Page 26 of An Arcane Education
Around me, a few heads nod. Meanwhile, I want to bang mine against the desk. Is it really so rare for someone to be like me, living in a household where nobody practices magic and discovering it well into adulthood? A pit opens up in my stomach as I realize again how disadvantaged I am. These students seem to understand magic on an intuitive level that requires very little conscious thought, in the same way that someone understands the language they speak until you ask them to explain the grammatical rules of it.
The rest of the lecture passes in a torrent of increasingly technical information about neural pathways, energy, and the relationship between intention and manifestation. I take notes in frantic, messy handwriting, grateful that I have a basic understanding of psychology but panicked because my understanding of how the brain works doesn’t correlate to my ability to control my turbulent emotions.
When Professor Showen finally dismisses us at nine, I gather my materials, stretching my fingers that arecramped from writing multiple pages of notes. Students file out casually, and I allow myself to become an invisible part of the crowd as I stop by the dining hall for more coffee then make my way to my next class, Magical Law and Ethics.
Despite the abrasive professor and the dry lecture material, the class itself is less stressful than my last. It’s straightforward, and it doesn’t require hands-on application. Dr. Lowry spends the entire hour lecturing on the foundations of Magical Law, when and why certain laws were established, and why they’re important. I keep my textbook open beside me, referring to the pages he cites throughout the lecture and writing the page numbers in the margins of my notebook for studying purposes.
When the class is finally over, I breathe a sigh of relief and head to the dining hall for lunch. Preferring a calmer space over the noisy, crowded dining hall, I grab a sandwich and an apple and make my way back outside.
The day is overcast, but it’s a relatively pleasant temperature, so I decide to enjoy the weather while I have the chance. Within a month, I’ll be wearing thick sweaters and boots as the cool summer shifts to fall.
There’s a low wall, only about three feet tall, that borders the massive lawn in front of the castle, and it seems to be a popular spot to sit, with students reading or conversing in small groups on the flat concrete top. I pass a man lying on his back, taking a nap using his backpack as a pillow with his sweatshirt hood pulled over his eyes before I find an empty space and sit. On the lawn, a few dozen students clad in tight, all-black uniforms practicecoordinated movements that look to be some sort of martial arts stances. I’m not entirely sure.
I eat my sandwich slowly, watching the perfectly aligned rows of people move in synchronization as they follow the lead of the instructor who’s barking orders.
It’s strange to have so much free time. I’m certain the feeling won’t last long once the semester gets into full swing, but right now, having three hours to myself with nothing to do besides get ahead on course material gives me the bizarre sensation of feeling untethered.
Back home, free time didn't exist. Every moment was accounted for, whether it be working at the nursery, helping Christopher with his therapies and activities, making sure Matty had rides to school events, meal planning to stretch the grocery budget, or researching graduate programs in stolen moments between obligations. Even my hiking at Red Rock Canyon served the purpose of stress relief that allowed me to continue functioning as everyone's support system.
But here, at least for now, I have hours of time with no one depending on me for anything. I could go take anapand not feel an ounce of guilt. The realization is slightly disorienting.
I watch the group practice in unison, mesmerized by their precise movements led by sharp commands from the older man before them.
“Enjoying the show?”
Startled by the voice so close to me, I jump and nearly drop my sandwich. A girl is behind me, off to the side just enough for me to see her. She looks familiar, and I’mcertain she’s in one of my classes, though I can’t remember which one.
She gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry if I scared you. Is it okay if I sit?”
“Sure, go for it,” I answer.
She settles onto the bench with fluid grace, arranging a long white skirt that flows in the gentle breeze. Her shirt is fitted and slightly cropped, revealing tan skin and a body that I’m certain gets her plenty of lingering stares.
“Thanks!” She smiles brightly and pulls out a packaged salad and a water bottle from her bag. When she leans down, her wavy chestnut hair cascades almost to the ground, held back on one side by only a pencil that’s tucked behind her ear. “I’m Callista, by the way,” she adds, setting down her water bottle to extend a hand toward me. “We have Magical Law and Ethics together.”
“Oh, that’s right!” I shake her hand and the image clicks. She sits a couple rows behind me on the other side of the room, and I’m honestly a little surprised she recognizes me. “I’m Vivian.”
“Hope you’re prepared for the most boring class you’ll ever take in your life,” she states. “That man could make a bank heist sound boring. But I’m retaking the class after failing it last semester because, well, I fell asleep in it one too many times. So if you have questions, I’m your girl.”
Callista speaks rapidly with a bright, casual tone, as if we’ve been friends for months. Strangely, I can’t bring myself to look away from her as she goes into more detail about how painfully boring the class is. She’s beautiful, with waist-length brown hair, freckles dotting her cheeks, and a wide smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Butmore than that, there’s an undefinable allure about her that’s magnetic in a way I can’t explain.
“Anyway,” she says with a dismissive gesture, “anything is better than that class, so coming here afterwards is a good pick-me-up. It’s always fun watching the Special Ops classes,especiallywhen the sparring sessions start. They get all sweaty and the uniforms cling and… well, you can imagine.” She laughs, glancing over at me with a spark of mischief in her eyes before she finally takes a bite of her salad.
Flecks of color dot her arms, and I realize after a moment that they’re dried paint.
“Any clue what kind of training they’re doing?” I ask.
“No clue. I think it’s a mix of martial arts for the most part, but they’re out here most days of the week on a rotation with the other Special Ops classes unless it’s too cold or rainy. Are you a freshman?” she asks, turning her attention toward me.
I hold back my sigh at the recurring question. “I’m new to the school, but I’m in the grad program.”
“Oh, awesome!” Then, her expression lights up with a thought. “There’s a party on Saturday. Youhaveto come!”
I chuckle nervously. “Oh, I’m not sure if?—”
She cuts me off. “Will you be on campus?”
“Yes…”
