“You’ve got a special way with that brush, Alex, and a keen eye for color,” Ms. Octavia said, her appendages floating about her, busy with tasks. “Your paintings are your forte. I think you’re one of the most promising students I’ve ever had.” She gave an approving nod despite her stern bulbous eyes peering through the wire half-glasses that perched on her alligator snout.

With eight appendages Ms. Octavia could create vast paintings and charcoal drawings in no time at all, and she expected perfection from her students. But she had a soft spot for Alex and praised him liberally.

With all this praise, Alex was certain he would soon be allowed to begin further training. “I can’t wait to advance to Magical Warrior Training,” Alex said one day. “Do you think it’ll be soon?”

The odd look on Ms. Octavia’s face stopped him. “All in good time,” she said finally.

“Oh.” Alex looked away and shoved his hands into his pockets, embarrassed, determined not to ask the question again.

Meghan adored her instructor too: Ms. Claire Morning. Ms. Morning was a tall, striking woman of forty or so, with long, honey-colored hair and a warm complexion. She was the same person who had popped in for a chat on Meghan’s blackboard on that first day to teach Meghan the lesson with the oboe. Claire Morning was full of praise, and Meghan excelled and grew increasingly confident with her music as time passed. Meghan not only enjoyed playing the oboe and piccolo, but she loved to dance and sing as well, and her voice had such a mesmerizing lilt to it that people and creatures alike often felt compelled to stop in the hallway outside the practice room just to listen to Meghan sing.

“With a voice like yours,” Ms. Morning told Meghan after three months had passed, “I do believe you are quite ready to train magically with your art as a warrior now, Meghan. I will talk with Mr. Today about it this afternoon.”

Meghan’s face lit up. She’d been dying to start her magical training ever since she saw her brother perform magic on the day she reunited with him. “Yes!” she said. “I’ve been so impatient. So I’ll be the first of my class to start, right?” She grinned. “Alex will be so jealous.”

Ms. Morning smiled. “Your gifts are very strong, like your brother’s. He was the first of his class to begin magical training as well.” Her voice turned contemplative. “But you may want to ask him about how best to deal with your successes in front of your friends. I know he had quite a difficult time being the first.”

“Did he?” Meghan asked. “He didn’t mention it.”

Ms. Morning sat down at the desk next to Meghan’s. “It is because you are all so unused to expressing your emotions, and now that you’re allowed to do so, sometimes they can grow wildly out of control. All of you have felt the sting of not being a Wanted or a Necessary. It’s not a pain that goes away quickly, and it resurfaces sometimes without warning.”

Meghan grew somber. “You’re right,” she said softly. “But that’s why being the first feels so nice. Like I am actually … you know.” She blushed and scraped the toe of her sandal on the marble floor. “Like I’m valuable or something.” Her face burned.

Ms. Morning patted Meghan’s shoulder and tipped the girl’s chin up. “You are valuable, indeed,” she said quietly.

“Then, why …?”

“Because this will feel like another failure to your friends.”

Meghan thought about that for a long moment. She sighed, and though she didn’t want to say it, she did. “Maybe I should wait for them to catch up.”

Ms. Morning smiled warmly. “That is a very generous thing to say, Meghan. You are a mature young woman. But we shan’t wait for them. Our warriors need you, and they need you now. You must learn everything you can, as quickly as you can. The others will join you eventually—perhaps your success will drive them to succeed as well.” Her smile remained warm, but her eyes became shadowed with a hint of … something. Was it fear?

Meghan didn’t dare to ask, and after a moment the shadow passed and Ms. Morning continued on in her cheerful manner so convincingly that Meghan thought she must have imagined it.

After her private lesson Meghan left the practice room bubbling with excitement, but also a bit anxious to know how Mr. Today would respond to Ms. Morning’s suggestion. She decided she would keep her news quiet until she was certain, and only discuss it privately with Sean. Hopefully, she thought, he’d have some good advice for her. She joined the others in the last class of the day, Actors’ Studio, which they all shared.

In the midst of it she was so deep into her thoughts that Alex had to poke her in the arm when it was her turn to perform, and she was so befuddled that she flubbed her lines quite horribly, which made Samheed frustrated enough that he threw his script at her.

It hit her squarely in the forehead, and as it was Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, it was thick enough to hurt.

“Hey!” she shouted. And without thinking, she flung her script at Samheed, hitting the back of his head as he stomped off the stage.

“Why, you little …,” Samheed charged toward Meghan, his boots thumping and echoing in the auditorium.

Lani and Alex jumped up before anyone else even noticed what was happening. Alex grabbed and yanked Samheed’s arm, while Lani stood in between the spitting Meghan and the growling Samheed.

At the assault from Alex, Samheed wrenched his arm from Alex’s grasp and promptly slugged him in the eye, knocking Alex flat and causing quite an outrage with the other students, until the stage was crawling with thirteen-year-olds taking swipes and cuffing one another. The voices joined in crescendo, and the volume grew to such riotous proportions that the poor little instructor, Mr. Appleblossom, had to resort to standing on a chair and reciting a magical soliloquy so deathly boring that it not only sucked all the energy from the room, causing the students to fall limply on the stage, but it also put some of the smaller ones like Lani into a deep sleep.