The Rithmatist

Harding. And yet … perhaps she had a reason. Was it because she was so commonly excluded by the rest of the Rithmatists?
    Joel felt a stab of guilt.
    “Joel,” his mother said, “maybe it isn’t a good idea for you to be studying with Professor Fitch during this time.”
    Joel turned back to her, guilt overwhelmed by alarm. His mother could end his studies with Fitch. If she went to the principal …
    A dozen complaints flashed through his mind. But no, he couldn’t protest too much. If he did, his mother might dig in her feet and decide it needed to be done. But what, then? How?
    “Is that what Father would want?” Joel found himself asking.
    His mother’s hand froze, chopsticks in her spaghetti, motionless.
    Bringing up his father was always dangerous. His mother didn’t cry often about him, not anymore. Not often. It was frightening how a simple springrail accident could suddenly upend everything. Happiness, future plans, Joel’s chances of being a Rithmatist.
    “No,” she said, “he wouldn’t want you to ostracize them the way others are. I guess I don’t want you to either. Just … be careful, Joel. For me.”
    He nodded, relaxing. Unfortunately, he found his eyes drifting back toward Melody. Sitting alone. Everyone in the room kept glancing at the Rithmatists, whispering about them, as if they were on display.
    Joel shoved his chopsticks into the spaghetti, then stood up. His mother glanced at him, but said nothing as he crossed the room to the Rithmatist table.
    “What?” Melody asked as he arrived. “Come to flatter me some more so that you can get me to sneak you into another place where you shouldn’t be?”
    “You looked bored,” Joel said. “I thought, maybe, you’d want to come eat over with my mother and me.”
    “Oh? You sure you’re not going to just invite me over, then kick me out as soon as you have to talk about something important?”
    “You know what? Never mind,” Joel said, turning around and stalking away.
    “I’m sorry,” she said from behind.
    He glanced back. Melody looked miserable, staring down at a bowl filled with brownish red spaghetti, a fork stuck into the mess.
    “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’d … really like to join you.”
    “Well, come on then,” Joel said, waving.
    She hesitated, then picked up her bowl and hurried to catch up with Joel. “You know how this is going to look, don’t you? Me running off with a boy twice in one day? Sitting with him at dinner?”
    Joel blushed. Great, he thought. Just what I need. “You won’t get into trouble for not sitting with the others, will you?”
    “Nah. We’re encouraged to sit there, but they don’t make us. I’ve just never had anywhere else I could go.”
    Joel gestured toward his open spot at the servants’ table across from his mother, and some people on each side made room for Melody. She sat down, smoothing her skirt, looking somewhat nervous.
    “Mom,” Joel said, sitting and grabbing his chopsticks, “this is Melody. She’s studying with Professor Fitch over the summer too.”
    “Nice to meet you, dear,” his mother said.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Saxon,” Melody said, picking up her fork and digging into her spaghetti.
    “Don’t you know how to use chopsticks?” Joel asked.
    Melody grimaced. “I’ve never been one for European food. A fork works just fine.”
    “It’s not that hard,” Joel said, showing her how to hold them. “My father taught me when I was really young.”
    “Will he be joining us?” Melody asked politely.
    Joel hesitated.
    “Joel’s father passed away eight years ago, dear,” Joel’s mother said.
    “Oh!” Melody said. “I’m sorry!”
    “It’s all right,” Joel’s mother said. “It’s actually good to sit with a Rithmatist again. Reminds me of him.”
    “Was he a Rithmatist?” Melody asked.
    “No, no,” Joel’s mother said. “He just knew a lot of the professors.” She got a far-off look in her eyes. “He made specialty chalks for them, and in turn they chatted with him about their work. I could never make much sense of it, but Trent loved it. I guess that because he was a chalkmaker, they almost considered him to be one of them.”
    “Chalkmaker?” Melody asked. “Doesn’t chalk just come from the ground?”
    “Well, normal, mundane chalk does. It’s really just a form of limestone. However, the chalk you Rithmatists use doesn’t have to be a hundred percent pure. That leaves a lot of room for experimentation. Or