|RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Off goes the alarm. I, Sydney Stotts, awoke instantly from yet another great dream about being a wizard. I've been having this dream for awhile, and its a great one. If only I had just five more minutes to sleep!!! I was just getting to the part of the dream that I always wake up at. I may never know if my wizard friends and I ever defeat the awful Malistair. Oh, how I wish it was all real.
Reluctantly, I got out of bed to get ready for a seven hour day of high school, better known as a medieval castle with food breaks and entirely new torture methods. Some of these methods being homework, lectures, and if you are a band geek, being stuffed into a locker. I am not incredibly popular there. I am no cheerleader, but am not a band geek. I try to remain invisible, and so far, its the strategy that has served me well.
After missing the bus and running two miles in the rain, I am at school. That is one thing to know about me: I run. Fast and hard. But one will not find me on a cross-country team. The likelihood of that is slim to none, because nobody can ever know. They just can't.
So when I get to school, I am five minutes late for English, but so is my best friend Rodney. I had to help him out of his locker, again. He is in band, and therefore dubbed a nerd, so I frequently have to help him un-contort himself out of his own locker. Mrs.Pecksley gave us detention, (nothing new there) and Mr.Mizanen, the intern, threw a helpful sympathetic look our way. It was my third detention this month.
The rest of the day passed with nothing new, except I did have one of those tingling feelings that someone is following you, but it passed as fast as it came. So after a miserable hour of detention with Mrs.Pecksley, I began walking home. Rodney had been excused early for band practice. Mrs.Peck was always sympathetic for him, because he is poor, and is only going to this school on scholarship.
Did I mention, that my school is an exclusive and expensive private school? Well, it is. The California School of the Arts of Math and Science is for rich geniuses. I am one of them. Rodney is a genius, but hardly rich. He is here on a band scholarship, and all the teachers know it. He is heavily teased because he plays the French horn in band, but it would be fifty times worse if any students knew about the scholarship. I hate the high school food-chain philosophy.
When I got home, there was nobody there. I turned the heat up (it had mysteriously started snowing during my run). I went upstairs to start my homework, when a strange blue light came on at the end of the hall. I heard the shuffling of footsteps. Naturally, I ran to check it out.
In my bedroom, there was the coolest, weirdest, and most unexpected sight that I have ever seen. This was not the unaveragely old man standing near my closet, but the sparkling blue light coming out of the tip of his walking stick.
"Hello, young wizard. You must be Sydney. I am Merle Ambrose, headmaster of the Ravenwood Academy of Magical Arts." the old man said.
"Hi! Wow, you are real!! Cool!!! I'm Sydney Stotts." I replied, stunned.
"Ahh, yes, indeed I am, and no you are not. My records have you down as Sydney Silvershade. Do you know anything about Wizard City?" asked the headmaster.
I knew what came next. It happened nearly every night in my dreams. But this time, I wasn't so sure that it was a dream.
"Er, no, I haven't heard of Wizard City. I'm very sorry, but you must have the wrong Sydney Supershard or whatever."
"Oh, well. I will just leave then. I was hoping that maybe you would be the one. I suppose not!" this conversation was going exactly as my dream had. Coincidence, or something more?
"What do you mean by 'the one'?" I asked hopefully.
"Oh, the savior of the Spiral, of course! But you have heard nothing of Wizard City, so I must say adieu." the headmaster replied. Somehow he managed to sound humored and disappointed at the same time.
"Wait, please! I have heard of Wizar City! It was only in a dream, but it is the same one every time, so it must mean something." I sort of shouted.
"And is this conversation going exactly as it does in the dream?" Ambrose asked suspisously.
"Yes. Always the same. Next you will say that I need robes, a wand, and to be sorted. Then you will mention what Bartleby, the Grandfather Tree, will think of me."
"Excellent. No need to repeat myself. Let's get going! No time to waste!" and he rushed me out the door.
Knowing that I may never see Rodney, or my parents, or my cat, Tibbles, again, I left with the strange man and his bright blue light.
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