Class Reptilia

Ember picked at the spot on her forehead, trying to peel it up. It held on stubbornly, growing more inflamed with each attempt. Like a pimple, it had cropped up overnight, slightly off-center near her hairline: a glittering golden scale no larger than a pea. 

She flicked it one last time, then washed her hands and tied up her hair. It was the Tuesday after exam week, the day when scores would be released at noon on the bulletins at the center of campus. Even though it was only eleven, she knew that the crowds would already be gathering. It was all she could do not to run from the dorm in anticipation. 

As she crossed the room again, a leaflet on her desk stared back at her. It had been delivered under her door that morning by some unknowing courier. Athletic Department News! the name seemed to shout. The headline was even more painful: Promising new debutant defeats Amina Lafleur, leaving her in critical condition. A photo of Roland, captured just after the match, took up at least half of the front page.

Ember swept the paper onto the floor, scowling. It wasn’t enough that the ‘freshman who had become a ranker’ had been the talk of all of her Monday classes. Now he was in the goddamn newspaper?

In search of a distraction, she lay on the dirt floor, tucking her feet under the mattress to hold herself in place. She sat up, feeling her abs tighten, and touched her chest to her knees. The movement had become familiar after three weeks of training. One. Two. Three…

By the time the knock came, Ember’s biceps, abs, and thighs were swollen. She rose on shaky legs from her plank position and pulled open the door, revealing an equally nervous-looking Carn and Naz. “Are you ready?” the fox asked. She nodded.

Without a word, the three left the unaffiliated dorm. The air was crisp, the hallmark of the first day of November. Ember shivered, still partially warmed by her workout but already regretting forgetting a jacket. On either side of the trails were piles of fiery red leaves, cut through by patches of grass and clover. As expected, the cleared pathways were choked with students on their way to the bulletins. 

“Have you spoken to your advisor yet?” Naz asked, catching sight of Ember’s new scale. “Since you found out that you’re a snake?”

Ember’s gaze slipped to the ground. “No…it was midterm week, and there wasn’t much time. They adjusted my dosage at the pharmacy not long ago, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Naz shook her head. “I just think that they’ll have some resources for you. Like how Carn had a retainer to guide his canines into the right place.”

“Okay,” Ember conceded. She looked back at the unaffiliated dorm—though it was long since hidden behind the trees—remembering how Corax had requested that she have her own room on her very first night in Mendel. “I’m not ready to move yet. I’ve just settled in.” 

“The reptile dorm might be even better,” Carn added sympathetically. “There’s not many students there.”

Ember’s half-hearted agreement died in her throat as they turned a corner, bringing the library into view. Beneath its pavilion was a large, and growing, crowd of university students. 

Bells rang nearby, startling some birds from their perches and marking the coming of noon. At the same time, a procession of faculty and student employees emerged from the library doors. Each pair carried a four-foot-tall leaderboard, one for each year of the university. The boards had been carved with slots so that a tab with each of the students’ names could be slid into the correct placement. 

The crowd swelled forward, trying to get a glimpse of the results. It was obvious which board was which, since the freshman board boasted almost six-hundred slots while the senior board had just over half as many. Just a glimpse would be enough: the top ten names were marked with gold, the average names in black, and the names of those who would be up for academic dismissal in red. For them, the next few weeks would be spent in limbo as they waited to see if their petitions would be accepted. 

The faculty shooed back the crowd and hung all four bulletins on the wall underneath the pavilion, where they would stay until finals. The moment they finished, the students pushed forward to see their scores. By unspoken rule, the upperclassmen were allowed to go first, though the freshmen and sophomores muttered their annoyance. Most of the older Linnaeans returned with looks of satisfaction, but Ember spotted a couple of tearful faces. 

When it was finally their turn, Ember and her friends muscled through the crowd to the first board in the lineup. Her eyes sifted through the gold tabs, starting from the tenth place. She could hardly breathe as she moved up the rankings without seeing her name. Then, finally, it seemed to leap out from the very first slot, where it dominated the freshman class.

She smiled. This time, there was no shock, no imposter syndrome: only cool pride spreading through her chest. She allowed herself a moment to commit the sight to memory. 

She widened her perspective gradually. Unsurprisingly, Roland had placed second, a fact that would probably throw him into a fit of panic. On her right, Naz looked pleased, pointing to her name in the middle of the pack. On her left, Carn was holding a fist to his chest, his gaze locked on where his name rested… in black, just one slot above the red section. He had narrowly avoided academic dismissal. 

“You did it,” Ember said, her voice partially lost to the crowd. She thumped him on the back, careful not to jar his healing injury. Naz threw her arms around him, giddy with excitement. He grinned, and his one eye shone with accomplishment.

***

Ember slipped to one side, avoiding her partner’s fist by a hair. He stepped back, looking surprised. “Again,” she ordered, still circling back and forth.

He gave her a little nod and raised his arms. He drew closer, sending an awkward series of jabs and crosses at her upper body. Forcing herself not to panic, she watched his torso carefully. His shoulders shifted to one side as he prepared to punch, signaling his intended direction. Ember turned just slightly as the strike came, and it brushed past her into empty space. 

“Nice work, Ember,” Mr. Badger said from nearby. “Good improvement! Sam, your punches are swinging wide again.”

A slight smile graced her face. She was no genius—still a total beginner—but she was finally improving. Bit by bit, she had chipped away at the instincts that told her to turn her back and to cower. The sting of Naz’s punches had taught her to keep moving, and to watch for her opponents’ tells before their next strike. The drills had set the framework for her new skills: the strength exercises had fortified her muscles, and the early-morning runs had built up her stamina. 

Growing frustrated, Sam tried again, his hair shaking from his bun as he swung. The punch grazed her ear, but she gritted her teeth in determination. Going against her instinct, she leaned forward into the opening, close enough to feel the droplets of his sweat as he shuffled backward. Quickly, she brought her right fist up from her chest, rotating her leg and hip to amplify the power. 

The uppercut sunk into the flesh of Sam’s stomach. “Oof!” he huffed, doubling over. Spit dribbled from his mouth. 

Ember looked at her reddened knuckles, half in shock and half in awe. “Sorry,” she said softly. 

 He held up a hand, still panting. “Don’t… be,” he choked out between breaths. “It’s my fault… for not dodging.”

Ember wiped the sweat from her mouth. Well, it looks like I’ve finally graduated from level zero. 

***

Ember tried not to flinch as the open-air carriage hit a bump, jostling her against the rough wooden bench. There was no driver, and smoothness was not the specialty of the three furry creatures pulling the cart. It bounced as they trotted leisurely on skinny legs, humming to each other and releasing the occasional sneeze. To Ember, they looked like a cross between a large bird and a horse.

She pulled her coat more tightly around her shoulders. The leather caught on the slippery strap of her bathing suit, releasing a squeak. The other three Linnaeans—all obviously aquatic species returning from the main campus—glanced at her incredulously, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. Their skepticism was tangible: why would an undeveloped reptile be visiting the Saline Lake on a chilly November afternoon?

Truthfully, Ember was also questioning her choice. She’d picked an overcast day, thinking that the fewer people that saw her, the better. Now she realized that the lack of other visitors made her stick out more. 

It’s too late now, she told herself. The carriage was the second-to-last one of the day, and it would draw more attention if she demanded they return back to campus. She reached into her pocket, tracing the corners of Hickory’s note. Am I making a mistake?

As soon as the creatures came to a stop, she yanked open the door and jumped down onto the lakeshore. She walked quickly to the outbuilding, which cut a dreary silhouette in the shade. Unlike during Hickory’s practical, it was almost empty. A lone research student was at the equipment counter, leaning on one arm dejectedly as Ember walked in. 

His eyebrows raised as he considered her. He said nothing, as though he expected that she had wandered inside by accident. “Hello,” she ventured. “May I check out a raft, a mask, and some surface-supplied air equipment? I have a professor’s note.”

He leaned forward dubiously, taking the note from her outstretched hand. “There’s no recreational diving after October 31st.”

“Just the raft, then.”

He paused. “...All right.” He handed her a key. “You can take the one in the ninth spot. Don’t go out too far.”

Ember nodded. She turned for the door, eager to leave the outbuilding before he changed his mind. “Wait,” he added, and a bolt of anxiety ran down her neck. 

“...Yes?”

“Take one of the windbreakers on the chair, it’s cold out on the water.”