For Jude, an exam was an exam. He was in school, wasnât he? They were going to be handed out as often as the holidays came, and he was going to be one of two things: ready or not. If he passed, grand. If he didnât, he knew where he had to work harder. Theory, though, was so much easier than practical exams, and so the inevitability became neither tedious nor pleasant, but absolutely welcome as far as he and his certainty were concerned.
The best thing about a plethora of silence in his head during an exam was the lack of distraction. The worst thing about a plethora of silence in his head during an exam was the distraction that came from heightened senses elsewhere. A single movement in front of him dragged him out of question number forty-nine, and hilariously, in one more instant, Jude had the answer to number forty-nine laying on the ground in front of him. The smile slid onto his face as the student in front of him snatched their paper quickly, slipping it back into his sleeve before jumping at a set of words that Jude didnât hear, and knew exactly who they came from.
Amused, he took a breath, wrote down the answer to number fifty, and set down his quill, toying with the feathers, leaving forty-nine blank. Then, his head tipped toward his partner with a satisfying show of being finished. The student squirmed in their seat, and Judeâs smile turned into a grin.
