It was partway into Novembris and Mingxia had yet to participate in any of her tutorials except to laugh at Amafu's jokes and smile and nod at Inyanga and other contributors to tutorial discussions.

It wasn't until the third from final week before exams that Mingxia made her first contribution.

It had been inspired by a speech of Inyanga's on the history of the guardia's use of spell tracking. "The idea that magic routers could potentially provide data on the identification of spells cast and their spellcaster dates back to 100 S.E. when Aurelian Potestas of Constellation's Invernali branch submitted a hypothesis to the company that he was unable to prove. He was certain that the stellar router must display not only when a spell was cast, but who cast it, and what spell it was.

"He even managed to correctly guess all three pieces of information hundreds of times. However, he couldn't replicate his experiments to a degree of scientific validity; his hypothesis was based on the redundancy of visual display features on the router, which looked like a big version of a sundial or, one might say, a smaller version of the Constellation star dial downtown. The router display must take the shape of a sundial, in accordance with schematics derived from the stars' instructions, and certain design elements, Potestas argued, were redundant.

"For example, each licensed magician connected to a router was represented by a little orb of light hovering over the star dial surface that could only be seen with the lights off. One had to note the position of each orb manually every time a magician was connected, to identify whose orb it was, and the orb would grow and flash when a spell was cast. Yet the orbs were also connected to the gnomon of the dial by gossamer thin strands of light. Potestas argued this was redundant; the orbs' mere presence represented a connection to the router's magic, so the strands between the orb and the gnomon must display more information. He would stare at it, and he believed the strands would transfer the specific data into his mind. As if the stars were speaking to him; but no one else could do it. It wasn't until 1300 S.E. that the guardia made the next great development in spell tracking."

Mingxia didn't mean to interrupt . . . "But that development still failed to prove Aurelian Potestas' hypothesis." She had spoken without raising her hand. Had she interrupted? Panic surged. Inyanga looked at her, smiled, and before going on with her storytelling, she seemed as if she were waiting patiently for Mingxia to say more.

Her. heart. hammered. Even though what she had said was right, she could not form a single other sentence. One was all she had. Not a thought remained in her mind on the subject of Aurelian Potestas's Theorem.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Inyanga continued. "That's right. The development had nothing to do with Aurelian Potestas' Theorem, and router use was no longer widespread by 1300 S.E. The guardia had a breakthrough in breaking down data from the Star Dial itself, projecting the information into their own minds. Yet the method is slow, giving criminal spellcasters time to hide illegal activity. What if Aurelian Potestas' Theorem could still be falsified?"

Even though Mingxia hadn't said anything stupid, her heart rate took the rest of the hour to slow to rest, she felt.

Listening to Ma and Doctor Azikaze, she breathed slowly and deeply, made eye contact with every speaker, smiled to release endorphins — yet she continued to freak out. How could she do this for years? How would she get her degree like this? Half the classes had participation marks. It was her third month in and she still went all day without speaking, never talked to the other students, her greatest interaction of the day, other than lying to her parens, was ordering, "an iced cha, double sugar," at the campus cafe.

Not once had she spoken to the maestras. Never had she asked a question in class, never had she gone to office hours, if she didn't form relationships with the maestras, how would she ever get a letter of recommendation? If she couldn't even say two sentences in tutorial without panicking, how was she going to ever ask questions in lectures, give her third year seminar, or interview for internships?

These worries tumbled through her mind until, sitting there in the tutorial circle, to all eyes completely unharmed, safe, secure, unharmed, her eyes welled up and she felt heavy moisture pressing to break free. And if she started to cry right now, what worse could possibly happen to her?

She glanced up to the clock that read just minutes to hora septa. Once again, instead of growing up, leveling up, doing better, she would simply wait out the clock until she could get out of here and be alone in a crowd instead of alone in what had become a tight knit group of which she didn't feel a part.

And thank goodness for time. Relief finally took hold. She would be out of here in a hundred and twenty, a hundred and nineteen, a hundred and eighteen . . . Breathing and surviving, counting and waiting, nothing had ever soothed her more than the rustle of airweave pages being hustled into bags. In the anonymity of that shuffling sound, she was able to pack up instead of bursting into humiliated tears for basically no reason, and she could not wait for the cold air outside on her hot cheeks. Able to stand, able to put one foot after the other, she was relieved that she could flee now. At the door Inyanga was speaking with Canción.

And as Mingxia walked past, Inyanga said, "Hey, you! I'm so impressed you knew about Potestas's unfinished theorem! I don't think anyone but us nerded out that hard." Mingxia stopped walking, let others slide past her out the door. She glanced at Canción, who nodded, perhaps hello, perhaps that no one else was such a nerd. But in a nice way.

"What's your name?" Inyanga asked.

Eyes cast down at everyone's shoes, "Mingxia," she said fast. Quietly, too. It was likely Inyanga wouldn't understand her. Daring herself to look back up, see if she needed to repeat it, more slowly, more loudly, she met her eyes.

Canción was saying, "Mingk-sia is acing practical magic. Even got Maestra Alondra's bonus on the last test."

"Thank you. It is pronounced Ming-shah."

"That's pretty," said Inyanga.

"Sorry!" said Canción. "I should have asked. I saw it written when I marked your test. Come to think of it, I'll make sure to tell Maestra Alondra in case . . . we might have both guessed wrong. So sorry!"

"It's okay," said Mingxia. They were being so nice. She shouldn't flee, she should breathe, and stay, and talk to them. Ask how to make up her participating mark to date. But she couldn't. Her weight was shifting toward the door again, her legs preparing to step, and her voice was saying, so quietly, she hated the days it was so soft, "I have to go, my Ma is waiting," and Inyanga said, "Cool, see you in class! Sit with us tomorrow! If you want." And over her shoulder there was Amafu, and they always sat in front, and Mingxia would try to dare herself to sit with them.

She would.

She would try. Unfortunately, Mingxia always came late to class. Why? Because she wanted to spend as little time as she could in the lecture hall full of peers she was too shy to talk to.

A/N I would love the insight of a Mandarin speaker on how to spell out the pronunciation of Mingxia's name. I wasn't able to find a phonetic spelling that I think works in English. Any and all comments on cultural representations are, as always, welcome; I hope to have open conversation about everything that comes up. Pronouncing names from unfamiliar cultures is something Americans are notoriously not great at, so I'm hoping to build a world where we work on it. When Harry Potter came out, no one knew how to pronounce Hermione, because no one was a Greek mythology nerd like J.K. Rowling; yet Rowling didn't know that the name Cho Chang consists of two last names, one Korean, and one Chinese. I'm hoping every fantasy writer can do better. Please let me know anything and everything I haven't gotten right. Thank you :)

Hall Names Origins

Derived from real-world constellations as named by different cultures

Al-Maysan الميسان‎: Traditional name of the Orion constellation, deriving from Arabic الميسان‎ al-maysān, "The Shining One."

Sanxing 三星: the three major stars of Shenxiu, named for Chinese gods of the three stars, Fu, Lu, and Shou; Lu 祿 is a star in Ursa Minor, while in Chinese astronomy, it's the sixth star in the Wenchang cluster.