a Rithmatist,” Joel said. “Why waste your time drawing things like that? You should be practicing your Rithmatic lines.”
“Rithmatic this, Rithmatic that!” she said, tossing her head. “Protect the kingdom, keep the wild chalklings at bay. Why does everything have to do with Rithmatics? Can’t a girl spend some time thinking about something else once in a while?”
Joel stepped back, surprised at the outburst. He wasn’t certain how to reply. Rithmatists rarely spoke to ordinary students. Joel had tried to talk to some of them during his first few years of classes, but they’d always ignored him.
Now, one was talking to him. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so … annoying.
“Honestly,” Melody said. “Why do I have to be the one to deal with all of this?”
“Because the Master chose you,” Joel said. “You’re lucky. He only picks fewer than one in a thousand.”
“He obviously needs better quality control,” she said. Then, with a melodramatic sniff, she turned and pushed her way into Professor Layton’s classroom.
Joel stared after her, then shook his head and crossed campus. He passed groups of students running toward the springrail station. Classes done, it was time to go home for the day. But for Joel, campus was home.
A group of students he knew stood on the quad, chatting. Joel strolled up to them, half lost in thought.
“I think it’s unfair,” Charlington said, folding his arms, as if his opinion were the only one that mattered. “Professor Harris was furious when she didn’t show up for her final, but the principal brushed it off.”
“But she’s a Rithmatist,” Rose replied. “Why would she want to get out of the test anyway?”
Charlington shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to get a head start on summer.”
Joel had been paying only vague attention to the conversation, but he perked up when they mentioned Rithmatists. He moved over to Davis, who—as usual—stood with his arm around Rose’s shoulders.
“What’s this?” Joel asked.
“One of the Rithmatist students, a girl named Lilly Whiting,” Davis said. “She skipped her history final today. Chuck’s missing a gear about it—apparently, he wanted to take the final early so he could join his family in Europe, but he was refused.”
“They shouldn’t get special treatment,” Charlington said.
“She’ll probably still have to take the test,” Joel said. “It’s not like their lives are easy. No free periods, starting early each day, staying in school through the summer…”
Charlington frowned at him.
“Trust me, Charlie,” Joel said. “If something took her away unexpectedly, she’s not off lying on a beach having fun. She might be in Nebrask.”
“I suppose,” Charlie said. “Yeah, you might be right…” He paused, fishing for something.
“Joel.”
“Yeah, Joel. I knew that. Well, you might be right. I don’t know. Professor Harris was sure upset. I just think it’s strange, is all.”
A few other students reached the quad, and Charlington joined them, moving off toward the springrail station. Joel could vaguely hear him begin telling the same story to them.
“I don’t believe it,” Joel said softly.
“What?” Davis asked. “About that student?”
“About Charlington,” Joel said. “We’ve been in classes together for three years, and he still forgets my name every time we talk.”
“Oh,” Davis said.
“Don’t worry about him,” Rose said. “Charlington doesn’t pay attention to anyone who doesn’t have a chest worth staring at.”
Joel turned away from the retreating students. “Have you picked summer elective yet?” he asked Davis.
“Well, not exactly.” Davis was the son of a professor, and—as such—lived on campus, like Joel. In fact, he was the only other child of an employee who was around Joel’s age.
Most of the children of the staff went to the public school nearby. Only the children of professors attended Armedius itself. Well, them and Joel. His father and the principal had been close, before his father’s accident eight years ago.
“I have a kind of crazy idea,” Joel said. “About my elective. You see…”
He trailed off; Davis wasn’t paying attention. Joel turned to see a group of students gathering at the front of the campus office building. “What’s that?” Joel asked.
Davis shrugged. “You see Peterton there? Shouldn’t he be on the 3:15 back to Georgiabama?” The tall senior was trying to peek through the windows.
“Yeah,” Joel said.
The door to the office opened, and a figure stepped out. Joel was shocked to recognize the man’s sharply militaristic trousers and coat, both navy, with gold buttons. It was the uniform of a federal inspector. The man placed a domed police hat on his head, then bustled away.
“A federal inspector?” Joel asked. “That’s strange.”