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Professor Roswell. If you ask me about aliens, I will flunk you.” One of the
papers landed delicately in front of me and I saw that it was a syllabus. “This
class is all about metals, if you haven’t guessed. Specifically, the Seven
Noble Metals of the Ancients. Who knows what they are?”
    Everyone but me raised their hands.
    Unfortunately, Professor Roswell wasn’t looking for
actual volunteers. “You in the corner by the door… I hate anyone feeling left
out. Name one of the seven metals.” Everyone put their hands down and several
students looked offended.
    I knew that guessing and being wrong was no worse
than saying that I didn’t know, so I made a guess. “Silver.”
    “Very good. Another,” he asked of a different
student. The remaining metals were copper, electrum, gold, iron, lead, and tin.
“This class is also a requisite for many of your Circle Two classes.”
    Class went by quickly. We merely went over rules of
the class, what we would need for class, and how to contact him outside of
class if we needed help. I thought he was joking at first when he suggested we
bring bat food. When one of the students asked why we had a bat as a classroom
pet, the professor explained that “Howler” wasn’t a pet, but was actually his
familiar. He then explained that if a student forgot his homework, his
punishment was to spend ten minutes in the closet with Howler. After taking a
longer look at the bat, I knew he was likely a fruit bat, but no one was
willing to ask.
    After that, he let us go a few minutes early and I
had a fifteen minute break before my next class. Not wanting to waste any time,
I followed my map and found the classroom. The room was almost exactly the same
as the previous except that there were six tables instead of desks. In the
front of the room was no teacher’s desk, only a huge blackboard. The teacher
stood at a podium, organizing papers, while another student busied herself
cleaning the chalkboard.
    I sat in the seat closest to the door as the room
filled quickly. The professor never introduced himself or handed out the
syllabus. Every student had a book, a notebook, and a pencil. I felt awkwardly
out of place.
    A few minutes before it was time for class, the
teacher went to the board and started writing down formulas and talking about
math. I was comfortable with my intelligence; I knew how to do my job well
without being a fanatic about knowing everything. I passed my math classes in
college with a “B” and that was just great with me, whereas other students were
screaming about not having an “A” or thrilled to death with a “D.”
    I was not the only one staring at the board, slack
jawed. I knew enough to know this was way beyond a college-level calculus
class. Finally, when there was no room on the board to write another symbol,
letter, or number, the professor turned and faced the class.
    “Are there any questions?” Other than the harsh
wheezing of a student a few seats down the row from me, the room was in a
collective state of silent panic. “Good. I’ll be back in a minute. Marcus,
bring your inhaler tomorrow or I will flunk you again. Addie, do you want some
coffee?”
    “That would be lovely, thank you, Professor Mali,”
the assistant said with a beaming smile. The man left the room through a side
door that seemed to appear. Or maybe I hadn’t noticed it before, but I found
that unlikely.
    The moment he shut the door, the assistant took the
eraser and chalk and started fixing pieces of the formulas and changing numbers
around. As soon as she was done and stepped back, there were sighs of relief
and I heard “oh, I get it” from several students. Everyone started copying down
the information into their journals, while I was still baffled.
    When the woman beside me finished copying the information,
I lightly tapped her arm. She had long, straight, gold hair and big, light
brown eyes. “Is this ‘Fundamentals of Potions?’” I whispered, praying