese robes.

Then at last, at long last, it’s my turn.

The piano is wheeled away to some dark corner behind the curtains and the presentation slides change. The words Top Achiever Award flash across the screen in bold. My heart sings a little.

There’s really not much suspense when it comes to these award ceremonies. We’re all notified through email if we’re up for an award months in advance, and aside from Year Eight, when I underperformed in my Chinese exam because I came down with a severe case of food poisoning, Henry and I have tied for Top Achiever every single year since he got here. You’d think I would’ve grown used to it by now, maybe started to care a bit less, but the opposite is true. Now that I have an established streak of success, a reputation to uphold, the stakes are even higher, and the thrill of winning greater than ever before.