Yesterday was the weekend. I had planned to finish all three books I borrowed from the library, but I ended up spending the whole day helping my neighbor's grandma fix her roof. A few of her tiles had blown off in the wind a few days ago, so I used some wind magic to lift the new tiles up and arcane magic to secure them. She insisted on giving me a basket of freshly baked bread, saying, 'Take this for your little brother and sister.'

By the time I got home, it was already dark, and I hadn't turned a single page. But as I sat on that wobbly wooden chair, biting into a warm, wheaty loaf, I suddenly understood something—the meaning of magic has never just been about the formulas written on parchment. It's also about letting an old lady sleep soundly, and letting my family have one more warm meal.

Maybe I'll never be the most dazzling genius, but I'll be the most dependable one. That's what today is about. (The bread was really good, by the way.)