Read The Last Emberwrym :: Glorified History Class

As we walk out of Instructor Binomial's classroom, Firefly is still scribbling out notes. The benifits of being on another dragon's shoulder for all of your movement needs are certainly great in numbers. Speaking of numbers...

"Firefly, why are you still taking notes?"

"Why are you not?"

"My head is swimming with numbers. It's literally the first day."

"Really? I loved it!"

"I didn't."

"Well, we have social studies next. Maybe that will cheer you up."

"What is social studies? Is it like learning ettiquite and stuff?"

"No. It's like history class, but with broader topics."

I'm thankful that she knows this. Firefly is smart. She picks up things quickly and is always, like, one step ahead of the world. We head down and around, and end up in another classroom. This time, the tables are arranged for two dragons to sit next to each other. The instructor has a seating chart displayed, so we all take our seats. This time, I'm next to Midnight. She's glaring intently at her claws. The instructor, who is patterned like a scroll, watches us, and as soon as the last dragon is finished sitting down, she jumps in to talking.

"Hi, I'm Instructor Papayrus. I'll be your social studies teacher for 6th grade. In social studies, we will learn about past dragons and civilizations, and also do a quick geography unit at the start of the year."

"So, basically a glorified history class," Midnight mutters to herself, still glaring intently at her claws.

"I'm sorry, Midnight, I couldn't quite hear you. What did you say?" Instructor Papayrus glances in the direction of our table. I expect Midnight to just pass it off as talking to herself, or something of the sort, but she just looks up and says in a cold, clear voice:

"I said that this was just history class with a fancy name."

Everyone's heads whip around to stare at her, and I feel my face getting hot. Then, Instructor Papayrus continues talking, now about how this is more advanced than history class, and all of us settle back down. I stare down, embarrassed. Then Midnight lookes over at me and hisses just loud enough for me to hear.

"Turn down the smoke, Strawberry Scales. You're stinking up the place."

Strawberry Scales? Smoke? What the- I look up and my horns are smoking. I hurriedly wave away the smoke before anyone notices. Now that was a good thing to have pointed out. But strawberry scales? My scales are red, but not that bright red! Maybe Midnight had a bad day, but she didn't have to make it my problem. My brain spends the rest of class thinking up good comback insults.