A Birthday at the Academy

Saturday. A birthday today: a girl turning ten, five of her friends, and a cake shaped like a spellbook, which Hollis guarded in the staffroom as though the eclipse might eat it.

They came dressed for it. Three cloaks, two pointed hats, a pair of round spectacles with no glass in them and a wand made from a chopstick and a great deal of glitter. All in closed shoes, I was glad to see; the corridor floor is old stone and no place for bare feet.

Six of them made a full class, and as every one was ten or eleven, a parent waited out at the front instead of coming in. Birthday classes are among my favourites. They argue beautifully and they never, ever give up.

Afterwards they sang to her in the foyer, and the eclipse, I am almost sure, turned a slightly kinder shade of red.