A monotone voice carried throughout the room, boring each student unfortunate enough to be within earshot. I struggled to stay awake, catching myself nodding off for the hundredth time. I didn’t want to be rude to Mr. Webb, but he was so dull. How were any of us expected to pay attention when he had nothing to excite us with. Not to mention Journalism was pretty uneventful in the first place.
This class was responsible for the school’s monthly newspaper, which reminded me that I had homework from the week before where I was supposed to turn in an article about the new lunch lady. As if I’d been here long enough to know her from any other. As far as I was concerned, they were all the same. Yet somehow I’d been unlucky enough to draw that article from Mr. Webb’s story bucket.
There was also a mock news studio set up at the rear of the room where a few of the students did a weekly broadcast to update on the trivial dealings within the school, such as who won the last basketball game, or who was expected to win the title of prom queen.
Truth was, I didn’t care. I was never one to thrive with school spirit. I wasn’t here by choice. I came because it was expected of me. And once I graduate I don’t intend to set foot within a school ever again.
“And that’s why we always cite our source. Creditability is a fragile thing. One tiny inconsistency, or a lazy report can have every story we’ve ever reported called into question.” Mr. Webb’s bland and unfluctuating vocals reached me for the briefest moment before I began to tone him out again.
Glancing round, it seemed about half the class was asleep. Most were laying on their desks. Some flicked a folded piece of paper back and forth, seeming to use a similar ruleset to that of football. It wasn’t coincidence that those few fell into the jock persona.
A strange sensation washed over me. I knew it was power, but it wasn’t my own, nor any type I’d felt before. At least not up close and personal. You could get similar sensations while driving down the road, passing warded businesses, or even if a strong sorcerer rode past on a bus. But this was stronger. Like I was at the center of a flame and had no idea why I was burning.
I searched my surroundings, looking for any sign of the source. The window blinds where closed, which limited my view of the outside world. And it clearly wasn’t anyone in the room. There were a couple ones or twos on the power scale, but they didn’t feel trained in any way. Those few were likely to have a few “weird” things happen if life, which they would dismiss the first chance they got. And they’d never go further than that. This feeling couldn’t have come from any of them. It had to be outside the room.
I watched the small window set in the door, hoping to see something, anything that would explain it. It didn’t hurt, but it was uncomfortable, like I’d stepped within someone else’s wards unintentionally. In fact, I suspected that was exactly what had happened, though I hadn’t stepped, moved, or navigated myself in any such manner. I would have felt them if I was getting close to claimed territory. And it was next to impossible to ward an occupied area when an unwelcome force was present. In fact, it was much easier to do a simple banishment than it was to establish a ward. But this clearly wasn’t a banishment. I would have had no choice but to flee if it were.
A shadow passed the underside of the door, but I saw no face through the glass. It was as if they’d cloaked themselves from direct view. That meant I needed to see what I was dealing with indirectly.
Almost on instinct, I began looking for a reflection. It could have been anything. Mr. Webb’s glasses, the wall mounted tube TV, even a cellphone camera could show me what I wanted if only I could find such. It’d didn’t matter what I found, I needed it quick. The sensation was fading, which meant whatever it was, was moving away. And that meant I needed to identify it before I encountered it in the wild.
My hopes were short lived. The bell rang and people began rising from their seats. Mr. Webb shouted his final notes, showing the first sign of emotion in his life. I tucked my notebook into my backpack and made for the door. If I was lucky, perhaps I could find whatever it was before it got too far away.