please don't pick me...

In my 6th grade math class, Mr. Welch would go around the class asking us to state our answers for the homework problems being discussed. I was always insecure about being called on because it seemed that everyone else always said the correct answer. And of course, I would get called on to answer the one difficult problem (that had to be an even number problem so the solution wasn't in the back of the book) that everyone else had trouble with too... but I'd be the who would have to reveal this to the teacher. It would ALWAYS be me.
Sometimes he would have us say our answers out loud in order of our seating. Immediately I would count the heads ahead of me and match what problem I'd have to answer. With my poor luck, I would get stuck with the one problem I had skipped because it was too long or confusing for me. This WOULD happen to me.
So I'm sure Mr. Welch thought I didn't belong in his advanced math class, and sometimes I would doubt myself too. Math and I never got along too well after this class. But whatever, I found love elsewhere... like in the kitchen baking Danish pastries.

This still happens to me though, when I don't have an answer I apparently attract the attention of the teacher asking the question. Even in a big lecture hall, I seem to emit my own personal spotlight as if I'm oozing with desire to be called on. I'll try to use such tactics as lowering my head or avoiding eye contact with the professor, but then I'll get the worst urge to scratch my head or move something off my face. Of course. At a time when I forcibly try to make as little movement as possible, my body itches all over. So I get called on and all eyes and ears are on me, but I have nothing else to say other than "Oh, I was just scratching my head" with a redness on my face not from my blush.
I know it's not that big of a deal; it surely happens to everyone. It just happens to me a lot more frequently than others. Perhaps I'm just unlucky in this way, but I like to think that the luck I'm lacking in this department is transferable to some other aspect of my life so that I'm luckier in that area than most others. This may or may not be true, but hey, a girl can dream a little.