USMA - Chapter 1
Title: USMA: The United States Magical Academy
Author: Ginny Powell
Rating: G
Feedback: Of course!
Disclaimer: I have absolutely no claim on anything from or about the Harry Potter universe. But then, he's not even in this story!
Summary: There must be an American school for the magically inclined – what might it be like?
Thanks: To whoever it was that suggested Roswell would be the obvious place for an American school of magic (e-mail me, so I can credit you properly); to my seven-year-old daughter, who thought up the portkey system and dearly wants to go to the USMA; and, of course, to Jo for coming up with such a fascinating universe that I can't help but embellish in my own way.
Chapter 1 – Spam
"Georgia, dinner's ready!"
"In a minute, Mom!" Georgia Coleman, outwardly a perfectly normal eleven-year-old girl, figured she had time to finish reading her email before dinner, as she hadn't heard her Dad coming down the stairs yet. There were only a few unread messages left, and she scanned their subject lines: "Claim Your Prize!" Spam; Georgia hit the delete button. "I can make you RICH!" Spam; delete. "You Are Invited." Hmmm, would anybody I know send me an invitation by email, Georgia wondered. She glanced over at the Sender column. "USMA." She hadn't heard of them, so, as her parents had always told her to do if she received unsolicited email, she hit delete. Her email done, she rose carefully from her chair to avoid rolling over her dog, Pep, who was sleeping underfoot as usual, and headed in to dinner. The next day was Sunday, another glorious summer day in Atlanta. In fact, Georgia didn't really care what day of the week it was – no school, no worries – except that TV was a wasteland on Sunday. So she was sitting at her computer again, in her bathing suit, waiting for the pool to warm up enough to swim. Her feet lazily stroking Pep's back, she checked her email again. Actually, she didn't usually get much email, but ever since her parents had let her set up her own account, she'd felt obligated to check it at least daily. She and her friends had promised to keep in touch that way over the summer, but she'd received very few messages, and sent very few. At this distance, her friends just didn't seem as interesting; she felt like they didn't know the real her. But then, no one really did. She had five messages. One was from her Grandma; she'd won at bingo, attached a picture of her blooming orchid. Georgia left it in her inbox to answer later. The next message was more spam. Delete. The last three were all from the same sender: USMA. And there was that same subject line again: "You Are Invited." Weird. Georgia looked around. She was alone. Her Dad was mowing the front yard, and her Mom had gone to give him a lemonade and probably weed the flower beds. Georgia figured that, if she opened the strange email, even if it was porn or something, she could close it fast enough. Nobody would ever know. She double clicked it. "Dear Miss Coleman," she read, ignoring the colorful banner at the top. "We are pleased to invite you and your family to attend an orientation session at the USMA in Roswell, New Mexico." "Roswell? Like, the UFO place?" Georgia muttered to herself. Figuring it was some kind of timeshare scam or something similar, she deleted it and its two copies, and headed for the pool. "Stay, Pep," she warned her dog as she set down her towel on a plastic chair. Pep sometimes jumped into the pool, and it was a real pain to get him out. But if she locked him outside the fence, he's whine the entire time. So she hoped he'd be a good dog and take a nap in the sun – he was getting old, that was what he did most of the time, anyway. Georgia dipped her foot in the pool, decided it was just warm enough, and eased herself down the ladder. A few laps to warm her up, then some holding her breath practice. After a while she was bored – being an only child was no fun sometimes – and simply floated on her back, watching the dappled sunlight through the sweet gum trees. Her peace was interrupted by a wave that suddenly broke over her face. Righting herself quickly, sputtering, she turned to find Pep had decided to go swimming again. Rolling her eyes, making an angry sound in the back of her throat, she swam toward him. "Pep, bad dog!" She tried to push him at the stairs in the shallow end, but he seemed to want to play. He paddled toward her, his tongue hanging out, and tried to jump into her outstretched arms. He only succeeded in scratching her instead. She tried a few more times to turn him, but he continued to resist. Finally, she had had enough. "Get out! Just get out!" she screamed. And suddenly, he was rising into the air as though lifted by an invisible harness. His feet dangling over the water, he moved slowly toward the edge of the pool, where he dropped softly onto the concrete. He stood there for a moment with a confused look on his face, then shook himself well and sat down to lick a paw. Georgia, her heart beating fast, spun around in place, glancing along the top of the surrounding fence, at the windows in her house and the few of her neighbor's that she could see. But there was no one. No one had seen. Sighing in relief, she waded into the shallow end, climbed out the stairs, and grabbed her towel. She didn't feel much like swimming any more. After she changed, Georgia wandered into the kitchen for a bottle of water. She found her mother there, shredding lettuce. "Dad's gonna grill up some chicken and corn for lunch," Mom announced brightly. "Help me with the salad?" "Sure," Georgia shrugged. Wandering over to stand by her mother, she took the head of lettuce offered, as her mother moved on to slicing carrots. "How was the pool?" her Mom asked, noticing her daughter's wet hair. "Still kinda cold," Georgia replied in a subdued voice. "And Pep jumped in again." Her Mom was bound to notice that he was soaking wet, too, as Pep was currently glued to Georgia's leg. Might as well 'fess up now. "Oh, Georgia, is that what happened to your arm? You've got to start locking him out." "I know, Mom, but he whines. He can't stand being away from me." Mom looked down at Pep, who was gazing up at his master with glassy, adoring eyes. "I know, sweetie. Maybe we could get a chain or something." They worked side by side for a minute, Mom thinking about the salad, but Georgia thinking about what had happened after Pep had jumped in. "Mom," she finally ventured, "when I was swimming-" But her Dad walked in just then, saying the lighter was out of butane, and it took a while for them to find the matches, and by the time that was all over, Mom had forgotten that Georgia had been talking. She never got around to bringing it up again that day. Monday morning, Georgia's Mom was using the computer – she worked from home most days – so Georgia sprawled on the couch and started to reread one of her favorite Harry Potter books. But it hit a little too close to home for her this time, so she switched on the TV and vegged for a while. She had almost forgotten all her worries when her Mom stepped into the room. "Sweetie, I have to run in to the office for a minute. You be okay?" "Sure." "Great." Mom turned to go. "Oh, by the way, Grandma called and said she sent you an email, but you never answered. Take care of it, please? Thanks." And she really did leave. Georgia sat on the couch for a few more minutes, but finally rose with a sigh, clicking the off button on the remote. She loved her Grandma, she really did, but they just had so little in common. I mean, how many things can you think of to say about bingo and orchids? Despite her reluctance, she made her way to the computer and opened her email reader. Still she dawdled, actually looking at the picture of the orchid – which she had to admit was quite pretty – before getting down to business. "Hi, Grandma," she typed. Then she stared at the blank page for a while. Finally a few inane sentences weaved their way onto the page, until she felt the letter was adequate. She clicked Send/Receive. And was greeted by a cascade of new messages. As they appeared, Georgia noted the senders: USMA, USMA. At least twenty of them, and all from that same cryptic address. Her brow furrowed, Georgia glanced over at the subject line. And gasped, shoving her chair back. Every message had the same subject: Dog Levitation. Georgia sat breathing hard, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. Almost of its own accord, her hand moved slowly to the mouse, slid it across its pad, clicked on a random message. "Please do not delete this message. We only want to help you. We know that you can do magic – we saw you lift your dog out of the pool. It may be hard to believe, but there are others like you. "We are the USMA – the United States Magical Academy – and you have qualified for admission. As we stated in our previous email-" The phone rang, startling Georgia, who had been reading with her mouth hanging open. "Hello?" "Hey, hon, how's it goin'?" "Fine, Dad." Mom had been gone all of ten minutes, and she'd already asked Dad to check in on her. Way to make me feel trusted and responsible, Georgia thought wryly. "What you up to? Not watching mindless TV all day, I hope." "No. I'm reading my email." "Good, good. Remember what we told you about that – don't open anything from anybody you don't know. You can't believe all that stuff those spammers send, no matter how good it sounds." "Yes, Dad." "Okay, well, I'll see you tonight, honey." He made a kissing noise into the phone, and then there was a click. Georgia hung up, then turned back to the computer screen. In a burst of decision, she closed the message she was reading, selected all the rest of the USMA messages, and did a mass delete. Putting the whole thing out of her mind, she went off to find a safe book to read. Tuesday afternoon found Georgia lounging on her bed, idly scratching the top of Pep's head. She'd managed to avoid the computer, as well as her parents, all day so far. Her thoughts kept running over and over the same familiar path: she was weird. There was something wrong with her. Things happened around her that shouldn't have happened, shouldn't have been able to happen, and yet they had, and she couldn't explain it. She'd tried many times to talk to her parents about it. When she was younger, they had listened with a slightly bemused air and said something along the lines of "That's nice, dear," dismissing it just as she supposed other people's parents might dismiss their kid's claims to be Superman. As she'd grown older, they had gone from amused to disappointed, the behavior labeled as cute had become lying. So she'd stopped telling them. But that didn't mean things had stopped happening. She rolled over with a sigh. Pep, excited by this sudden movement, perked up and started to lick her face. She pushed him away; right now, he was nothing but a bad reminder. And, just maybe, the proof she needed. Smiling, she headed downstairs with a new determination. She was just entering the kitchen when her mother turned and began to shout. "Georgia, dinner! Oh, you're already here. Set the table, would ya?" And she pressed a stack of plates into her daughter's hands. Georgia dutifully placed the plates and silverware, while watching her mother bustle about. This didn't seem like a good time to bring up a touchy subject. Maybe during dinner. Dad soon arrived, and dinner was put on the table. There were a few minutes of "Wow, dear, this is a great dinner," and "Oh, it was nothing," and "No, really." Georgia just picked at her food, her appetite nonexistent, unable to even muster up her usual smart comment when her parents got mushy. Eventually, her Mom noticed that she was only moving her food around on her plate, and elbowed Dad. He cleared his throat. "Your mother and I were talking about your upcoming school year today, Georgia," he said. His daughter glanced up immediately, her eyes wide. "That new middle school they're building isn't going to be finished in time. Saw it in the paper. So they'll be sending your grade to McBlair." "Which is just impossible," Mom put in. "Not happening. Not to my kid. There is a reason that school was closed." She emphasized her words with a stab of her salmon-laden fork. "So, we've started looking into other options." "Other…" Georgia's mind was slowly beginning to come alive. "Like a private school, maybe," Dad was saying. "The neighbor's sent Catherine to Paideia, and they seem happy with it." "But it's so expensive," Mom responded. "At least a charter would be free." Dad glared a little, as though this was a continuation of an argument they'd already had that he had no intention of revisiting. "Our daughter's education is worth it. What do you think, Georgia, where would you like to go?" "Um, what about the USMA?" "The USMA? United States Military Academy?" her Mom asked, with a shocked look on her face. "Georgia, I don't think-" "No, the United States Magical Academy. It's in Roswell, New Mexico. It's for people with magical abilities. Like me." Her parents stare at her for a long moment, then give each other the look. "It's those damn Harry Potter books," Dad muttered, stabbing at his dinner with great force. "Georgia," her mother said gently, "we've talked about this, about when using your imagination is appropriate, and when-" "But it's real!" Georgia blurted, feeling defensive. "They started sending me e-mail a few days ago. They want me to go there. They know stuff about me, things I've done, that you guys don't know. There's this orientation, and we can all go and see-" "What do you mean, 'they know stuff'?" Dad interrupted. "And you know you're not supposed to open e-mail from strangers." "I know, but-" "Let me see it." Dinner forgotten, the three headed to the computer. Georgia sat down, logged into her account, and managed to find a copy of each of the three emails she'd received in the Deleted Messages folder. Her Dad gestured for her to move aside and sat reading through them, making "Harumph" noises, her Mom standing behind him looking worried. "What a bunch of bull," he finally declared, as he deleted the whole lot permanently. "Some weirdo messin' with ya. A magic school in Roswell, New Mexico, my…butt." "But, Dad-" "Now, honey, I don't want to scare you or anything, but there are crazy people in the world, and you have to protect yourself. I don't want you reading any more messages from anybody you don't know. Understood?" Georgia nodded dejectedly. It did seem like a prank now that she thought about it. "If anything like this happens again, you tell one of us right away, okay?" Georgia nodded again. "Now, my dinner's getting cold." And Dad headed back into the kitchen. Mom came over and put an arm around Georgia's shoulders. "It'll be okay, honey. I made your favorite, red velvet cake, for dessert. Come on." It was after dinner, while they sat around watching some movie her Mom had found in the Family section of the video store, that Georgia realized she had never checked for new email. Excusing herself, she took her empty cake plate to the sink, and then went to the computer. The email program was still up, so she hit Receive. The first message was from Grandma. But before she could open it, it had scrolled off the screen, pushed aside by the ton of other messages pouring in. It took a moment for her to bring herself to do it, but finally Georgia forced her eyes to swivel toward the Sender column. USMA, USMA, USMA… "Dad!" "What the-!" Dad exclaimed when he entered the room and saw the messages still scrolling by. "Alright, no more Mr. Nice Guy. This has gone way past prank." Georgia was already moving out of his way as Dad took over the chair. He opened one of the messages and scanned it, looking for a phone number or address. Georgia, looking over his shoulder, caught only a few snatches. "All expenses paid…No Obligation!...Magic." Dad had reached the bottom. The only lead he'd found was a link to a website. He followed it. The page came up. It looked just like any school's site; it even had an .edu extension. But there, in big letters, was "United States Magical Academy", and everywhere on the page were wands, black cats, and broomsticks. It had to be a joke, Georgia thought. But a very elaborate one, she had to give them that. Dad continued to poke around the site until he found the Contact page and a phone number. Angrily, he picked up the phone and dialed. Georgia watched him nervously, and was glad when her mother entered the room, looking concerned. "USMA," came a female voice. "What can I do for you today, Mr. Coleman?" "Wha- How do you-" "We have Caller ID, of course. I apologize if I startled you. I assume you're calling about our emails? May I schedule you and your daughter for your orientation?" "No, you may not! I want to talk to your superior!" "Certainly, sir. Mr. Smith will be right with you." Dad, who had been looking angrily sideways at the phone, now looked up at his wife and smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere," he mouthed. But then his smile fell, as there was suddenly a dial tone against his ear. "That bi- witch! She cut me off!" He slammed down the phone, almost masking the sound of knocking at the front door. Luckily, the visitor knocked again, and Mom, who was closest, made a calming motion at her husband before going to answer it. "Yes?" she opened the door on a nondescript man in a brown suit. "Mrs. Coleman? I'm Mr. Smith, from the USMA."