---
A few hours later…
The last chalk stroke squeaked. Benches scraped. The hall spilled its noise into the corridor.
Fizz bounced up to John's shoulder and saluted like a tiny general who had just conquered a pastry shop. "Report: the League of Fizz awaits. I am in grave demand. Autographs, wisdom, possibly three slices of cake that identify as research."
John angled toward the quad. "Old library. West side. You aren't coming?"
Fizz puffed his chest. "I will not. My public is fragile and must be handled with snacks. Also they scream if I am late and I enjoy that a little."
"You and your league. SIGH!" John raised a brow. "Do not start a riot or make any trouble."
"I would never," Fizz said, already drifting backward, glowing with purpose. "At most a polite uprising with cupcakes."
"Behave."
"I am the definition of behavior. Ask any dictionary. Under B it says Fizz."
