Twenty-FourThe Intensifier's face loomed across the wall. He was the chief administrator of my school-college and, as far as I knew, one of only two human beings on the staff. He broke into a broad smile when he saw me.
“Ah, Simeon,” he wheezed, that sickly monotone voice causing me to squirm. He reminded me of a plump, white witchetty grub, all pasty and slow moving. I could barely force myself to look at him. “So, you've finally completed your tasks. Well done. Total score for this semester, Simeon is ninety-eight point three seven five, which is below your usual but still puts you in the top one percent of your year. How does that make you feel?”
“Marvellous.”
“I hope that's not a note of sarcasm I can hear there, Simeon. Humour really doesn't become you. Or anyone, for that matter.”
