The Demon's Game by Rain Oxford

Dad, but then he yelled at me for
not running fast enough. I brushed by him and to him, it felt like a static
shock. What had actually happened was that I gave him a dose of bad luck. It
wasn’t two minutes later that he was stung by a bee. If he was even remotely
intelligent, he would realize that the worse he treated someone, the more bad
things will happen to him.
    Hail met me after class to walk me to math. “How was
wrestling?” I asked.
    He noted my sweaty shirt and shrugged. “Boring. I
just filled out paperwork. Why are you all sweaty?”
    “We had to run. I don’t think I’ll like that class.
I’m going to have to train my teacher to be a nice person.”
    My brother growled and stopped in the middle of the
hallway. “Was he mean to you?”
    “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I’ll deal with
him.” Hail let it go, for now.
    My first actual class was hallmark (advanced) math.
My teacher was Mr. Cardigan, a cleanly dressed man about Dad’s size. This was
the number-one teacher I needed to impress in order to skip sixth grade. It
wasn’t just my brilliant mind I had to show him, but my mature behavior as
well; I had to show him that I could act like a seventh grader.
    He told me what I needed for class, introduced me to
everyone, and assigned me a seat up front. The desks were small and in neat
rows, each with a student. Most of them were busy talking, even though their
assignment was on the board in front of them. Perhaps everyone was done with
the assignment and had a moment of free time.
    I pulled my notebook and pencil out of my bag and did
the assignment, which was to convert improper fractions to mixed numbers and
vice versa. That was something Dad showed me to do several years before.
    Apparently, this was new for them, because the
teacher spent all class explaining it. Most of the students weren’t listening
the first time, so he had to spend the rest of the class explaining it to each
individual student. I wondered with disdain if this was how public school
normally ran, and if so, why any person in the world would want to be a
teacher.
    After finishing my assignment within a few minutes, I
helped the students seated around my desk. A couple of students wanted to chat
and after realizing they had no intention to learn, I walked away from them. I
didn’t want to be friends with the humans, especially since I wouldn’t be in
the same grade as them the next year. If Dad thought I was making friends and
was happy here, it was possible he would decide we should stay on Earth. As
much as I understood this was Dad’s home world, it wasn’t mine. I didn’t want
to live on a world where the people would try to kill me just for having magic.
    When the bell rang, the students gathered their stuff
and ran out the door, cutting the teacher off mid-sentence. Since my next class
was right across the hall, I stayed back to help him pick up the trash. Hail
came in to check on me, saw what I was doing, and started helping without
saying a word.
    “Thank you, Ron,” Mr. Cardigan said. “Who is this?”
    “This is my brother, Hail. He’s in sixth grade.
Hopefully, we’ll both be in seventh grade next year.”
    “You’re trying to skip sixth grade?”
    “Yes, sir.” Obviously. A sarcastic comment
came to mind, which was very odd, for I wasn’t a sarcastic person in the least.
Luckily, I knew most things that came to mind were better left unsaid, and it
was natural for me to think over my words several times before speaking.
    “Sixth grade is a hard year.”
    “I can handle it, sir. I want to be in the same class
as my brother.”
    “Well, this is hallmark math, so I teach many sixth
grade concepts. Do well and I’ll recommend you skip.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Cardigan. Have a good day.” I walked
out, taking Hail’s hand.
    “Did anyone bother you?” he asked.
    I smiled. “Nope. The kids were annoying, though. I’ll
deal with them later. “How was science?”
    “I don’t like the teacher.