The Rithmatist

routinely wore JoSeun formal clothing instead of suits or skirts. Kim probably understood that he needed to be even more American than the others.
    Joel filled in his name at the top of the test and began looking over the three essay questions to be answered.
    Discuss the events, and possible causes, that led up to the discovery of Rithmatics.
    Discuss the ramifications of the Monarch’s exile from Britannia.
    Detail the early struggle against the wild chalklings and their eventual isolation in the Tower of Nebrask.
    Joel knew the answers. He knew, in depth, about how King Gregory III had been forced out of Britannia during the JoSeun advance. He had been taken in by America, despite the historical tension between the two nations. Gregory, lacking political power, had become primarily a religious leader.
    And then the wild chalklings had appeared in the west, a threat to all life in the Isles. King Gregory had discovered Rithmatics, had been the first Rithmatist. He was an old man when it happened.
    Was it too much to hope that Joel, despite having passed the age of inception, could also become a Rithmatist? It had happened before.
    He scrawled answers to the questions. Not the right answers. Terrible ones. This test was fifty percent of his grade. If he failed history, he’d have to spend his summer reviewing with a tutor.
    Mother is going to kill me, he thought as he finished, answering the last question with a wisecrack about kimchi, and how the wild chalklings had probably fled to the Tower to escape its stench.
    Joel stood just a few minutes after he had begun, then walked up to the front and proffered the exam to Professor Kim.
    The man took it hesitantly. He frowned, looking over the three simple answers. “I think you might want to look this over again.”
    “No,” Joel said. “I’m satisfied.”
    “Joel, what are you doing? Didn’t you hear me talk about how important this test is?”
    “I’m well aware.”
    Kim stared at the test. “I think you need to have a talk with the principal,” he finally said, scribbling a note to the office.
    Perfect, Joel thought, taking the note.
    * * *
    He reached the office and pushed open the door. Florence was actually hard at work this time, and the room was quiet save for the scratchings of quills against paper.
    Exton looked up as Joel entered. The clerk wore a blue bow tie this day, matched by his suspenders. “Joel,” he said. “Is it fifth period already?” He glanced at the clock in the corner, then adjusted his spectacles. “No…”
    “I have been sent to see the principal,” Joel said, holding out the note.
    “Oh, Joel,” Florence said. “What have you done this time?”
    Joel sat at one of the chairs at the side of the office, his view of Exton blocked by the large wooden counter.
    “Joel.” Florence folded her arms. “Answer me.”
    “I wasn’t prepared for the test,” Joel said.
    “Your mother said you were quite confident.”
    Joel didn’t respond. His heart thumped nervously in his chest. Part of him couldn’t believe what he’d done. He’d forgotten assignments before, or failed to prepare. However, he’d never deliberately sabotaged his grade. This meant he’d failed at least one class each of his four years at Armedius. Students got expelled for things like that.
    “Well, whatever it is,” Florence said, looking at the note, “you’ll have to wait a few minutes. The principal is—”
    The door to the office banged open. Nalizar, wearing his red, ankle-length Rithmatic coat, stood in the doorway.
    “Professor Nalizar?” Exton asked, standing. “Is there something you need?”
    Nalizar swept into the room, blond hair stylishly waved. It didn’t seem Nalizar was wearing Fitch’s coat—this one looked too new, too well tailored to Nalizar’s body. Joel let out a soft hiss of displeasure. That would mean that Nalizar had forced Fitch to give up his coat in front of an entire class when Nalizar already had his own coat ready and waiting.
    “It has come to my attention,” Nalizar said, “that you have common students delivering messages and interrupting valuable Rithmatic training time.”
    Though Florence paled, Exton didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “We have messages that must be delivered to the classrooms, Professor. You suggest we force the Rithmatic professors to come to the office between each period to check for notes?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nalizar said with a wave of the hand. His