THE EMANUENSIS
Summer 2026 · Torch: U.S. · THE EMANUENSIS
12
THE EMANUENSIS
Johan Coisman, Weston High School, Massachusetts
They did not ask him to sit.
That was the first thing that Hephaestus noticed.
The conference room was long and narrow with glass on one side and dark wood on the other. The faculty and board members that made up the disciplinary committee of Olympia Academy were seated around a gleaming mahogany table. Their expressions were as inscrutable as the room was austere.
Hephaestus stood awkwardly with all of his weight on his one good leg and his blackback slung over his shoulder. Emmanuelle was resting on a chain around his neck—taking it all in.
“Let’s begin,” Headmaster Zeus said.
Olympia’s headmaster never raised his voice. He didn’t have to because everything about him—from his deep, resonant voice to the double Windsor knot of his tie—carried a tone of authority.
“You understand why you’re here,” the headmaster continued.
Hephaestus steeled himself. “I understand the concern,” he hesitated, “but I don’t agree with it.”
Ms. Hera, the Chair of the Board of Trustees, shifted while a few uncomfortable seconds passed and then interjected, “We’re not here to assign blame.”
Dr. Athena, Olympia’s Academic Dean, lifted her eyes which had been firmly fixed on her notebook and added, “We’re here to clarify.” She paused dramatically and then continued “because there are distinctions that matter.”
The fourth member of the committee, Professor Apollo, who was also Hephaestus’s physics teacher, knitted his brow with concern.
Headmaster Zeus reasserted control and began a volley of questions. “You built a device?”
“Yes.”
“That accompanies you constantly?”
“Yes.”
“That records lectures?”
“Yes.”
“That retrieves information?”
“Yes.”
“That suggests resources?”
“Yes.”
“That does your work for you?” Headmaster Zeus asked as if that were game, set, match.
Undaunted, Hephaestus cleared his throat and said, “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”
Professor Apollo winced sympathetically and began his own volley, “Does it answer questions for you on your homework?”
“No.”
“Do you have it write essays for you?”
“No.”
“Does it take your tests for you?”
“No.”
Professor Apollo slowed his pace and asked, “Why do you call it Emmanuelle?”
Hephaestus replied, “She’s my personal emanuensis. She ....”
Before he could continue, Ms. Hera broke in, “But does she give you an advantage—an advantage that other kids don’t have?”
Hephaestus took a short breath to control his growing frustration and replied, “No more of an advantage than tutors and expensive summer programs.”
Ms. Hera tried to interrupt, but Hephaestus pushed on, “Everyone else intuitively understands the context of what we’re being taught. Whether it’s Shakespeare, calculus, or Thucydides. They’ve seen it before.”