As the wind kicked up, I hiked out over the edge of my boat to keep it from flipping, the salty spray flying up on all sides. In one hand I gripped the main sheet—a rope controlling how much sail was let out--and my other gripped the tiller, steering the boat. After weeks of “learning the ropes” as a beginning sailor, my class was completing the final race of the season, which determined the final leaderboard status for point races. All the hours out on the water, I thought, will be worth it when I bring home the plaque with my name inscribed on it.

I had just rounded the final buoy in the lead. In close second was my rival, who could finish the port triangle course just as fast as I could. The rest of the fleet was sailing quickly in pursuit, their sails billowing.

I deftly tacked back and forth up the course, a particularly strong gust of wind filling everyone’s sails. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of my other classmates, Riya, panicking and losing control. Her boat tilted, the boom dipping under the surface of the water. Riya wasn’t far behind me, visibly distressed as she tried, and failed, to unflip her boat. There was no way she could recover her place in time, since she would have to bail out the bilge water.

“You got this!” I shouted encouragingly, slowing down to offer support. “Just put your feet on the centerboard and push down!” As I continued sailing toward the finish line, I kept calling out to her and felt a rush of joy when Riya righted her boat with a smile.

Later that week at the awards ceremony for our class, I didn’t receive the first-place trophy for point races; my rival had managed to pass me as I had helped Riya. I was definitely disappointed, but the satisfaction I had felt when Riya had thanked me afterwards was worth it. To my surprise, I was given the Sportsmanship Award, though the real award was doing what was right.