The whiteboard
I've been watching her for a few weeks now.
There are roughly three types of students in the courses. First, those who always know the answer, and second, those who rarely know the answer. But both have one thing in common, if they are wrong, shrug their shoulders, laugh briefly and tick it off. Admittedly, there are much more precise arrangements, but that is still pretty good.
The third group is led by her alone. She almost never answers and when she is called, she looks down or stutters around. It's always like that.
Contrary to what some might think, she's not stupid, she's just scared. I don't know why, it's just the way it is.
Oh, she is asked something; she is supposed to be on the blackboard and in maths of all things. Now she stands lost in front of the huge blackboard, chalk in hand. Silently and motionless, she stares at the task that is written there.
She is trembling. As always. Her uncertain gaze wanders to the teacher. He looks back.
Suddenly the chalk breaks in her hand, falls to the ground. Her previously pale face turns red with shame as she bends over. Reluctantly, she writes down the calculation steps, pauses again and again. It's like asking if it's wrong.
You can hardly make out the numbers, they are written so small and pale. Just like her. Her look is relieved when she is finally allowed to sit down again.

The presentation
I lean back in the chair, relaxed. After my group's presentation, it's her turn. During the working phase, as always, I scrutinized them carefully.
I was really lucky with my team, we got everything over with quickly. But hers was just fooling around. In all honesty, I wouldn't be surprised if, if she wasn't in their group, they had nothing to speak. But when the four jokers wrote text messages and chatted, she dutifully wrote the texts.
But our teacher will not find out.
Tense, as we are used to from her, she stands with the others at the teacher's place. Everything is going well until it is your turn to give part of the lecture. She begins hesitantly, reading from her slip of paper. With every sentence she gets faster to get everything over with. After a few minutes, which must last excruciatingly long for her, she is released.
Nobody gives her any help. Why?

The speech
German. Quite a relaxing and calm subject. Usually.
Because the misfortune took its course when our over-motivated teacher wanted us to write and give a free speech.
We spent the last double lesson diligently writing and practicing, and today it was time to give the speeches on a topic of our own choosing.
Despite the surprising zeal of my classmates, nobody is enthusiastic about the performance of his work. So I'm glad that I just got it over with.In addition, I can now fully devote myself to observing the third group. I'm really excited to see how she will fare. Well, it will probably go as always. Poor thing.
Blackout. A total one. Again and again she frantically looks at her catchphrase. He doesn't help her. With drooping shoulders, intimidated eyes and trembling hands, she makes a pitiful impression. She looks like she's going to burst into tears any minute. That everyone is staring at her and giggling behind his hand doesn't make it any better.
I can't get out of it this time; I can no longer watch it, but how am I supposed to help her?
"Come on, you can do it!" I call forward. Your frightened look sticks to me. I nod encouragingly to her and to our surprise, our other classmates agree with my words. In fact, it seemed to be working.
As she goes to her place in the first row with shaky legs, the teachers don't seem to notice that she would much rather hide behind, she gives me a grateful smile, which I return.