Page 72 of Cerulean Truth
I feared for what would come next.
"We, therefore, believe you'd benefit more from classes suited to your level."
I furrowed my brow, not fully grasping their meaning.
"We suggest you start at the primary level at the Scola. Yes, you'd be in class with seven-year-olds, but at least you won't miss out on the basics."
I laughed, assuming they were joking, but their serious expressions didn't join in.
"I'm sorry," I said nervously. "I thought I heard you say you want me to take classes with seven-year-olds?"
"It would only be temporary," Sam said hastily, attempting to reassure me. "Just for the first few months, to familiarize you with some fundamental principles. We'll arrange for a personal tutor to provide more tailored training afterward. However, we believe that laying the groundwork in our Scola is essential for mastering the basics."
My eyes widened, and I bit my tongue to prevent an inappropriate response.Kill me now.
"This approach would allow us to quickly identify your interests and aptitudes, enabling a more thorough evaluation than if we started you off with a personal trainer from day one," Sarah explained softly. "We've heard you might be interested in training as an Orator. Any thoughts on that?"
"Well, I've been auditing some classes, and I do find myself rather drawn to Offensive techniques," I replied cautiously.
They exchanged glances. "That's no small ambition, of course, but we'll consider it when recruiting your personal trainer," Sam assured. "In the meantime, we recommend starting your new classes tomorrow. I've taken the liberty of drawing you a map, but if you're familiar with how the Touchstone works, you can easily navigate your way through there."
I swallowed hard.Could this be any more humiliating?
Desperately wanting this meeting to be over, I somehow mustered the presence of mind to mutter a forced thank you and prepared to make my exit.
They rose from their seats with me. "Thank you for your time, Miss Thompson. I'm sure we'll meet again soon. In the meantime, feel free to knock on our door whenever you havea question. We would be honored to guide you as much as possible."
I tried to force a smile and quickly left the room. I needed some Scotch. A lot of Scotch—to drown my seven-year-old brain in.
The next day,Friday morning marked the beginning of my new chapter as a student at the Scola.
My primary mission? Mastering the art of translating my emotions into magic, with a side of dodging situations where folks ended up bleeding out on bathroom tiles. To claim that my life goals had undergone a swift makeover overnight would be putting it mildly.
Standing in the doorway of the classroom, irony flooded my thoughts. I had left a world where I was on top of my game, immersed in knowledge and logic, only to tumble into a realm of emotions and personal inadequacy.
My peers? Seven-year-old children. Whatever it was, it was humbling. It dawned on me that these children probably didn't even know the meaning of the word humbling. I sighed in defeat. It was only for a few weeks—how bad could it be?
As I entered the classroom, the chatter ceased, and all eyes turned expectantly toward me. I realized they likely mistook me for their teacher. Taking a seat at the back of the class, however, proved to be the most humiliating moment of my life.
I reached into my handbag for my notepad and pen when the actual teacher walked in.
"Good morning, class."
Scratch that.Thatwas the most humiliating moment of my life.
Of course, James had to be the teacher. Why not? It's not like my life had already maxed out on potential humiliation.Let's add a bit more, shall we?Unable to actually hide under the table, I tried to make myself as small as possible, as if I could escape notice by cowering behind a seven-year-old. Talk about unachievable goals.
James looked up and caught sight of me attempting to conceal myself behind the kid in front of me. His eyes locked onto my probably very red and embarrassed face. I braced myself for a potentially crude remark, but to my surprise, he kept staring. The expression in his eyes was undecipherable, and then he blinked, averting his gaze. I could have sworn I saw the beginnings of a smile in the corners of his mouth, but he refrained from making any comment. Again, merciful gods would have euthanized me right there.
"Right, let's dive right in. Who knows what a portal is?"
I was stunned by how many hands shot up so quickly.
"Yes, Jeremy?"
"A portal is a form of transportation. We create it through translation and move through it from one point in space to another, without time difference."
"Very good. Now, who knows how many different portals there are?"
