The Magickers Read Online Free Page A

thatches.
    â€œDo you know who?”
    â€œDidn’t see a thing.”
    Jason traded looks with Sam. He had a wild guess who it might have been, but it wouldn’t do any good to say anything. He shrugged. Mrs. Cowling nodded. “Well, off with you, then. Tardy bell is about to ring.” The two sprinted off to the school gates and their first period classes.
    Overhead, a crow rattled another raucous “CAW!”

    SPRING, nearly summer, sang hotly through the late afternoon air, muted by the schoolroom window. The cries of boys already suited up for soccer team tryouts and running around the green field could barely be heard. He could see Sam’s blazing red jersey and more than once, the faraway figure had turned and looked toward his building. He had to be wondering where Jason was.
    Jason’s fingers cramped around his pencil. If he looked at the wall clock one more time, Mrs. Cowling would spot him. Outside of cheaters, there was nothing she hated more than clock watchers. It would hurt her feelings that he wasn’t paying attention, especially after her rescue of the morning.
    His eyes watered with the effort of not looking. He needed to be out on the field warming up. Would class never end?
    Mrs. Cowling returned to the front of the class and stood, her fluffy brown head tilted to one side. Thankfully, the school clock was just behind her, above the chalkboard. She smiled and said cheerfully, “To repeat, this final essay must be five hundred words long, in ink, and due by Friday. I want to see your best effort! This is your final grade of the year, and I am hoping to hear that many of you qualify for Honors English next fall!” She glanced toward Jason and smiled slightly. They’d talked about that after class. He liked writing, and she liked what he wrote.
    Immediately, Martin Brinkford’s hand shot up. Someone at the back groaned even as Jason bit his lip. Brinkford could talk for hours, endlessly, about nothing, and Mrs. Cowling had to let him. It had something to do with Brinkford’s father being a generous donor to the school’s many needs and charities.
    â€œYes, Martin?”
    Tall, with cold blue eyes, and surfer-blond hair, Brinkford sat at the back with the big square boy called George Canby. “Will a computer printout be accepted?”
    Mrs. Cowling smiled brightly. “Although a typed paper would be easier on my eyes, no. I want to see the essays done in your very own words, thoughts, and handwriting. I know you all have it in you to be very interesting and original.”
    Brinkford sank down into his chair. “I don’t get my papers off the Internet,” the blond-haired boy said, his mouth twisted sulkily.
    â€œNo, of course, you don’t,” Mrs. Cowling said. “But others may be tempted, so I’ve decided this is a fitting way to handle it. I want only your best thoughts!”
    Jason resisted the notion to out-and-out stare at Martin. He was all but certain it was Brinkford and Canby who’d trash-canned him and Sam. Brinkford gave him a mocking look back.
    The buzzer went off, as if punctuating her words. “See you tomorrow,” Mrs. Cowling ended. “Oh,” she added. “Tommy and Jason, please stay after a moment.”
    Jason, poised to leap from his desk chair as if shot from a cannon, deflated and fell back onto the seat, staring at her. If she was going to ask about the dumpster again, he still couldn’t say anything.
    â€œSilence is golden,” Canby said as he passed by. He made his sneakers fart on the linoleum floor as he headed to the classroom door.
    Jason rolled his eyes and slumped farther down in his desk.
    The other students left in a blur of motion and a thunder of noise, until the classroom stood empty but for the three of them. “Jason, I’ll be just a moment with Tommy,” Mrs. Cowling said, and drew the thin, lanky student aside at her desk.
    Jason got to his