Page 31 of An Arcane Education
I situate myself near the window and drop the heavy stack of yearbooks onto the table with a dull thud before grabbing the earliest one and getting to work.
The spine crackles as I open the front cover, as the book likely hasn’t been touched in a very long time. I flip through the first few pages where there are portraits of faculty with their names listed beneath each photograph. I don’t bother to look through them yet.
Instead, I flip to the student portraits, organized alphabetically by surname. My hands shake as I flip to the L section, and it only takes a moment for me to find his name. Cameron Langley.
The picture is small, but it’s clear enough that I have no doubt it’s my father staring back at me from the page.He’s smiling here just like he is in the picture I keep of him in my room, but he’s slightly younger in this photo. His brown hair is longer, falling over his forehead, and his features are slightly more rounded. As a freshman, he would’ve been eighteen or nineteen in this picture.
Emotion wells within me as I stare down at the picture. I can’t believe it’s really him. I’ve always harbored a sense of disappointment at not having much to remember him by—no belongings, no memories, and very few pictures—so discovering this major aspect of his past feels like being given something I’ve desired my entire life: a physical reminder of my father. Not only that, but I must’ve inherited my magic from him, which means he passed something invaluable to me, something inherent that can never be destroyed or taken away.
From now on, every time I use my magic, I’ll know it’s from him, that it’s a gift he’s given me simply by being my father. It dulls the pain of never having known him, if only a little.
It does beg the question, though, of whether my mom knew anything about his background or if she truly is clueless to all of this. From what she’s said, I was an accidental pregnancy early on when they were dating, and they chose to keep it a secret. He had passed away before they shared the news publicly, and since he and Mom had only been dating for a few months, she elected not to tell his friends and family—mainly because she didn’t know any of them personally. She had also been aware that he was in the midst of starting a new life away from many of them, and she didn’t want to become entangled in drama she had no part of.
That’s the story she told me, but has she known more than she’s letting on this entire time? While the academy seems rather strict about not informing normal people about magic, I’d be willing to bet the rules may be different when a magician and a non-magical person have a child together.
I put the thought on the back burner, deciding to call my mother this evening, then spend my time flipping through the yearbooks to find all the photos of my dad.
When I’ve managed to find every available picture of him, I go back to the beginning, setting the current staff directory to the left of the yearbook and an open notebook to the right.
The search is tedious as I cross-reference every professor and administrator with both the student and staff names in all four of the yearbooks, writing down any matches in the notebook beside me with their names, disciplines, and office numbers.
Professor Showen’s name is at the top of my list, though her bizarre reaction to discovering who I am makes me less inclined to ask her about it again. I’ll give her some time to sort out her feelings first. It’s possible that the shock of discovering an old friend who passed away had a secret child was enough to cause a strange emotional rollercoaster. She also has a lot on her plate already with the tragic circumstances of her child, so I’ll leave her alone for now.
By the time I’ve gone through every faculty member and every yearbook from the years my father attended, I come away with a list of five names of people who are now faculty, four of them having been fellow students withmy father and one a professor. However, the list comes with some pros and cons.
Pros: Three of the instructors are ones I already have, two of whom were students at the same time as my father.
Cons: One is the Chancellor of the academy, who will be incredibly intimidating to talk to, and one is Dr. Lowry, who doesn’t seem to have an empathetic bone in his body. Who knows, though. Maybe he’ll surprise me. Nothing like a dead parent to get people to take pity on you.
After I’m sure I’ve acquired all the names I can get, I pack up my notebook, place the yearbooks in the book return cart, and head out into the darkening evening.
Time for part two of my investigations for the night.
I make my way to one of the payphone booths scattered across campus, closing the swinging door behind me and encasing myself in the rectangle of glass and steel.
Picking up the receiver, I dial my mother’s number with my heart pounding in my chest.
She picks up on the third ring, sounding frazzled and confused. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mom. It's me.”
“Vivian! I'm so glad you called. How's school? Are you settling in okay? Making friends?”
“It's a lot of work so far, but it’s going well. I’m getting into the swing of things, and it’s so beautiful here. You wouldn’t believe how green it is. How are things there?” I ask, even though I’m dying to get to the point of why I called.
“Hectic, but we’re managing. We’ve figured out a schedule that seems to work, and now that the boys are back in school, it makes things a bit less stressful.” Thestatement allows me to breathe easier, if only for a moment. I knew they’d figure things out, but hearing that everything is okay, that life is continuing on in Nevada fine without me, takes some of the weight off my shoulders.
“That’s great to hear, Mom.”
“Yeah. We miss you, though. Christopher keeps asking for you, and we keep trying to explain that you’re gone right now,” she adds with a sigh.
And just like that, the guilt returns, and it seems like an intentional maneuver on my mother’s part. Ever since I’ve told her I’d be going to school here, she’s seemed torn between being happy for me for pursuing my goals and being disappointed in me for leaving them to handle the family on their own.
“Well, tell everyone I miss them,” I say, intent on not letting her guilt trip get to me too deeply.
“I will.”
Figuring now is as good a time as any to change the topic, I take a deep breath and say, “I know you don’t like to talk about him much, but I was wondering if you knew anything about where Dad—my real dad—went to school or what he studied.”
