If it were Scurry, I’d have caved in their faces and stomped on their chests. But this was the National Artisan School, where children carried out their torments in passive, secretive ways. So, I imagined cracking their teeth, but never did it. Polly only sat silently in quiet refrain, her small chin ever quaking.
I ignored the sneers. Instead of mashing their brains in I was counting in my head, waiting for my body to unwind when the classroom door thrashed open, none other than Professor Dumley appearing in its frame.
Until that moment, I’d never seen him: the headmaster of the Artisan School. Even at our orientation, he had not appeared. But here he was now, in my minerals class, and his eyes caught on to mine immediately.
He was a man with overlapping chins and a peculiar complexion
