Mage Kids These Days

By Josiah DeGraaf

Jadoni never smiled during the first half of the school year.

During the second half, she might consider it—if the students had earned it. But good student relationships begin with a healthy fear of their teacher.

Students don’t obey teachers who always smile at them.

And this particular group had a reputation.

Jadoni eyed the new kids sitting in front of her. The girls’ sashes had bright pinks, purples, and oranges. Unfathomable. Back in her day, students would never besmirch themselves by wearing the colors of a clown.

“All right,” Jadoni’s voice rang out. “I’ve heard some of you talking about the tales the bards told about the great hero Prem over the New Year celebrations. ‘Forget everything you think you know if you want to learn magic,’ and all those memorable lines. Well, too many of you followed that advice over New Year break.”

Previous teachers had warned her about how lazy and unmotivated her new students were. Slim chance they’d reviewed their textbooks over the six-week break, and there was nothing worse than working with a group of lazy pupils. This year would only work if she made it clear that she had no tolerance for shenanigans.

A hand went up in the front row. Jadoni recognized the way he was eyeing his buddy next to him: he wanted to cause a ruckus…

“Keep your hand down; this is far too early for questions. All you need to know is we take our status as the best mage school in the country seriously. If you don’t do the work, you’re not passing the class and you’re not staying here.”

In all likelihood, though, the headmaster would probably fudge the grades to make sure they would pass. Weak leaders like him produced weak students. If Jadoni had been made headmaster, students would still be required to stand at attention whenever a teacher entered the classroom.

She strummed her lute to telekinetically move papers to each of her students. “This test represents all the magic theory you should have learned at the end of last year. Impress me and maybe we won’t need to spend the first month on review.”

The students wore blank faces as she gave out the tests.

Jadoni frowned. Was that not enough to motivate them? As a student, she had always hated review classes. Kids these days don’t care about anything.

Returning to her desk, she watched as the students filled out the test. A student in the back kept looking at the ceiling. Jadoni glanced up to see the glint of a mirror embedded in the rafters. That hadn’t been there before; the boy must have snuck in prior to class to magically embed it.

Unbelievable. She once had a reputation for catching cheaters. When did they stop warning each other about her quick eyes?

Jadoni scowled and wrote the student’s name on a sheet. No point calling him out now. She’d let him have his fun and discover his failing grade afterward. Students’ shocked faces were always quite the sight when they realized she’d caught them. It would be even better when he learned what his punishment would be. Perhaps she’d make him use his magic to sculpt new desks for the classroom. That would be a nice several-hour punishment.

She couldn’t resist telekinetically knocking the pencil out of one of his hands, though. He looked up, and she studiously avoided his gaze. Let him fret about how much I know.

The kids finished the tests right as the class period ended. Most of them turned in their exams and left without a word. But two stayed behind, a boy and a girl.

The girl approached first. “Elder Jadoni, I just thought you should probably know that we all knew about the test today from other classes. I didn’t study in advance because I thought that was cheating. But most of them discovered what topics were on the test and studied for it.”

Jadoni blinked. Well, this was unexpected. A student was actually volunteering to rat out her classmates?

She waved her hand. “Students tell each other about this every year. It’s not cheating, and you should have studied if you knew.”

The student opened her mouth like she was about to say something else. Her cheeks reddened before she turned on a heel and left.

Hanodoi, the boy, approached her. His eyes shifted every which way as he approached her. Kids these days don’t know how to talk to their teachers.

“Can I help you?” Jadoni asked, impatience dripping from her every word.

Hanodoi’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” He stared at the ground. “I studied; I promise I did. But I know I failed that test. And I just want you to know that I really did try my best to pass.”

Jadoni studied him. She noticed his lean arms and the dark circles under his eyes. Many students came from rich families who thought that money could get them whatever they wanted. But occasionally poor kids made it here, too. Just like herself.

“Hanodoi, I’d like you to look at a teacher when you speak to her.”

The boy looked up, wringing his hands.

Jadoni leaned forward. “Lazy students aren’t those who fail tests—they’re the ones who don’t care. I see your muscles. You spent break working rice paddies from dawn to dusk instead of studying; didn’t you?”

Hanodoi nodded.

“You’re behind because you don’t come from money. But if you want to catch up, come back here after school and I’ll give you extra tutoring. It will help you more than the rich kids’ tutors because I can see you actually care.”

A little grin slipped out the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you, Elder Jadoni,” he said. Placing his exam on the desk, he left.

A twitch of a grin tugged at her cheeks.

She may not smile at the kids, but she did what she could to help them earn smiles of their own.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Josiah DeGraaf taught high school English for four years in the small North Carolina town that inspired the Andy Griffith show. After helping Southern rednecks enjoy Homer & Austen, he moved to small-town Pennsylvania, where he currently resides as a writer and writing teacher. He loves crafting fantastical stories about characters who face the same dilemmas we do when we try to do the right thing.

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