Bruck also held grudges. A year ago, Obi-Wan had stumbled in a Temple corridor, tripping Bruck, who had fallen. It had been an accident, caused by legs and feet that were growing too fast on both boys, but Bruck felt sure that Obi-Wan had done it on purpose. Bruck’s dignity was very important to him. The laughter of the other students had goaded him. He’d called Obi-Wan an oaf then — Oafy-Wan.

The name had stuck.

The worst thing was that it was true. Often, Obi-Wan felt that his body was growing too fast. He couldn’t seem to catch up with his long legs and large feet. A Jedi should feel comfortable in his body, but Obi-Wan felt awkward. Only when the Force was moving through him did he feel graceful or sure.

“Come on, Oafy,” Bruck taunted. “See if you can hit me again! One last time, before they throw you out of the Temple!”

“Bruck, enough!” Yoda said. “Learn to lose as well as win, a Jedi must. Go to your room, you will.”

Obi-Wan tried not to feel the sing of Bruck’s words. In four weeks he’d turn thirteen and would have to leave the Temple. Taunt, like Bruck, were becoming more and more frequent as his birthday drew nearer. If he did not become a Padawan within the next four weeks, he’d be too old. He’d been listening for rumors intently, and had found that no Jedi was scheduled to come in search of a Padawan before it was too late. He was afraid that he’d never become a Jedi Knight. That fear angered him. Enough for him to make a foolish boast.

“You don’t have to send him away, Master Yoda,” he said. “I’m not afraid to fight him without his blindfold.”

Color blazed in Bruck’s cheeks, and his ice-blue eyes narrowed. Yoda merely nodded, taking in Obi-Wan’s words. The truth was that Obi-Wan was just as exhausted as Bruck. He hoped that Yoda would send both of them to their rooms instead of allowing them to fight again.