The klutz jumps the rope. A huge long way. So easily – about twenty yards.

“Well done!”

The boys open their mouths wide in amazement. The klutz cringes in terror.

“Again. Do it again!” they shout.

But he’s crying. He refuses, he won’t jump a second time. He doesn’t know what helped him over it.

Kaytek is smiling. “What a silly crowd,” he thinks. Because it feels good to know something no one else knows, to understand what no one else can understand, and to be able to do what others can’t.

Yes! That was a magic spell.

But so what? What if it wasn’t Kaytek’s command that made the boy jump the rope?

He did have some stronger proof.

The teacher gives them an exercise. Kaytek isn’t in the mood, so he doesn’t write it down. He’ll copy it off a pal in recess.

But he doesn’t like to ask.

Maybe the teacher won’t check?

The teacher calls a boy up to give the answer, then another one. Finally she tells Kaytek to show her his exercise book.

It’s a nasty moment. He had actually decided he’d always do her lessons, because he likes her, and he knows she likes him.

What will be, will be, he thinks. I want – I demand – I command. Let it be written.

He goes up to her boldly. He hasn’t even opened the exercise book. But he has a feeling it’s bound to work.

The exercise book feels hot, then cold, then normal. He hands it over.

The teacher opens it and reads.

“Very good. To your place.”

Kaytek goes back and sits down.

He looks in the book, and the exercise is right there on the page.

The writing is black, normal, then it goes pale – he can hardly see it – and it’s gone.

He sighs. He feels tired. His head is spinning.

Then came the spell with the bicycles.

It’s recess.

The boys are chasing about, shouting, crowding and pushing. It’s boring. Total chaos.

Kaytek’s annoyed, so he thinks: Make everyone ride a bike.

He’s horrified by what he sees next.

That’s enough!

If it had gone on longer, they’d have been injured, they would have broken their arms and legs.

Because they don’t know how to ride bikes, and anyway, how can they all fit in the schoolyard, when they’re going fast as well?

Silence reigns.

An ominous silence.

Kaytek is pale and in a sweat.

Make them forget, he orders.

And so it ends happily.

Only one of them is lying on the ground, holding his head. He doesn’t know if someone pushed him, or if he just fell over.

Only that one had fallen off his bike and gotten a bump.

All the boys have forgotten, and only the janitor is looking around uneasily. Maybe because he’s old. But he obviously suspects something.

Then Kaytek sits on a bench and thinks what would have happened, how it would have ended if he hadn’t immediately said that was enough.

It looks as if spells that last a long time are harder.

Why do some of them work at once, and others not at all?

Maybe sometimes real wizards also want to do something, but can’t? Maybe sometimes it comes out differently from how they wanted? In fairy tales they talk about spells that didn’t work.

Kaytek is only a student so far. He’s studying, learning, and experimenting.

The next spell was like this:

There’s an arithmetic test.

The teacher dictates the problem.

“Too hard,” cry the boys. “We don’t know! We can’t do it!”

And Kaytek thinks: Make the ink change into water.

And at once someone says: “Please, sir, the ink won’t write. It’s water.”

So the teacher sends for the janitor.

“I filled the inkwells yesterday,” says the janitor. “With just the same ink as in the whole school.