A Spark

THE SOUND OF GRAPHITE softly scratching against paper was the only sound in the entire room. Pencils were a bit more expensive to buy rather than a quill, but the inkwells just sitting on the edge of desks never did any good except cause messes, so Cheerilee was happy to splurge a bit for the students by stocking the classroom with them. A few of the students brought their own pencils, some had charcoal sticks, but it was all much better than ink.

I glanced up at the clock near the door of the classroom. One-twenty-seven it read. The students had just come back from lunch a half hour ago and were currently concentration on their afternoon assignment. My eyes drifted down to Cheerilee, who was seated right beside me in her own desk. She caught my gaze and offered me a happy smile, which I returned, before she went back to her reading. Never taking a chance to rest. Right now, her nose is stuck between the pages of tomorrow's schedule, trying to figure out non-existent problems.

The clock clicked again, now indicating it was one-thirty. Every five minutes I get up during class and walk through the rows of desks. I usually grab the students' attention and they ask me for help, but if they don't catch me right then, a hoof is usually raised. So, I flexed my forelegs and my chair rolled backwards on its wheels as I pushed away from my desk and I got up. I fixed a wrinkle in my shorts, causing me to grimace as I did so with my left leg, before moving out and strolling between Cheerilee's desk and my own. But before I could venture too far, a dark pink hoof stretched out and blocked my way. I looked over at Cheerilee, who wore worry-filled smile.

"Manic, dear, you don't have to strain yourself," she said while placing her hoof on my shoulder, my good one. "I know you don't want to take time off, but I really do think it's for the best."

"I'm fine Cheerilee, really." I looked back at the students, who were calmly writing on their papers.

All the foals were... I need to stop that. I really can't call these students foals anymore. Most of them are fifteen, just one year shy of adulthood. I guess Cheerilee was just rubbing off on me, since she always calls them that. I asked her why a few days ago, and her response was, "Until they turn sixteen, they are still children. And to me, they will always be the rambunctious little tykes I taught throughout the years." Still, these teens sitting in their desks before me still have a bit of growing left to do.

I snaked away from Cheerilee and began sauntering between the desks, glancing at papers and ponies as I walked.