Page 63 of An Arcane Education
We settle in at the table, and my heart is already lighter just from the anticipation of having a girls’ night. Delilah and I pull items from Callista’s bags, setting up small canvases on stands and scattering the paint tubes,paintbrushes, and plastic palettes in the middle of the table.
Callista and Avery join us a couple minutes later. Avery has medium-length blonde hair and is short and thin, though when she takes off her jacket and drapes it on the back of a chair, I notice her arms are corded with muscle. She looks familiar, and I think it’s because I’ve seen her walking around on campus with Callista once or twice before.
We all introduce ourselves, and Max pours us all wine in glasses she grabbed from the fridge in the dorm kitchen. Callista, the artist of the group, distributes the appropriate paintbrushes and asks if we’d rather have her lead us or if we’d like to do a free-for-all. After much debate, we decide to have Callista lead us in painting a nature scene. With the hum of conversation and the crackling of the fire in the hearth as background noise, we follow Callista’s lead as she instructs us on how to paint mountainous backgrounds and trees in the foreground.
Within half an hour, we’re all laughing at our lack of artistic skills compared to Callista’s, having a fun, carefree moment that feels like a budding friendship. We chat about the upcoming Samhain ball, which I had received an invitation for in my mailbox a couple days ago, and when I state that I have nothing to wear, Callista offers me a dress, saying she has more than she knows what to do with and that if she writes to her mom, she can have it sent here within a week. I graciously accept her offer, knowing I wouldn’t be able to afford buying a gown like that.
The night wears on with the wine flowing, and we’recackling together by the end of the painting session, hardly able to catch our breath as we laugh at the terrible paintings that we’d gone rogue with toward the end of Callista’s instruction.
The five of us form an odd group, but somehow, it works.
Max, with her hesitant socialization, her intensity, and her unique gothic style.
Callista, with her bright disposition, popularity, and ability to bring people together.
Delilah, with her quiet intelligence and kindness.
Avery, with her fierce confidence.
And me, with my perpetual desire to feel like I truly belong. And tonight, for the first time, I feel like I do.
CHAPTER 26
The comfortable warmth of the weekend fades too quickly, and Monday arrives with the heavy reminder that I’ll have to see Alaric tomorrow.
Friday night had stretched into Saturday morning, the five of us sprawled across the common room furniture near the dying fire in the hearth after most of the other students had gone to bed. We'd talked about all sorts of things, from Callista's latest gossip about other students to Avery's rigorous training regimen to Delilah's planned thesis on ancient spell linguistics. For hours, I'd almost forgotten about Alaric entirely.
But today, I can’t ignore it anymore. The afterglow of my time with the girls is already fading as I make my way through the cold morning drizzle to my first class of the day.
Unfortunately for me, Clarissa is stationed at the front of the room looking entirely too pleased with herself as she holds a stack of papers. Our midterm essays.
As Professor Showen begins her lecture, Clarissabegins to move through the rows and distribute papers. When she reaches my desk, the smirk on her face tells me everything I need to know before I even see the grade.
I flip the paper, and on the top is a large, red D.
What the hell? I’d spent hours on this essay, researching from various texts in the library, citing my sources, and covering every part of the prompt. I’m sure it wasn’t perfect, but it’s certainly not D material.
With anger flooding through me, I slip the paper into a folder and resolve to meet with Professor Showen about it later. I can only assume that Clarissa was in charge of grading these and decided to let her personal vendettas get in the way of impartiality.
My next class of the day is even worse than the first. I sit by Callista as I always do, grateful for her calming presence as she chatters with the girl next to her. When she sees my expression, she asks, “What’s wrong?” But I simply tell her that my first class of the day was stressful.
Dr. Lowry strides in with his typical stern demeanor, and the class falls silent. He launches into a lecture about when and why laws about impersonation via illusion magic were established. I’m diligently taking notes when he calls on me, asking me some obscure question about a precedent set by a specific case that took place in the 1800s.
I try to recall the information, knowing I’d read about it at some point last week, but with the weight of his stare pressing down on me and my already stressed mind, I can’t.
“I don’t remember,” I answer honestly.
He takes a breath, and his gaze burns into me when hesays, “Perhaps you should pay more attention if you plan to continue taking up space meant for students who actually care to learn, especially considering your insufficiency when it comes to using magic.”
My cheeks heat with shame as every student’s eyes lock on me, some with sympathy and others with smugness. It’s one thing to chastise me for not having memorized something from the reading, but it’s another to publicly humiliate me for not having as much magical experience as my peers. There’s no doubt in my mind that he wanted to use my insecurity against me, and it makes me see red.
By the end of class, I’m fuming with anger. I’ve done nothing but try to be a good student and be kind to others since I’ve been here, and look what it’s gotten me. The hatred of one professor and one TA, a reputation as the poor, nearly incompetent scholarship girl, and a minor heartbreak that I can’t even discuss with my friends.
When class is dismissed, I say a terse goodbye to Callista, who seems sympathetic to my struggles, and I rush from the building. It’s still drizzling outside, but the fresh air alleviates some of the suffocating weight sitting on my chest, and I open my umbrella above my head to shield myself from the rain.
I have almost three hours until my next class, which I could use to eat lunch, study, or even take a nap, but I know I won’t be able to sit still with this frantic nervous energy overwhelming me.
So, I walk. I intentionally avoid the area near the greenhouse, which means no walking past it to get to the forest trails, so I head in the opposite direction toward thefreshman dorms. Past the towering buildings is a path with steps that lead down to the beach.
