“The MaMEx scores are out!”

The next morning, on their way to breakfast, Daniel dragged Chris by the shoulder to the main entrance, where a commotion seemed to be forming. They pushed their way through the crowd to see the hung up lists.

(Pause)

'MaMEx' was a common short name for the ‘Magic Training Mock Exams’ – a misrepresentation for what were simply monthly assessments of what the Witches had learned during their Magic training at school. The process had gained the name of a ‘mock exam’ due to the common belief that it was just a warm up for the Witches’ final at the end of twelfth grade.

The results were always put up on the school's notice board by the cafeteria, and the non-Witch students often placed bets on which of the examined would get the best score.

(Continue)

Daniel scanned the names until he got to the top ten.

“Blazes!” he exclaimed. “Scott was ranked first again? I owe Scholer way too much now!”

“You bet against Scott?” Chris looked at his friend in wonder. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. Winter’s been top of that class since the sixth grade and Scott comes right after. Without her around...”

“No, I mean, you never know, a small rock might be stuck in an unfortunate shoe and make one distracted…”

Chris smiled. “Would have to be a pretty big rock to distract Alton Scott.” Then he remembered something “Oh, Gods, this means he'll have another one of his I-swear-it-was-just-a-small-thing-I-don't-know-why-the-whole-floor-is-suddenly-in-ruins parties, we better hide...”

“Really, you don't want to go?”

"A bunch of drunk Witches trying to make ice statues of each other? Thanks, I'll pass. Remember what happened last time?" Chris raised an eyebrow at him, and added in a slight sing-song voice, "Chris is in the bathroom by himself..."

“Come on, Chris, that was one time, and I told you, I thought you'd gone back to our room already--”

Chris rolled up his eyes and imitated a sock puppet with his hand as they pulled out of the crowd.

He said, “You should take Julia, though, she might appreciate spending time with you.”

“I guess so.” Daniel suddenly whined, louder, “Seriously, I won’t be able to stand Scholer’s smug face...”

“Wait, do you mean Melody Scholer?”

“No, her little brother, Tommy.”

“Isn’t he a seventh grader?”

“Seven and eight graders are always the pushiest about bets. And man, the little brats are right most of the time, too!”