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THE ZANNA FUNCTION

“Look!” Beatrice said. A theoretical line like a pencil drawing
on the air owed out of her nger. “I’ve got it!”
Heat ushed Zanna’s face, and she bit down hard on her
tongue, squeezing her eyes shut to better focus on what Dr. Fitzie
had said. If that strange woman had been trying to keep Zanna
out of St. Pommeroy’s, this was the best way to get revenge. By
proving that she belonged here. Zanna squeezed her eyes so
tight they began to water. She pushed aside thoughts about her
upset stomach and the strange woman and showing up Cedwick,
focusing just on the idea of a function. She extended a nger.
A thin black line appeared on the air.
“Zanna’s got it, too!” Beatrice said. She clapped her hands
in a tiny explosion of glee.
Cedwick just nodded, curling o exotic free-formed shapes
from his ngers like a man playing with the smoke o his cigar.
“at’s just the start. Now you’ve got to take it up through the
dimensions,” he said.
But with the theory solid in her mind, the rest fell into place
easily. With a grin on her face, Zanna twisted her hand, and a
perfect theoretical sphere appeared. She gave it a poke, and
it drifted lazily over to Cedwick, like a big geometric mote of
dust in a sunbeam.
“I think I can manage on my own,” she said smugly, leaning
back with her hands behind her head in a mimic of his own
posture.
“Well, look at this!” Dr. Fitzie came out of nowhere and
gazed down at the triangle of students with her hands on her
hips. “Seems like you all are getting along just ne.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Beatrice said.
Dr. Fitzie made a little gasp of discovery, as if she had just
now noticed something. “Ah! e younger Hemmington! My, it

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