Free A Little Taste of Poison by R. J. Anderson

flipping. Please address yourself to the equations on the board—unless you find them too simple for you?”
    His eyes were cold as a frozen lake. Hastily Isaveth flipped the book shut. “No, sir.”
    She was staring at the formulas, wondering if she could guess the right answer, when pain lanced into her back. She jumped, twisted around—and met the innocent blue eyes of Betinda Callender, the girl who’d accused her of showing off in Common Magic.
    Yet Betinda’s hands were folded demurely on her workbook, and there was no weapon in sight. Perhaps Isaveth had imagined it. Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes and turned away.
    Minutes passed, and the pricking sensation had begun to fade when she felt a fresh stab, this one harder. “Stop it!” Isaveth hissed, but Betinda only smirked at her.
    â€œMiss Breck!” Master Valstead snapped. “I do not know what behavior was tolerated at your former school—”
    â€œTrash Heap Primary,”whispered Paskin, and titters and snorts rose from his seatmates as the teacher continued.
    â€œâ€”but if you cannot remain quiet and face the front of the class, you will be asked to leave. Unless there is some reason you need to see Miss Callender’s work in order to complete your own?”
    Was he accusing her of cheating? The blood drained from Isaveth’s cheeks, then flooded back again. She wanted to tell the master what Betinda had done, but the only proof she had were the two throbbing spots on her back, and she couldn’t show him those without undressing.
    â€œWell, Miss Breck?”
    The whole class was looking at her. Isaveth cleared her throat. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
    â€œGood,” said the master, and began chalking up another set of equations.
    So now she had another teacher who despised her. And as a third savage poke made Isaveth flinch, it was clear she’d made a new enemy as well.
    She tried to steel herself, gritting her teeth and sliding as far forward as the desk would allow. But the fourth jab hurt so much she couldn’t help it. She gasped, and Master Valstead swiveled to glare at her. Tearsstinging her eyes, Isaveth began packing up to leave.
    â€œExcuse me, sir,” said a boy. He was short and compact, with dark olive skin and a face as round as his spectacles, and there was something oddly familiar about him. “Miss Callender has been poking Miss Breck with her lead-point, sir. I saw her do it just now.”
    â€œHow dare you!” exclaimed Betinda, rearing back in indignation. “What a horrible lie!”
    â€œMiss Callender?” asked Master Valstead. “Do you require Miss Breck’s attention for some reason?”
    â€œSir, I would never.” She pressed a hand to her chest, looking wounded. “I can’t think why Ghataj would accuse me of such a thing.”
    The master shifted his gaze to the boy, whose expression stayed resolute. At last he said, “Mister Ghataj, please exchange desks with Miss Callender. If Miss Breck’s welfare is of such concern to you, you may consider yourself responsible for guarding it.”
    Giggles rippled through the class, and the boy winced. But he gathered his books and got up to let Betinda take his seat.
    Isaveth exhaled a silent prayer of gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered to Ghataj, not daring to look back.
    Around them desks creaked, papers rustled, and lead-pointsscratched as her classmates returned to work. Isaveth had almost given up hope of an answer when she heard his gruff, barely audible reply:
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    *  *  *
    Isaveth’s back was still smarting as she headed to her next class, and her head spun with questions she couldn’t answer. Why would Betinda Callender be so cruel to her when they hardly knew each other? Was she jealous that Isaveth was learning Sagery when she was still struggling to bake spell-tablets? Or had