February 3, 2003
Well, if it’s private, I guess I can write whatever I like. So… how about copying my diary?
December 7, 2002
«Welcome! If you’re reading this, you’re a Dragon!»
… Wait, no, I probably should start earlier.
August 26, 2002
I woke early from excitement, so I still have plenty of time even as I put on my shoes by the door. “Someone’s eager for school,” Mom comments from behind me.
“I don’t want to be late on my first day!” I reply.
“I dunno,” Big Bro Al yawns. “I wish I could.”
Mom shakes her head at him. “If your father’d had that attitude in school, we wouldn’t be able to live here. Why can’t you be more like Emilie?”
Al glances at me before asserting, “She doesn’t know what she’s in for.”
I stick out my tongue at him, and he laughs.
… I guess I should also put descriptions in here in case I forget when I get older. I’m not worried about getting old, but there’s no way I can remember everything forever.
Mom says that Al looks just like Dad used to, but I can’t see it. Dad’s strong, but his face is weathered and gaunt and he’s actually slimmer and leaner than my brother. He still wins their occasional wrestling matches, though. Meanwhile, Dad says that my build is closer to his sister’s than to Mom’s, but also that I still have the face he fell in love with. Both of my parents are over six feet tall, which sorta intimidates our neighbors, I think. Jess said that my dad’s now-bald head doesn’t help even when he wears a cap. But I can’t picture either of them as anything but nice even in the scariest of times.
As for our house, well, it’s a house. Our neighborhood only has two designs, I think, and it’s not like I’ve been to loads of other places to compare. Two stories, three bedrooms, with all the bedrooms upstairs. Mom and Dad’s room has a private bathroom but I’m not allowed in there. Al and I have to share the bathroom downstairs, which guests also use when they come over even though the sink is a little crowded with all our stuff. And then the first floor also has a kitchen and a dining room and a “family room,” which means it’s the room for everyone to sit and chat by the fireplace where other families might put a scrying board, though we at least have a computer. And then there’s a den behind that, which my dad uses as a workshop to keep the smell of wet paint mostly isolated from the rest of the house. So all in all, the family room and dining room are by the front door with the stairs and bathroom in the middle. The kitchen and den are in the back, though the den is mostly closed off from everything else. Upstairs, my parents are right of the stairs, and my brother and I are left, though mine is the one with a window facing the front of the house and my brother’s overlooks our fenced-in grassy backyard.
Waiting at the bus stop is nearly the same as last year, except that it’s now an hour earlier and the same one Al rides. I can hardly keep from bouncing in excitement at the prospect of my new classes. Most of the other kids seem just as bored as Big Bro, but I’ve always liked learning more than most of my classmates. That’s not to say I’m smarter or anything—I just like knowing things.
The bus pulls up to the stop. I crane my neck to try to pick out my BFF before getting on, but it’s no use—my family’s height hasn’t really started to kick in for me yet, and the windows are too high off the ground. Instead, I dutifully wait in line to board and find her.
Our parents have noted that Jess and I almost seem like sisters. On a purely physical level, we have nearly the same slim build and facial structure, although I’m a couple of inches taller than Jess. And our hair and eye colors don’t really match; Jess has yellow hair and bright green eyes, unlike the cyan hair and gold eyes I share with the rest of my family. (Dad wasn’t always bald.) And I have a lighter skin tone than Jess, although that might be because I spend less time outside. For magic, though, my whole family is Static, while Jess is a Mage like her mom. But we were fast friends in kindergarten and have spent a ton of time together since then. Jess even credits me for what her first spell was.
Once aboard, I scan the rows, but a voice tells me I’m too slow. “Em!” Jess calls just before I spot her near the front wheel. It hasn’t been too long (only about a week) since I last saw her, but I’m always excited to see my friend.
I put my backpack on my lap as I take my seat beside my BFF. “Any new spells yet?” I ask. I know her mother’s been pushing it all summer.
“No.” Jess shakes her head. “Mom says only the casting matters, but I just like the flying part. What’d you call the form, again?”
“The birdwatching book said it’s a ‘gyrfalcon.’ I’m not sure I said it right, though. And they don’t live this far south so it’s not like most people would know.”
Jess tilts her head and shrugs. “It sounds right. Do you think we’ll share many classes? I heard it’s not all or nothing like last year.”
“I dunno.” I frown. We’ll get our schedules in homeroom first thing today, according to Al. Jessica Chesbrough is far enough from Emilie Gaschler (alphabetically) that we don’t share that, so it might be a bit before we can meet up again. “We won’t share a technology class, but the school isn’t that big.”
The red-brick-and-reinforced-concrete academic complex comes into view as we crest the last hill. It’s the largest set of buildings in town—that share walls, anyway—but it houses every student from pre-kindergarten up to high school during the day, so it kind of has to be large. The complex includes a building for each set of grade levels, all surrounding a courtyard and playground, with a pair of stadiums (stadia?) across the road inside a separate outer wall. I’ve heard that other towns separate out high schoolers, but Dad said our city council believed this was safer and helped to teach older kids responsibility. After all, other places have proved that “not integrating schools only slightly improves education at the cost of response times to beast attacks,” which is a lot of long words to say that high schoolers know how to fight and elementary schoolers don’t.
I think I like my schedule: it’s laid out with the interesting classes—technology and magic—on the ends, with the long boring classes near lunch. Big Bro said a layout like that is a good way to fail the lunchtime classes, but Dad yells at him for laziness all the time anyway. Navigating the halls on my own is a neat experience but I’m glad they gave us a map. Not that it helped as much as asking a teacher I passed on my way.
“Welcome to Technology for the Static!” the tall, overweight, and dark-skinned teacher booms. He’s a little intimidating, and I’m starting to regret sitting so close to his desk at the front. “If you are Dynamic and did not specifically request this class, you found the wrong room. I’ll be happy to give directions if that statement applies to you.” He waits for a few seconds before a red-faced boy stands up and hurries to the front, bringing his bag with him. The two converse quietly while the teacher points at rooms on a map—I think the boy stopped walking two classrooms short—and then the teacher ushers the boy out.
“Those that are still here either belong or think I won’t pay attention when I take attendance. I know my class is interesting, but I don’t think the other teachers would like it if their students cut class.”
This room is clearly made for larger classes, but only about half of the seats are filled, mostly towards the back. Whether it’s because boys seem to like the back or because others were warned about the teacher’s volume I can’t really tell, but only two boys are anywhere near me, while girls are somewhat evenly scattered about the room. Besides the people, it’s still pretty much the same layout as my elementary school classes: a chalkboard, the teacher’s desk, the entry door, and a small space to walk around up front, with all the chair and desk combos filling the rest of the room as a grid. This room in particular has all sorts of diagrams of everyday technology (generators, cars, ovens) scattered along the non-chalkboard walls.
The teacher takes attendance and everyone’s here. “Well, now that we all know each other’s names, I suppose I should introduce myself! My name is Dr. Powell.” He walks to his desk and picks up a stack of papers. “Your first homework assignment is to show these course summaries to your parents and get them signed.” He hands out the papers, taking a somewhat-methodical approach to moving around the room. They told us what to expect at the end of last year, when they did final confirmations on everyone’s magic ability. That was not the most enjoyable test ever. Getting stunned is not fun. But I guess it’s good news for the Dynamic kids that just haven’t learned how to use a wand yet. Technology is a different matter for Dynamic people, but a lot of backup systems work even if monsters eat up the magic powering the primary stuff.
“I’m sure most of you are wondering what sort of angle this class will take,” Dr. Powell starts. “In truth, I myself am not Dynamic. If I was, I’d shut off the primary lighting in this room to show off the automatic backup: when a classroom is too dark during school hours, the generator kicks in and lights up the appropriate room. Most Dynamic people don’t have to worry about technology that doesn’t use magic until it turns on, but they’re happy when it does. Generators use magic as well just to start, but have a capped opening so you can start it yourself, with or without magic. And they create more magic energy for others to use, although you need to be Dynamic or a monster for that to matter.”
Dr. Powell walks back to the chalkboard and draws a table. The headers for the chart are “Magic” and “No Magic.” “Now, can I get a few examples of technology we use today?” He points to a boy with his hand raised. “Zach?”
I like the world building, but I wish more happened in this chapter. I don’t really get a sense of what our main character wants yet.
Solid start. I'm looking forward to reading more