by D. R. Perry
"It just takes practice." He shrugged. "And you seem smart. I bet you could learn anything. Anyway, thanks for helping me. Thanks for the idea about painting him, too. Never would have thought of that."
We headed inside the Creatives classroom. There were desks like in Homeroom, but also easels with stools. A handful of larger tables stood to one side, some coated in clay and others with precise lines for cutting paper or fabric.
The paneling was more wood, of course, in the light color that was used throughout the academic wing, but in here, the carvings were all rectangular. A girl from the other class had opened one of these panels and peered in, the Sphinx cat beside her looking on with his tail curled into a question mark. Supply closets, of course, built right into the walls.
"Wow." Logan clapped his hands. "This is the best place ever!"
I chuckled; I couldn't help it. His joy was infectious, and he might have been right about it being the best place at school so far. I found a cubby to stow my bag, then began walking toward a desk. But I stopped.
"Let's live a little, Ember." I held out one hand. "Pick a spot."
"Peep!"
She fluttered off my shoulder, doing a couple of circles around the massive room. She was so fast it only took a few breaths. Eventually, she landed on one of the clay tables, an odd choice, but I couldn’t complain after leaving the decision up to her. Once I got there, I turned around to see that someone followed me.
"Hey." It was a boy from the other class. I remembered him from the mixer—Lee Young.
"Hi there." I sat on one of the stools by the table's side.
"Do you sculpt the clay or throw pottery?"
"Not sure. There’s a first time for everything, I guess."
"Ah." Lee grinned. "Come on, Scratch." He patted the table.
A creature straight out of legend leaped up, sitting up as it peered at me, showing off a stretch of velvety white belly fur. It had floppy, folded ears that were pointed like a cat's, except larger. Those ears were as big as a dwarf lop rabbit's. This animal's haunches made it sit more like a squirrel or a rabbit than a cat.
"Wow." I blinked, watching as Scratch wiggled his nose at me. "Is your familiar a Sumxu?"
"That she is." Lee reached out, rubbing her chin. Scratch stretched out on the table, lying on her side. A bushy tail extended behind her, and I saw that the fur on her back had changed color to match the surface beneath her.
"I've never seen one before."
"Most people haven't." He laughed. "They're experts at hiding and native to my part of China."
"Hello, Aliyah." Hal approached the table. He still looked pale, but he wasn’t shaky anymore.
"Hal, you okay?"
"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't." His smile was faint but there. "So, I see you met my roommate."
"Yeah. I guess we're all working with clay today." I grinned. “Totally new for me.”
"It's fun." Hal's smile broadened. "Nin loves it. Lee’s done some of this back home, too, so you can learn from both of us."
"That sounds awesome."
"Why'd you pick this, anyway?" He gestured around the room, where I saw Dylan carrying an armload of paints and Grace sorting through bolts of fabric like they were the most amazing things in the world. Faith had a sketchpad at one of the desks. "You could have gone anywhere.
"I let Ember decide."
"Peep." She’d folded her wings and was playing with Nin, some kind of game where they took turns jumping. Scratch bounced up to join them.
"By the way, when do we start?"
"Anytime." Hal waved at a man at the front of the classroom. He grinned, waving back. "Dad’s busy, so he sent in Master Rosso. He's just here to answer questions and show us where stuff is. Otherwise, it's a free period."
"This is great." Lee smiled. "So, let's make something!"
We spent one hundred minutes working with clay, and ten on either side of that span gathering supplies and cleaning them up. All three of our familiars had a blast, and at the end, we each had something to set on the drying rack.
Hal's pot was pretty much perfect, Lee's was a little taller than he’d intended but still symmetrical, while I gave up on the wheel entirely. I figured my time was better spent making a pendant with Ember's paw print in it plus a handful of beads to match. It was fun to sculpt.
As I washed my hands at the sink, Logan headed over with a container of gray water and a set of watercolor pencils. We rinsed together.
"It's not done." He jerked his chin at the painting. "But it will be in a few more days."
At first, I was speechless. The sketch he’d made on the canvas was already impressively engaging. I almost sensed this dragonet's preening personality from what Logan had hashed out of his face. The artist stood there motionless, probably wondering what I thought because his considerable talent had been largely ignored by his family.
"Wow," I managed. "I mean, that is really amazing work, and it'll be done ahead of the weekend."
"Yeah." He set the empty cup on a rack, the pencils alongside it. "Hey, do you remember where we go next?"
"Gym."
He thanked me. Once we all gathered our things, it was time to head out.
Even though I hadn’t been very interested in making art before, Creatives was something to look forward to. Being able to think in a different way and doing a hands-on activity helped refresh my mind.
But Gym was a totally different can of worms.
Chapter Nineteen
"Hawkins, you're sitting this out."
"But, Coach!"
"Nurse Smith said there's no negotiation on this. You're sitting, end of story."
Coach Pickman stood in front of Hal, holding a magipsychic device out toward him. Her eyes and face were stern but a little ridiculous on her. She was five foot nothing, with a birdlike physique. Then again, physical appearance has nothing to do with magical power. For all anyone knew, she was the strongest magus on campus. That was Noah's theory, at least.
"Why are you giving me a chronogram?" Hal blinked at the device. Nin peered at it from over his shoulder, prompting the other familiars to have a look from their perches behind him on the bleachers.
"You're timing everyone today. And possibly tomorrow; I'm not sure yet." The coach tapped a sneakered foot, shaking the item she held. "Take it already, kid."
He finally did as she said. Hal might have been smaller and less advanced than the rest of us, but he was stubborn. That was an asset at Hawthorn Academy, from what I’d seen.
We'd need to be tough in this class. Noah had warned me about Gym. Coach Pickman was a total taskmaster whose pep talks were angry at the corner of degrading—as if the boxy purple tees and yellow shorts we all had to wear weren't embarrassing enough.
"Stand up straight and pay attention, you maggots."
"I beg your pardon!" Faith glared daggers at the coach. Her nostrils flared. Something about being called maggot, in particular, set her off.
"There's no begging in this gym." The coach sneered. "I know your family well, Fairbanks. And if you don't want me to think you're a giant failure at this class just like Charity, you'll shut up, pay attention, and play your heart out."
"Woah, drama." Logan nudged me in the ribs.
"Pierce, shut your yap." She snorted. “I already know you’re not a star like your sister.”
I kept quiet. Noah had already warned me that I ought to keep my head down in here. Not that Coach Pickman ever made any sick burns about him. My brother got high marks in Gym just by following directions.
"If the peanut gallery is done, we'll finally get started. The name of the game we play here is Bishop's Row, and if you want to go anywhere with it this year, you'll do whatever I say and practice, understand?"
"Yes, Coach Pickman!" I didn't usually shout, but I was well aware that either this or "yes ma'am" was the correct response to one of her ersatz pep talks—or anything she said, for that matter.
"Morgenstern!"
"Yes, Coach Pickman!" I press
ed my lips into a flat thin line to keep from laughing in her face as she approached. Remembering that if I wasn't so much taller than her this wouldn't be funny helped with that.
"If you can play half as well as you comprendo, you just might be the best student in this class. Everybody runs laps except Hawkins. You time them. When you've done three, report back here."
Running was something I was decent at, at least on flat surfaces like they had in the gym. There was nothing to trip over, no branches, statues, or passersby to tangle my arms or my feet. Just me, the track, and my long legs with their ground-eating strides.
It was tempting to bust out full speed at the beginning and impress everybody, but this gym was enormous—the size of a football field. Doing three laps at a flat sprint was beyond me and probably everyone else here, so I paced myself, which gave me a chance to watch the other runners.
Faith huffed and puffed, clearly annoyed at having to run laps. That was about what I imagined. But Bailey surprised me. She made the mistake I’d avoided, sprinting right out of the gate, but she was faster than I’d expected, possibly because she was an air magus.
I didn't know much about Alex Onassis, except that Professor Luciano had mentioned at attendance that he was a poison magus. He paced himself too, so either he had track experience, or this was all he had. He was tall, about my height, and wiry, so he had athletic potential but wasn’t using it just then.
Logan might as well have been on the sloth running team. I couldn't even watch him because he was behind me. I wondered if worrying about his missing familiar was getting him down, or maybe he just had no motivation to excel at sports. Clearly, art was his thing, after all.
I lengthened my stride to picked up speed about a quarter of the way from the beginning of the second lap. I passed Faith with ease, slowly enough that I caught her eye roll. I just nodded and smiled, although I could have made a witty quip about having Faith that she'd finish before Logan if I weren't trying to save my breath.
About halfway through the second lap, I pulled ahead of Bailey. She winced as she ran, a clear sign she had overdone it already. I hadn't expected either twin to be a show-off. Until now, they’d struck me as almost extensions of each other, which was an unkind assessment. Clearly, Bailey cared about this extracurricular activity and being able to have her own thing, which made sense once I thought about it.
I was lucky Noah was a year older and had shared this information with me. The twins must have had trouble expressing their individuality, and I thought I had it rough, trying to figure out who I am. It didn't excuse either of them from backing Charity's cruelty, but at least I understood, kind of.
The only classmate left to beat was Alex. I measured my breathing, making sure I had enough oxygen to avoid cramps and the shakiness that plagued Bailey. After that, I gradually increased my speed.
There was something peaceful about running, even indoors. The feel of wind in my hair, hands and arms slicing through the air like a hot knife through butter, feet in a love-hate relationship with the ground.
It was just me and my body there, doing something simple. No mean girls or family secrets or dining hall disasters. I was in a zone, and it was the best I'd felt since getting here.
I stared down the track, the space ahead of Alex my ultimate goal. I was two-thirds of the way through the last lap, then three-fourths. That was when I knew I’d make it. I blew past my last classmate with feet to spare.
I was barely winded when Hal clicked the chronogram. Alex pulled up beside me, one sneaker dragging to squeak against the track. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, then looked up at my face.
"Said you'd be the one to beat." He paused to take a few breaths. "Was right."
"It's all about pacing." I waved my hand vaguely in Bailey's direction. "She overdid it, but you’re opposite. You never turned it up to eleven. The beginning isn't as important as the middle. Keep that in mind, and we'll be trading wins in the racing department."
"I'll remember that."
"Another thing is, we'll be a team most of the time." Hal scrawled some numbers next to names on a legal pad. "The laps are just to mark improvement. It's only this year, too. The next is another story. At least, that's what Dad said."
Before I could ask Hal what he meant by that, the coach came back.
"Hurry it up, Fairbanks!" Coach Pickman tapped her wrist even though she wasn’t wearing a watch. "You're holding us all up."
Faith jogged slowly towards us, the last to finish her laps. Logan must've paced himself too, just at an overall slower speed. He came in almost neck and neck with Bailey, which meant he had stamina. Once we were all back, the coach motioned for us to sit on the bleachers next to Hal.
Coach Pickman picked up the legal pad and took the chronogram from him, eyes scanning the numbers before scratching her own notes under the list. She set them down next to a battered footlocker, which I immediately knew was full of equipment for Bishop's Row. I knew the rules too but decided that paying attention to the coach was overall less hazardous to my health than zoning out.
"Listen up because I'm only going to say this once." Coach Pickman glared in our general direction. "Bishop's Row isn't played with just any old sports equipment. It's not like your basketball, or your football, or your dodgeball, even though that one’s the mundane version of the ancient Greek game this one came from. You gotta dodge the energy your opponent throws at you. Do this the right way as a team, you win. Do it wrong, you're out, and you screw your teammates over. Any questions?"
"Yeah." Faith said. She crossed her arms and looked sideways at Alex. "We have a poison magus here, which is unfair and unsafe. Does my father know about this?"
"That's why we've got this equipment." Coach Pickman slapped the top of the box. "It's protective and keeps the magic energy from hurting any of you cute little munchkins."
"Dude, rude." Logan looked at Faith like she came from Mars. "Nobody gets to pick their magic type."
"I'm used to it." Alex waved his hand. His eyes were half-lidded, a slight smirk on his lips. “Why aren’t you?”
Faith’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson. Her eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched. A gray haze emanated from them—undeath magic. Before I could stop her, Seth barked from across the gym, where he sat with the other familiars. She opened her hands, placing them flat against her legs. After a few deep breaths, she was back to her regular levels of surliness.
"Go and get those bands out of there. And call them ankyr from now on, except the one for your waist. That's the cestus. Directions for putting them on are in the trunk. After that, we get started." Coach Pickman turned her back on us, making more notes on the legal pad as she paced nearby.
Since I knew what to expect, I took the lead. Once the trunks were open, I started grouping the stretchy ankyr by size and setting them on the bench beside the trunk in heaps.
"Wow, you sure know this game." Logan pointed at the piles of ankyr. "I wouldn't be able to tell those apart. I mean, sure, I've seen them before since we host parties to watch the games at home, but that's it."
"It's pretty simple to play, just hard to master. The whole thing is an exercise in working together as a team, so we'll have to play to our strengths and cover each other's weaknesses if we want to win against the other class."
"I didn't think you'd be the jock." Faith snorted.
"Because she's a girl?" Hal raised his eyebrow. "How gauche." He made a gesture straight out of one of those teen movies, throwing in a selfie-style duckface.
"No, because she's a nerd." Faith rolled her eyes.
"What?" I blinked.
"Well, you got that perfect score in homeroom, didn't you?" Faith picked a set of ankyr up, pulling the smallest ones over her wrists.
"No, I didn't. Not from what I remember."
"See what I mean?" Faith shook her head. "She actually remembers the questions. She had to have gotten the perfect score. Definitely a nerd, and somehow a jock too."
>
"I'm serious. I didn't get ten out of ten. There's no way."
"Well, I didn't get it either." Bailey rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just admit it already—you're an evil nerd. Knowledge is power; everybody knows the bad guy is also smart. Every single time there's a story about a magus hurting people, the news always talks about their high grades or advanced degrees. Like her uncle."
"What a jerk thing to say." Logan gave Bailey a withering glare. "Well, I don't think you're evil, Aliyah. No way."
"If the idiot says it, it must be true." Bailey snorted.
"Whatever." Logan put on a good face, but clearly, she’d hurt him.
My temper and my temperature began rising, so I focused on getting everyone equipped. I'd be able to blow off steam when we practiced conjuring our orbs.
"So, Faith is right. The smallest ones go on your wrists. After that, the next size set of ankyr goes on your ankles. This medium-sized one is for your forehead, and the super-wide one with Velcro is that cestus the coach mentioned. You'll see it has a wide strap that leads to another band. Make sure you put it on with that on top and fasten the other part around your neck, like a choker. Oh, and one other thing—make sure the cestus covers your navel."
"What happens if it doesn't?" Hal asked.
"Projectile vomiting." I strapped mine on. "And that's the best-case scenario. Trust me, you want to avoid it."
"Noted."
Everybody got banded up. Hal even put a set on, practicing for next time. Once we were done, we stood in a line in front of the bench. Even with the goofy gym uniform on, I felt like a real athlete. Well, almost. The pros also wore wrist guards called ballistae to help with channeling and throwing accuracy, but that was a post-Reveal addition to the game.
"Good job banding up." The face the coach made gave me the impression she was almost unhappy we had done a decent job. "Hold your hands like this now."
She turned her right hand palm-up between her navel and her solar plexus, cupping it, then positioned her left hand on top with the same curve. It looked like she was holding an invisible basketball, which was the point.
