“Would what? Make things fair?” Noah said, his eyes burning through Crawford’s attempt.
Crawford blinked. “That’s just simply not how the economy—”
“The economy doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s built on people. And when you decide some people matter more than others based on their parents’ bank accounts, you’re not defending free markets. You’re defending a caste system.”
Crawford’s jaw tightened. He glanced at his notes.
But he relied too much on his cards—Noah didn’t.
Noah improvised. Listened. Adapted. Moved like a rower reading the current—adjusting his angle, finding leverage, pressing advantage when he saw weakness.
And he was destroying Crawford with surgical precision.
Crawford stammered through his next argument. “The data suggests—”
“The data suggests,” Noah cut in, “that public school students perform equally well when given equal resources. Your own sources confirm it. Did you read past the abstract?”
A few people inhaled sharply.
Destroy him.
Crawford’s face flushed. “I—yes, of course I did—“
“Then you know that the achievement gap correlates directly with funding disparity, not student ability. So when you argue that private institutions shouldn’t share resources, you’re not arguing for excellence. You’re arguing for exclusivity.”
I leaned forward. My pulse kicked up. Emily’s fingers tightened on my leg.
Noah asked questions that backed Crawford into corners he couldn’t escape. Questions that sounded simple but unraveled entire arguments. Crawford stammered. Repeated himself. Reached for statistics that fell apart under scrutiny.
When Noah delivered his closing statement, the room went quiet—tense quiet.
“Education isn’t charity,” Noah said. His voice was softer now but no less sharp. “It’s investment. And if we continue to hoard resources in institutions that serve the few while the many suffer, we’re not just perpetuating inequality—we’re ensuring it. We’re building a system where success is determined by zip code and bank balance instead of talent and effort.”
He paused. Let the silence stretch.
“And if that’s the world you want to live in, then vote against this resolution. But if you believe that everyone deserves a chance—not just the people in this room—then the answer is obvious.”
He sat down.
The Riverside section erupted.
I was on my feet before I realized I’d stood. Emily stood beside me, clapping hard, grinning.
The moderator called for judges’ deliberation.
It took less than five minutes, Noah won, unanimous decision.
The Riverside kids went wild. A few Kingswell students clapped politely, but most just looked uncomfortable.
Pride swelled in my chest. That was my best friend up there. And he just eviscerated a Kingswell debater on his own turf without breaking a sweat—just like I had done to Alex last weekend. Just like we planned.
Emily leaned into me. “He’s incredible.”
“Yeah.”
She kissed my cheek. “I’m going to hit the bathroom before we head out.”
“Okay.”
