Page 21 of An Arcane Education
This room is even larger, a lecture hall with auditorium-style seating that probably fits about one-hundred people. I find a seat somewhere in the middle, a place where I can easily blend into the crowd and watch as the rest of the students filter in.
The professor strides in, writing his name in sharp strikes across the chalkboard. He looks to be in his mid-40s, with brown hair peppered with gray and a short beard to match.
“I’m Dr. Lowry, and this is Magical Law and Ethics.”His voice is deep and his expression stern. “I’ll be passing around the attendance sheet. Sign your name beside where it’s listed, and do not attempt to sign for someone else; I will know. This is how I’ll take attendance for every session.”
He pauses, his gaze roving across the room, then hands the attendance list to a student in the front corner of the room.
“You all are here because you possess abilities that most do not have, and this school has deemed you worthy of an extraordinary education. However, I’m here to tell you that your abilities mean nothing without hard work and an understanding of how and why they should be used. Your time at Arcadia will be a direct reflection of the amount of work you put in. Nobody is going to give you participation trophies for trying your hardest.” He says the last sentence with distaste, as if effort without a significant outcome is something to be ashamed of.
He continues, “This is not a hands-on course, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy. Law and ethics are the foundation of everything we do here, and an understanding of these guiding principles is instrumental in every aspect of magic use. It’s in your best interest to pass this class the first time around, because if you fail, you’ll be back in the same place with me next semester.”
After passing out the syllabi, he states, “I’ve taught this course for almost twenty years now, and I’ll tell you now that I won’t hold your hand through it. It’s your job to take notes, study, and be prepared for exams. This isn’t a class where we do useless projects. I will talk, and you willlisten unless I ask for your opinion. Questions are encouraged when they’re reasonable.”
By the time the class is over, I’ve decided that I hate the man. I’ve had professors like him before, ones who hold themselves in much too high esteem and think they’re impressive because of how cold and ruthless they can be. I’m already certain the class is going to be tough, and I can only hope that the material isn’t too dense.
With two classes down and one more to go this afternoon, I grab lunch from the dining hall and find my way to the small arboretum I’d stumbled across in my weekend exploration of campus. It’s not far from the Natural Sciences building, which is where my final course of the day is. Icouldgo back to my dorm, but the thought of dealing with Max while already stressed about my classes sounds miserable. I’d much rather enjoy my time in nature.
The arboretum is only a few acres at most, but the variety of trees within it is impressive, and it’s impeccably maintained. Picnic tables are scattered through the area along the pathways, providing a cool, shaded area for people to congregate. Multiple tables are occupied with students chatting or hunched over textbooks while scribbling notes.
I scan the area for anyone I recognize, but I’m not surprised to find that I recognize none of these people. Claiming an empty table, I sit and pull out the syllabi from my first two classes along with my year-long planner, writing the assignment and test dates in neat little boxes in an attempt to feel some semblance of control over my increasing panic.
I lose myself in the repetition, ignoring the occasional movement of people walking near me. Once I’ve written out all the important dates for the courses, I check my watch and see that I still have an hour and a half until my next class at 2. Sighing, I look around and breathe in the clean air, reminding myself that this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Of course it’s going to be difficult, but I’d much rather be here, challenging myself, than back at home living the same day on repeat.
It’s all about perspective. This is my chance to make something of myself, and I’m not about to let a heavy workload get me down when I’m literally learningmagic. So what if I’m behind my peers? They wouldn’t have invited me here if they didn’t think I could handle it, right?
Transforming my self-doubt into resolve, I return my items to my backpack and am about to stand when I see him.
Alaric, the man from the greenhouse, is sitting at an isolated table back further down the path. I smile to myself as I swing my bag over my shoulder and start in his direction. When I get closer, I see that he’s writing in a notebook, maybe a journal of some sort, and he glances up at me over his glasses just as I reach the table.
“Is this seat taken?” I quip, gesturing to the bench across from him.
He raises an eyebrow, seemingly confused at first before recognition flickers across his features. The corner of his lips lifts in an almost-smile. “It’s all yours.”
Today, he’s wearing black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. It’sdistracting, to say the least, when he closes the leather-bound journal before him and interlocks his fingers together in front of him, resting his hands on the book.
“How have your classes been so far?” he asks. Sunlight glints off his glasses as he pushes them up the bridge of his nose.
“Honestly, kind of stressful. Seems like I have a lot to learn. But I’m trying to keep things in perspective and remind myself that the alternative to being here is… not great.”
He nods. “I’m sure you’ll do well as long as you stay motivated.”
I’m about to go off about what a dick the Law and Ethics professor is before I remember that that’s a freshman class, and I haven’t told Alaric that I’m entirely new to magic. So instead, I ask, “How about you? How have your classes been?”
He looks at me for a few seconds with an unreadable expression before answering, “They’ve been alright. I’ve only had one so far today, and it was fairly standard.”
“Oh, cool, what class was that?”
“Plant Molecular Biology.”
“Damn, I think I’m scheduled to take that next year. Too bad I didn’t start here earlier; we could’ve been course buddies.”
He smiles at my ridiculous attempt at conversation. “Yeah, too bad. I’m sure we’ll see each other around, though.”
Just then, a group of four women walks by, and one whispers to the others as they all cast glances in our direction, giggling as they walk away. It’s obvious they’relooking at the man across the table from me, and frankly, I don’t blame them. He’s handsome in a way that borders on beautiful, almost ethereal, with his sharp features, an assessing expression, and intensely dark eyes. The glasses paired with his thoughtful demeanor provide an air of intelligence that somehow makes him even more appealing.
If I wasn’t so desperate to make friends and avoid romantic interactions this semester, I’d be struggling to get two words out, let alone approach him. But I’ve already convinced myself that a relationship would only serve to stress me out more. Not to mention, he probably has women falling all over him.
“Looks like you’ve got some admirers,” I tease.
