All through morning meal, Reeft, a Dresselian with an abnormally wrinkled face, kept saying to everyone at the table, “I don’t mean to be sound greedy, but may I have your meat?” or “I don’t mean to sound greedy, but…” as he looked pointedly at some puff cake or drink. Though Obi-Wan had not had dinner the night before, he shared everything. Bant kindly handed over half her puff cake. With his leathery gray skin and all those wrinkles, the Dresselian could look awfully sad if he did not get everything he wanted to eat.

“It won’t be so bad,” Garen Muln told Obi-Wan. “At least you’re going on an adventure.” Garen Muln had always been restless. Yoda had often given him extra stillness exercises.

“And you’ll be around food,” Reeft added hopefully.

“Who knows where each of us will end up?” Bant added. “The missions to come will be different for each of us.”

“And unexpected,” Garen Muln agreed. “That’s what Yoda says. Not everyone is meant to be an apprentice.”

Obi-Wan nodded. It was good that he had given Reeft most of his food. He couldn’t eat. He knew his friends were trying to make him feel better. But they still had plenty of chances to become Jedi. That highest honor was what they all wanted, all they worked for. No matter what they said, they all knew his lost chance was crushing disappointment.

Around him, Obi-Wan heard the swirl of conversations at the other tables. Students looked over at him, then looked away. Most gazes were compassionate, and some tried to cheer him. But he sensed that the overwhelming feeling in the room was that everyone was glad that what had happened to Obi-Wan had not happened to them.

At Bruck’s table, the voices were loud and reached their ears. “Always knew he wouldn’t make it,” Bruck’s friend Aalto said loudly. Obi-Wan’s ears burned as he heard Bruck’s high snicker. He turned, and Bruck stared at him, daring him to pick another fight.