I'm trying to decipher your writing. It's so... A wobbly scribble over the scrap of ripped newspaper from last year. You wrote your 'e's the wrong way around... My eyes dart hungrily across, trained, dodging the words from the newspaper article that had been printed on the paper.
Got your answer. I grin triumphant to myself, hidden by the crowd and neatly fold the scrap of paper into a small plane. I sense someone observing me. Your eyes meet mine across the hall and you smile. Your glasses reflect light. My focus is on you.
The rumble of the audience is reduced into a murmur in the background. I can't tell if grim amusement, sarcasm or any other factor is tainting that smile but I'm holding the advantage. You don't know that yet. Nor do they. But that matter is merely fate...