Jace was almost late to class, just like he always was, but today that was a poor decision. He usually didn’t show up to class early because he didn’t want people thinking he was a nerd or whatever. Some teachers cared and some didn’t. Jace was pretty darn certain that if he showed up 35 minutes late to History of Magic wearing a tutu, for example, that Professor Boot wouldn’t even notice. On the other hand, being actually late to Cultural Studies wasn’t something that Jace would ever risk. Guillotines counted as French culture probably, right up there with snooty cheese and having too many vowels in your words.
But skidding into class right on time didn’t work well when practically the whole school was in your classroom. Big yikes. Muttering ‘excuse me’ to the people he elbowed past, Jace finally spotted a seat next to someone he didn’t actually know. He’d seen the other kid around, but since Jace was a second year he’d bet money that nobody older than third year actually knew who he was. They might confuse him with his twin brother (Jake got into more trouble than Jace did) but Jace was pretty sure he hadn’t spent quality time with any older students and definitely not this one.
Professor McKindy started the lesson quickly though, which was great because it meant Jace didn’t have to make small talk with the person he was sitting next to. He just hoped they hadn’t been saving the seat for someone else.
McKindy explained that they were going to be making Halloween treats, and Jace was so there for that. Like any well-adjusted kid, Jace wanted his treats as sugary as possible. He’d even snorted pixie sticks a couple of times on a dare, but had stopped when he started getting nosebleeds from doing it. He wasn’t all the way convinced that he knew enough magic to make sugary snacks do cool things like wink, the way McKindy’s weird iguana cookies did, but maybe he just wasn’t thinking about it the right way? McKindy had told them to work with older students anyway, so…
“What the heck are we supposed to make our cookies or whatever do?” Jace asked the student next to him. Unlike most of the students at RMI, Jace’s accent clearly marked him as from the Southern United States. He’d been a little self-conscious about that for some time last year, but once he figured out nobody actually cared, he’d stopped caring too. “Have you done this before?”