Chapter 2

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Eleanor was late to school because of her chat with Ms. Alton. However, her status as a certified Weavling caretaker excused her from getting a mark on her record, not that she was concerned about that. The records weren't updated frequently, if they were at all. Sitting down at her pockmarked, wooden desk, Eleanor quickly took out her parchment and a quill. Dipping it into the ink bottle that was securely fastened to the desk, she began to copy the algebraic problems that were written on the board at the front of the small, brightly lit room. The school had recently commissioned a Weavling board, cloth, and quill. The quill was imbued by a group of Weavlings so that it would always draw ink from a large vat elsewhere, and the board could be erased only by the cloth.

      "Who wants to share their solution to these problems?" asked the teacher. Eleanor liked her teacher much more than Abigail's. He insisted on being called by his first name, but most of the people in her class felt odd referring to him so casually. They compromised by calling him Mr. William instead of Mr. Hall.

      Since Eleanor wasn't done with her math problems, she kept her head down, scribbling away at the parchment. She wasn't worried that she would be called on. Mr. William, being the nicest person ever to live, had promised never to call on someone who wasn't willing to answer.

      "Samantha, go ahead and write what you did on the board," said the teacher. Eleanor quickly glanced up from her work, to see what Samantha thought of the problems. From the way she was walking confidently up to the front of the room, she had had no issues. Eleanor wasn't surprised. The concept seemed pretty simple, and with Samantha, she either grasped it completely, or didn't understand at all.

      "Hey," someone whispered from behind her. Eleanor tensed, knowing what was coming, and turned around to get it over with.

      "Late again, huh? Did your freak sister make you waltz with yourself before you ate breakfast?" In Eleanor's mind Frederick had been punched in the face many times. In reality, however, there was nothing she could do about his comments. Her school had a strict "Solve Your Own Problems" policy. Not wanting to encourage him, she turned back around.

      "Weavling got your tongue, Eleanor?" Frederick asked, drawing out her name. That joke could have been funny coming from any other person. But Frederick was the bane of Eleanor's existence, and the insult to her sister was unacceptable.

      "No," she replied, hoping the one word answer would shut him up. Unfortunately, it didn't even come close. As she finished her math problems, her parchment was pulled off of her desk. Eleanor clenched her quill in her fist, willing him to give it back without a fight and wishing she could just Weave it back to herself like Abby could. She turned to face Frederick once more, his impish face grinning maliciously at her, and his aquamarine eyes full of mirth at her expense. Eleanor saw a flash of uncertainty cross his face as he saw how unaffected she appeared to be. Then his evil smile was back. Encouraged by his uncertainty, Eleanor calmly asked for the paper back. He inspected her work.

      "Sloppy handwriting, Weavling lover. Aren't ladies supposed to write neatly? Perhaps you don't deserve a three syllable name." In one swift motion, he tore Eleanor's work in two. The loud ripping noise caused Samantha, who was still copying her work onto the board, to sweep her curly  black hair out of her face and turn around curiously. Mr. William, who was grading some classwork, looked towards the source of the sound. Seeing Frederick holding the two pieces of parchment, he stood up suddenly, walked over to him, and took them, fitting them together like puzzle pieces. Frederick hurriedly tried to sneak his own work under his desk. Obviously seeing this, Mr. William held out his hand, his face like stone. Frederick reluctantly surrendered his own work. Inspecting them, Mr. William raised one eyebrow, a skill that Eleanor couldn't seem to manage.

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