Read Online Steelhands (2011) by Jaida Jones, Danielle Bennett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jaida Jones, Danielle Bennett
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threes, filling up the empty seats and setting out their books, ink bottles, and pens. I did the same for myself as well as Laure, to keep her from getting ink on her fingers and touching her face as she had proved prone to doing in our formative schooling years. Even worse would be spilling ink down the front of her dress. Seeing as how we were not studying to become artists, such a detail would be unforgivable.
I tugged my pocket watch from its hiding place, checking the time. It was only a few minutes until half past the hour; I did hope our professor wouldn’t be late. Then I arranged my pens in order from smallest to largest on the desk in front of me before deciding it would probably be better to group them by color.
At half past, the professor entered the room. He was on the tall side, with a ferocious red mustache that looked like the brush Gaeth had used to unstop my chimney. I could feel Laure staring at him, and under any other circumstance I might have done the same, were it not for the younger man he’d approached to confer with beside his lecturer’spodium—someone who’d been sitting there all this time, I realized, and I’d been too caught up in trying to choose a proper seat to notice him right away.
He had dark hair that fell into his eyes, and
freckles
all over his cheeks and nose—something I had always been disappointed that Laure had never exhibited, not even in the height of summer. (Laure did not freckle; instead, she burned.) The young man in question was clearly older than the rest of the first-years, though not so old as to be a professor, and when he turned his head to pick up a sheaf of notes I could see a darling thumbprint of ink against his pale neck.
Somehow, it was more endearing to me on him than it ever was on Laure. I could imagine him resting his hand there dreamily, and I tugged at the collar around my own neck at the very thought.
“Well, I see that most of you are here already, so why don’t we get started?” the professor with the red mustache said, wringing his large, meaty hands together and leaning back against his podium instead of taking his place behind it. “This here’s theory and history of the magicians, so if you’re in the wrong place, feel free to leave now. No harm done; I won’t take it personally. Nor will I even remember your faces as you file out, I’m sure. I’m Professor Ducante, and this is my lecturer’s assistant, Hal, and the answer to the question that’s burning in your fresh little minds is
yes
, I
will
be requiring you to take notes. I don’t care how good your mind is; memory’s no match for a pen and paper. I’d best hear you all scratching away mightily for the next hour and a half, and if your hand’s not cramping by the end of each session, you’re just not doing it right. I hope that’s clear.”
Hal
, I repeated privately to myself, the name thoroughly unremarkable and somehow perfect all the same. He’d given a shy little wave upon being introduced, and I’d felt my pulse speed up in reply. It was a reaction he’d never know he’d inspired, of course, but it was there all the same, unmistakable to
me
. I drew in a deep breath, no longer prepared or even listening remotely to what the professor was saying, outlining the basics of the course we were to be taking, no doubt.
And I usually so enjoyed outlines.
I was in the middle of observing the way Hal drew his thumb nervously up and down a crease in one of his papers when Laure elbowed me sharply in the ribs.
I turned to her, distraught and also a little indignant. She couldn’t have known
already
what I was thinking. It was just too unfair.
“That’s
Hal,
” she whispered, eyes wide as though she thought that meant something to me. A little of what I was thinking must’ve shown on my face, too, since she rolled her eyes and looked as though she wished to elbow me much harder. “The Hal. Are you even listening? The one who came here and saved the city, not to
I tugged my pocket watch from its hiding place, checking the time. It was only a few minutes until half past the hour; I did hope our professor wouldn’t be late. Then I arranged my pens in order from smallest to largest on the desk in front of me before deciding it would probably be better to group them by color.
At half past, the professor entered the room. He was on the tall side, with a ferocious red mustache that looked like the brush Gaeth had used to unstop my chimney. I could feel Laure staring at him, and under any other circumstance I might have done the same, were it not for the younger man he’d approached to confer with beside his lecturer’spodium—someone who’d been sitting there all this time, I realized, and I’d been too caught up in trying to choose a proper seat to notice him right away.
He had dark hair that fell into his eyes, and
freckles
all over his cheeks and nose—something I had always been disappointed that Laure had never exhibited, not even in the height of summer. (Laure did not freckle; instead, she burned.) The young man in question was clearly older than the rest of the first-years, though not so old as to be a professor, and when he turned his head to pick up a sheaf of notes I could see a darling thumbprint of ink against his pale neck.
Somehow, it was more endearing to me on him than it ever was on Laure. I could imagine him resting his hand there dreamily, and I tugged at the collar around my own neck at the very thought.
“Well, I see that most of you are here already, so why don’t we get started?” the professor with the red mustache said, wringing his large, meaty hands together and leaning back against his podium instead of taking his place behind it. “This here’s theory and history of the magicians, so if you’re in the wrong place, feel free to leave now. No harm done; I won’t take it personally. Nor will I even remember your faces as you file out, I’m sure. I’m Professor Ducante, and this is my lecturer’s assistant, Hal, and the answer to the question that’s burning in your fresh little minds is
yes
, I
will
be requiring you to take notes. I don’t care how good your mind is; memory’s no match for a pen and paper. I’d best hear you all scratching away mightily for the next hour and a half, and if your hand’s not cramping by the end of each session, you’re just not doing it right. I hope that’s clear.”
Hal
, I repeated privately to myself, the name thoroughly unremarkable and somehow perfect all the same. He’d given a shy little wave upon being introduced, and I’d felt my pulse speed up in reply. It was a reaction he’d never know he’d inspired, of course, but it was there all the same, unmistakable to
me
. I drew in a deep breath, no longer prepared or even listening remotely to what the professor was saying, outlining the basics of the course we were to be taking, no doubt.
And I usually so enjoyed outlines.
I was in the middle of observing the way Hal drew his thumb nervously up and down a crease in one of his papers when Laure elbowed me sharply in the ribs.
I turned to her, distraught and also a little indignant. She couldn’t have known
already
what I was thinking. It was just too unfair.
“That’s
Hal,
” she whispered, eyes wide as though she thought that meant something to me. A little of what I was thinking must’ve shown on my face, too, since she rolled her eyes and looked as though she wished to elbow me much harder. “The Hal. Are you even listening? The one who came here and saved the city, not to
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