My Deskmate is a Dragon?!​

Ariella's POV

Christmas was never my holiday.

At least, not in my sixteen years of memory.

The streets were covered with colorful lights, store windows displayed beautifully wrapped gift boxes, and TV screens kept showing warm scenes of families sitting around fireplaces unwrapping presents.

Those were all other people's stories. In my house, Christmas was only celebrated for my sister.

Because every year, report cards arrived two days before Christmas, and my grades always made my parents furious.

I stood at the front door, clutching my report card, my fingertips ice-cold.

Snow had been falling all afternoon. My boots stepped on the porch's wooden boards, leaving a trail of wet footprints.

Warm yellow light leaked through the door crack, along with laughter.

My mother Edith Crawley was laughing, my father Randall Warren was laughing too.

And my sister Lilia Warren—her laughter was the loudest, clear and piercing.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The Christmas tree in the living room was lit up, gifts piled underneath, and the fireplace was burning bright.

Edith held hot cocoa, Randall had his arm around Lilia's shoulder, and the three of them gathered around the dining table with a paper spread out in front of them.

It was Lilia's report card.

"All A's!" Edith said proudly. "Not only excellent in every subject, but first in the grade for math!"

Randall bent down and kissed the top of Lilia's head. "That's my good girl."

Lilia sat there, golden curls falling over her shoulders, blue eyes shining like the star on top of the Christmas tree.

She was three years younger than me but taller, and every move she made was full of confidence.

She wore that red sweater Edith had specially bought for her, making her skin look almost glowing white.

And there I stood at the door, wearing a gray cardigan that had been too small since last year, hair thrown up in a messy ponytail, clutching a report card full of F's.

Edith was the first to turn and see me, the smile still on her face. "Ariella, you're back? Did you get your report card?"

Lilia turned around too, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

"I got it." My voice was quiet.

"What were your grades?" Randall asked.

I didn't speak. My silence was my answer.

Edith walked over, pulled the report card from my hand, glanced down at it, and her smile disappeared.

"Math F, English F, Science F, History F..." Her voice grew colder. "Ariella, how did you do so badly again?"

"I..." I wanted to say I'd already tried my best, but the words circled around my mouth and I swallowed them back.

Because I knew it wouldn't help.

"Ariella, you're not going to be held back again, are you?" Lilia's voice drifted over, dripping with mockery. "If you get held back again, we'll be in the same class..."

She let out a few piercing laughs.

Randall slammed the report card down on the table, shouting loudly, "Ariella, you do this badly every time! Are you doing this on purpose?"

"I'm not..."

"Your sister gets all A's, you get all F's!" Randall's face turned red. "Same parents, how can you be so different?!"

I'd heard this line countless times.

From first grade until now.

Every year, every report card, every parent-teacher conference—the same words.

I wasn't trying to do badly.

I just... couldn't learn. I really couldn't.

Studying was harder for me than growing flowers and grass.

When I was little, the doctor said I had delayed language development. I didn't speak in complete sentences until I was three.

Started elementary school at six, spent two years in first grade before moving up to second.

Teachers mostly said I couldn't focus, had low learning ability. Some were more direct—they just said I had intelligence problems.

At first, Mom and Dad were patient.

They hired tutors for me, helped me with homework, explained problems over and over.

But patience runs out, especially after Lilia was born. Everything changed.

Lilia was smart from the start.

Talking at one, reading at two, reading children's picture books at four.

After starting school, her grades were always the best in class.

Gradually, my parents transferred all their patience with me into favoritism toward Lilia.

"Ariella, get out," Randall suddenly said. "Go stand outside in the yard! When you figure out what you did wrong, then you can come back!"

"But it's snowing outside..."

I mumbled quietly, looking to Edith for help.

Edith turned her face away, took a sip of hot cocoa, and said nothing.

I understood. Edith wasn't going to speak up for me either.

I had no choice but to turn and leave the house.

The yard was cold.

Snow was still falling. My cardigan couldn't block the wind at all, but I couldn't feel the cold anymore.

I stood by the old oak tree, looking at the living room window.

Through the glass, I saw Edith setting out plates, Randall carving the turkey, Lilia unwrapping presents.

They looked like a happy, complete family, and I was the extra one.

I crouched down, brushed aside a clump of small grass by the oak tree's roots, and said dejectedly, "I messed up again."

I'd had this habit since childhood—I liked talking to plants.

When I was little, the neighbor lady saw me chatting with the sunflowers in the yard and told my mom with a laugh, "This child has such a rich imagination."

My mom smiled then. Later, she stopped smiling.

Because other kids were playing with their peers, and only I was crouched by the flower bed, talking endlessly to things that couldn't talk back.

But I didn't care.

Because I felt like plants could understand.

Every time I was sad, the flowers and grass in the yard would sway in the wind, like they were nodding, like they were responding to me.

I didn't know if this was just my imagination, but in those moments, I really did feel less alone.

"Am I really that useless?" I looked down at the clump of grass beside me, my voice shaking. "Lilia can do everything, I can't do anything. Mom and Dad don't want me anymore..."

Snow fell on the leaves and quickly melted.

"Tell me, am I worthless?"

As I asked this question, tears finally fell.

And the next second, I was completely shocked.

"You're not worthless."

I froze.

The voice was small but clear.

"You just don't belong here." The voice came again.

I jerked my head down. In the middle of that clump of grass, the voice came from a small flower inside.

Its petals were pale purple, its center was golden, like eyes staring at me without blinking.

"Ahh!!"

I screamed and stumbled backward, falling into the snow.

"The flower... the flower... can talk?" My fingers were shaking, pointing at the flower, my lips trembling too much to form complete sentences.

"Don't be afraid." The little flower said. Its petals swayed gently, like it was waving hello. "Ariella, you have amazing plant magic talent. You should go to magic school."

I stared at the flower in shock. It had no mouth, yet it could speak.

Was I dreaming?

"What are you?" My voice trembled.

"I'm just an ordinary flower." The little flower said, its golden center flickering slightly. "I know of a magic school, full of children like you. Do you want to go?"

"Magic school?" I murmured.

"That's right."

After the little flower finished speaking, its stem suddenly bent down, like it was bowing, and gently touched the snow.

When it straightened up again, something amazing appeared. An address appeared in the snow:

[Hollyvale Academy of Magic, Massachusetts Avenue 117, New York State.]

I stared at those words for a long time. Before I could ask what this meant, the door behind me suddenly opened.

"Ariella!" It was Edith's voice.

I spun around to see Edith standing in the doorway, looking at me with concern, holding a blanket.

"Mom!" I scrambled toward her, my voice shaking. "There's a flower that can talk! And it can write!"

When I pointed toward the address, the snow was completely empty. Nothing was there.