Carry On Simon

Chapter 1

Simon banged his head morosely against his headboard, his eyes closed tightly. Fried tomatoes at breakfast. Every lump in his bed. Being able to do magic without worrying whether anyone was watching. Agatha, of course. And Penelope. Getting to see the Mage - not often, but still. Simon's uniform. His school tie. The football pitch, even when it was muddy. Fencing. Raisin scones every Sunday with real clotted cream....

What didn't Simon miss about Watford?

The orphanage was a dreary place. Well, one couldn't really expect an orphanage to be anything but dreary, but this one felt especially so. The walls were a pale and faded blue, and the building was peeling at the corners. Sitting right in the heart of Lancashire, Smith's Orphanage was everything you would expect an orphanage to be. Simon had given up on spending time with the other children that summer. He was much older than them anyway. At seventeen, Simon was by far the oldest member of the no-parents club at Smiths. He chose rather to spend his time in his room, practising his magic with the hopes of improving his grades next year. He spent a lot of his time reading, and only succumbed to the lower floors of the orphanage for meals.

Simon looked out his window at the rainy grey street of Lancashire below. He missed Watford's rolling green hills, unmarred by paved streets or cars. He missed spending time outside with Agatha and Penelope after classes, playing catch or lounging underneath an oak tree. And, while he was at it, he missed Baz. More than he cared to admit. Normally, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch was the one unsavory thing Watford had to offer Simon, but this year, something felt different. Last year, after the seventh oak caught on fire and nearly burnt down the whole school, it was Baz who had worked with Simon to extinguish the flames. After that, the two boys had established a sort of mutual respect for one another, and Simon felt for the first time like maybe genuine friendship could be a possibility between himself and his melancholy roomate.

There was a knock on the door, and the voice of the orphanage director, Ms. Prindor, was heard on the other side.

"Simon? A letter came for you today." A thick beige envelope was slid under the door. Simon sprung  from his bed (yes, actual springing had been done) and picked up the heavy envelope from the floor. He recognized it, of course. He had received one identical to it every year for the past eight years. It was his letter from Watford, summoning him to the Picadilly Circus train station at eleven in the morning, where he would catch the train to Watford School of the Magicks with his other classmates.

Simon tore open the letter, ignoring the deep gash slashed into his palm by the heavy ply.  The dark purple ink shone upon the page as fresh as if it had been just printed; these were the little, magical touches that made Simon ache for Watford, like a piece of his stomach were missing.

Dear Mr. Snow,

We hope you had an enjoyable summer.  As previously, please make your way to Picadilly Circus Underground Station on 2 September, 2010, to board the train to Watford.  Please refer below for your list of coursebooks for the year:

Transformation for the Advanced Magician by Gerald Fitssimons
The Advanced Gardener's Guide to Carnivorous Herbs and Fungi by Norman Lengtush
Fire Magick for the Excelling Magician by Nadine Thistlebury
Strategies and Skills in Swordplay by Flynn Buckler
A Light in the Dark: Defence against Magical Monsters by Shelby Rhodes
Advanced Magical Words by Jennifer Magnussen

We hope to see you at Watford School of Magicks very soon.
Regards,
Rosalie Possibelf, Dean of Students at Watford School of Magicks

The last lines of the letter were accompanied by a silver seal of the school, an emblem of a bear gazing levelly out of the page.  Simon draped the letter across his knees, not wanting to read it again, saving it for when he really needed it.  September the 2nd.  Still two weeks away, weeks he knew would never pass by as quickly as they should. The thing about time is, it's always there when you don't want it, and when you need it, it's nowehere to be found. Simon then reclined against his coarse headboard and shut his eyes, waiting anxiously for the day that was two weeks, and yet an eternity, away.