Dreamer

Chapter 1: Friends

Disclaimer: if you recognize it, it belongs to the inimitable Diane Duane. Thank you, Ms. Duane, for letting us muck about in your universe!

"Tom!"

The fourteen-year-old boy jerked in shock as he realized his name was being called. "Yes, Mr. Kolibri?" he said meekly, blushing to the roots of his blonde hair and sinking lower in his seat. There were snickers from his classmates.

His physics teacher frowned. "I said, I don't suppose you know what Einstein contributed to the scientific community?"

Tom Swale immediately brightened. Finally! Here was something he was interested in, something he knew! "Albert Einstein wrote several papers about space and time. He came up with the theory of general relativity; basically, everything moves relative to the space-time continuum, or that space and time are really the same thing. The faster you move through space, the slower you move through time, until you get up to the speed of light; and if you could sit on the beam of light you wouldn't notice that time existed, because for you it wouldn't, and..."

Sometime after going slightly slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, the teacher managed to gather his wits together. "That's enough," he said curtly, cutting off the boy in mid-sentence. A tiny smile played on the corners of his mouth as he saw how animated the usually quiet boy had become, and he made a note to himself to figure out which other topics got the teenager so excited to learn.

Tom looked shocked for a moment, then grinned. A moment later, though, he glanced around at his classmates, who were all staring at him as if he had dropped from some UFO. He seemed to shrink and diminish under their stares; he didn't like being the center of attention, especially because such attention was usually negative now that he was in high school.

Since starting high school one month ago, the boy's life had gotten gradually worse. In middle school the teachers and all of the students had known that he was a dreamer with a sharp mind behind the vacant, dark brown eyes—if they could snap him out of his flights of fancy. He had done well on tests and in his classes and everyone pretty much shook their heads at him and left him alone.

Not so in high school. It hadn't helped at all that he'd moved from Los Angeles to the New York area because of his father's job; now he was just the blond-haired, tan new kid with the funny, too-cultured accent. He had no close friends, just a few casual acquaintances who might sit with him during lunch or wave hello or goodbye. In his classes he hadn't had any tests as yet, so he couldn't get away with daydreaming or writing random stories; his teachers here all expected him to pay attention, not knowing that he'd already learned most of the subject matter on his own.

Even in California he'd been too soft-spoken for his own good. His friends had learned to read his expressions and had respected his thinking time. Here, though, a boy had to be outspoken to survive the wilds of high school, to even have a fighting chance.

The bell rang, and Tom quickly shoved his books into his bag. With a quick, rare unprovoked smile at the teacher the student moved into the hallway with the rest of the throng, relieved that the day was over...

"Hey, gay boy!" Tom was suddenly shoved hard against the locker as his shocked mind sluggishly registered a sting of pain.

...maybe not quite.

The words had come from one of the boys on the football team. This one in particular wasn't all that tall, but he made up for it with his mile-wide vicious streak. Jacob Grogan had made it his mission to torment anyone who didn't fit in with his idea of "normal," which included almost every guy who was smaller than him and wasn't on the football team. Tom Swale fit that description to a T. Having seen how effectively his insult of choice cut into the new kid, and how he didn't deny it, he delighted in using that particular word and others of its ilk to torment his victim.

"Well then, little faggot," Jacob taunted, his meaty fist securely holding Tom against the metal lockers, "looks like someone's a real smart-ass. We've got ourselves a regular gay Einstein, don't we?"

Tom's only reaction was to widen his eyes in renewed fear and shrink back as much as he could. I shouldn't have spoken so much in Physics, oh, I really messed up this time, why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut, please don't let him punch me in the ribs, I already have a bruise there...

"Answer me, gay boy," the bully growled, jabbing Tom in the ribs with his bony knuckles.

He let out a small gasp of pain and was about to answer when another voice cut in. "Leave him alone, Grogan."

Jacob jumped slightly, not having expected that. Nobody had interrupted his playtime before; it only served to anger him. He whirled around, still holding his victim in place, who was putting up as much resistance as a rag doll. "Well, well, well," he sneered. "If it isn't Romeo standing up for the little fag. How appropriate, huh, loverboy?"

The other's blue-gray eyes grew dangerously stormy and narrowed, giving his features a determined, hawklike cast. "I said leave him alone, Grogan, and don't call him that. I swear to you, you pick on him again, and you'll answer to me. You've terrorized him long enough. Let him go."

Jacob Grogan quickly took stock of the situation and sized up his would-be adversary with calculating eyes. He quickly determined that it would not be a wise fight to pick. The other boy was a couple of inches taller than he was, and though not as massive, would be far quicker on his feet. The tall, dark, handsome fifteen-year-old was muscular without being bulky, and right now his fists were clenched at his sides, shaking the slightest bit with thinly-disguised anger.

"Now, Grogan. I won't tell you again."

The bully quickly let go of Tom, who collapsed against the lockers unnoticed. Jacob reverted to his default sneer and departed with as much dignity as he could muster. "I won't forget this, loverboy," he tossed back over his shoulder with a smirk, eliciting an even more menacing glare from the object of his taunt.

The newcomer made sure that Jacob had really left before walking over to Tom, who had sunk into a sitting position, protectively hugging his knees. "You okay, kid?" he asked, lowering himself to the floor so he could look the blonde in the eyes.

Tom nodded, his lips narrowing to a thin line. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

The sophomore shifted uncomfortably. "No, I s'pose I didn't have to, but it wouldn'tve been right to let him keep torturing you. Besides, I don't care for Jacob much, he's had it coming for a while now." He smiled a little. "I'm Carl Romeo, hence the disgusting nickname Grogan picked for me."

"Tom," the freshman replied, nodding.

When no more information was forthcoming, Carl frowned. "Why didn't you stand up to him? Why'd you let him push you around like that?"

One blond eyebrow arched. "Not like I was giving him permission; I know he's stronger than I am, and fighting back wouldn't have done any good. It would only have turned me into an even sorer mess than I am now."

"But if you fought back he might not pick on you as much."

"Not true," Tom replied in a dry, tired, jaded voice. "I'll continue to be that thorn in his side. If I don't fight back he might eventually get bored."

Carl nodded reluctantly. He saw the logic there, but didn't like that the boy was so world-weary already. "But why didn't you at least say something, Tom? He was just walking all over you, saying... that about you, couldn't you at least have argued with him?"

Tom gave him a long, strange look. The sophomore held his gaze, quirking his eyebrows. Finally the blonde spoke. "I don't lie."

The words took a couple of seconds to sink in, then Carl rocked back on his heels and looked at the boy with new eyes. "That... wasn't the answer I was expecting," he murmured with a small smile.

Tom studied his new friend's face so he wouldn't miss any of his reactions. "It doesn't bother you?"

Carl looked mildly amused by the question, but merely answered, "No, should it?"

After one more long moment of studying the dark-haired boy's face, Tom suddenly grinned. He looked like a different person; a glint of mischief appeared in his dark eyes. "You never know, I might try to seduce you with my sinful, wily ways," the freshman joked, waggling his eyebrows outrageously.

Carl laughed. "You're alright, kid," he said, rising to his feet and holding out a hand to help his new friend up. Tom gladly took it and stood, wincing when the motion pulled at his ribs. The sophomore noticed. "Hey, you okay?"

Tom brushed off his concern. "Fine. I've had worse."

Carl's eyes narrowed and flicked towards the direction in which Jacob Grogan had left. "I'm going to kill him," he growled.

The freshman was startled and secretly half scared, half pleased of the extent of his new friend's loyalty. "It's okay, man, really it is," he said dismissively. "I'm fine. It's just a bruise, that's all. Promise." He changed the subject in the hopes of diffusing the other boy's anger. "Look, I gotta go to my locker, then I'm headed home. Want to come along? My parents are always bugging me to bring friends over, they don't think I have enough of a social life."

"Sure, why not? I need to get my books too, but I'm a sophomore, so my locker's really close and I'll be ready first; I'll find you when I have my stuff."

Tom flashed him a smile and walked to his locker, trying to comprehend the strange concept. He had a friend in this school. Carl was kind and smart and funny, and he'd be lying to himself if he denied that he was handsome as well.

Not that Tom was bad-looking himself. He really wasn't all that small; his personality just made him easy to pick on, partly because he was rather unusual. He loved to read and write; when other boys his age were practicing football, his nose was buried in a book. He ran somewhat regularly, so he was lean and relatively strong, though his muscles that had been trained for endurance couldn't stand up to the sheer brute strength of football players like Jacob Grogan. Because he had lived in California up until the month before, his skin was tanned and his hair the sun-kissed gold of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun.

As a child he had been cute, all long blonde hair and chubby cheeks. His looks had landed him a very minor role in a very small movie as an extra. Now, however, the baby fat was completely gone, having been replaced by refined planes and prominent cheekbones.

Tom studied his reflection in the window he was passing. He didn't look girly, didn't dress any differently from the other guys. He decided that it had just been his bad luck that Grogan had chosen that particular insult for him, and because he hated to lie, he hadn't denied it. It was only that, he assured himself, that pegged him as "the gay guy."

He finally reached his locker and opened it. The freshman began to put his schoolbooks in his backpack one by one, making sure they fit properly, when he stopped at his physics lab manual. Did he need it? No, not really; he'd finished that week's lab already, it wouldn't do to burden himself with unnecessary weight, especially when he had some healing bruises on his back from earlier that week. He was about to put the thing back when the cover caught his attention.

Tom peered more closely at it. It wasn't his lab manual after all, even though the title was in the same font and it was the exact same size. No, this one said "Wizard's Manual" on the cover.

He wanted to be suspicious. He wanted to say that no, magic couldn't exist, it was all some silly prank thought up by one of his tormentors. Somehow, though, he couldn't muster the willpower to overcome his curiosity. Tom had always secretly hoped in the back of his mind that magic really was real, that magic and science could coexist... and here was possible evidence right in front of him. He couldn't just let it go without at least some further investigation, now could he?

He opened the book slowly and his eyes widened in shock. On some of the pages the font was normal black typeface. On most, however, lay a graceful, wonderful, curling script unlike anything he had ever seen.

If this was a prank, it was far more elaborate than any prank he had heard of taking place in a normal high school.

Tom flipped through the pages with growing delight until he reached one that looked extremely important. His hand trembling on the paper, he silently read the heading: "The Wizard's Oath." Suddenly, his thirst for the magical and arcane became unbearable; he swallowed nervously and read to himself. This was real, he could feel it. Magic was serious business, only safe in responsible hands; he'd read enough science fiction and fantasy to know that it was not to be taken lightly. There was even a warning on the page, a warning that told him of the dangers of the Art. He knew what he craved, but he decided to think through the implications of this wizardry before grabbing the bull by the horns.

On a whim he flipped to the table of contents to see where he could find other wizards in the area, then turned to the numbered page. "Hmm," he muttered, "New York area..."

To his utter astonishment, the text changed in front of his eyes. He grinned in disbelieving exultation when he saw that all of the zip codes and street addresses now looked at least somewhat familiar, then decided to experiment a little more. "Um... can you list by proximity, please?"

Tom's jaw dropped as the words morphed once again. First on the list was Romeo, Carl.

"No way," he whispered to himself. "No, there's absolutely no way." But then something clicked. Carl had only just stood up to the bully for him today. He had fought "to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way" only today. That would mean that he had only recently become a wizard himself.

Completely engrossed in his manual now, the freshman was determined to figure out what on earth the elegant, swirling script was. In his research, he quickly learned that it was the language of Life itself called simply the Speech, and that everything understood it at some level; he also learned some useful phrases. The decision was made before he was fully aware of having decided yet, and he turned back to the Oath with crisp, confident movements. This was right. This was what he was meant to do. Magic was real.

"In Life's name and for Life's sake," he began, "I assert that I will employ the Art which is its gift in Life's service alone, rejecting all other usages." His voice grew stronger and surer. "I will guard growth and ease pain. I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way; and I will change no object or creature unless its growth and life, or that of the system of which it is part, are threatened. To these ends, in the practice of my Art, I will put aside fear for courage, and death for life, when it is right to do so—till Universe's end."

A shiver crept up his skin. He didn't feel any different, but Tom didn't give up hope. There was one way to find out for sure. Fumbling in his excitement, he turned back to the listing of wizards, noting that it had shifted back to purely alphabetical. "By proximity again, please," he requested, then stood staring, wide-eyed, at the page. Above Romeo, Carl was the listing Swale, Tom.

As he let the feelings sink in he couldn't do much but stand motionless, Manual in hand. He was a wizard. Carl was also a wizard. Magic existed. Millions of thoughts flitted through his brain until someone cleared his throat and jolted him out of his reverie. Tom jumped, then realized that it was only Carl, who was looking at him with a bemused expression.

Tom Swale grinned triumphantly and snapped the book shut, baring the cover to his new friend. "Dai stihó, cousin," he said in a voice that could barely contain his glee.

Carl's eyes widened. "Dai... but when... I mean, I already checked the school..."

"Just now!"

Carl smiled widely at the new wizard's excitement. "Welcome, then, cousin! Wow, the Powers really don't leave things to chance, do they...?"

"Powers?" Tom's eyes got a look that meant he was hungry for as much information as he could get.

The sophomore laughed. "C'mon, Tom, I'm going to your house. Pack up your backpack, we can talk on the way there."

No longer careful, Tom stuffed the rest of his books into his knapsack and slammed his locker shut, then swung the bag onto his back. As soon as he had done this he started badgering the older boy with questions. Carl did the best he could at answering them, and before either of them knew it they had arrived at Tom's house.

The freshman opened the door and called, "Hey mom, I have a friend over."

After a couple of seconds his mother greeted the two boys, her smile growing a little wider. Tom had inherited her slightly wavy blond hair and bright grin, but her eyes were a lively blue-green as opposed to his chocolate brown.

Tom hastily introduced them. "Mom, this is Carl; Carl, my mother."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Swale," Carl said, nodding and smiling politely.

Tom had seen something in his mom's eyes that meant she wanted to talk to him alone. He cleared his throat. "Um, Carl, why don't you go upstairs? My room's the second on the left, the blue one. I'll be right up."

"You sure?" Carl's brow furrowed.

Tom waved his hand. "Yeah, man, I'll be up in a sec. Just have something to do here; won't take more than a minute."

The sophomore nodded, and with one last polite smile to Tom's mother, he started up the stairs.

"Someone special?" Mrs. Swale asked quietly.

With a sigh, Tom said, "No, mom, just a friend."

"He doesn't know, does he?" Her eyes turned a little sad.

Now it was Tom's turn to smile. "Actually, he does, and he doesn't care. He's a good guy."

"I see," she said thoughtfully, the smile returning. "Alright, go on, I won't keep you." His mother gave him a tight hug and a kiss while he squirmed embarrassedly, then laughed. "Hey. Be thankful I didn't do that in front of him. Run along now."

He practically flew up the stairs to rejoin his friend; he saw that his door was open and walked in, unceremoniously dumping his bookbag on the floor. "Mothers," he muttered, grimacing for effect.

One of Carl's eyebrows rose. "What'd she do?"

"She asked me if you were 'someone special'."

Carl's face took on a mock injured expression. "I'm not special? That's not nice!"

Tom guffawed. "You know that's not what she meant," he said good-naturedly, playfully punching his friend in the shoulder.

The sophomore cracked up. "Yeah, but it had the desired effect," he said between chuckles. "Besides. What other responses are there to that question without the risk of offending anyone? Let's see." He began counting on his fingers. "I could have laughed in your face, but that would have been rude. I could've acted all offended, but that's homophobic and therefore a stupid reaction. Could've made a sex joke, but I don't know what your boundaries are..."

"Enough, enough!" Tom said, laughing. "Okay, I get it and appreciate your efforts, you happy now?"

Carl's smug grin was answer enough. Then he changed the topic, his eyes flicking around the room. "You don't read much, do you?" he said sarcastically.

Tom replied as flippantly as he could, keeping a straight face and indicating the huge bookcase against one wall. "Nope. Hate reading, it bores me to death, I'd much rather watch a movie with guns and blood and guts instead where the characters are about as eloquent as apes."

That got a wry smile and a chuckle from his friend. "You're pretty ridiculous, you know that?"

The boy grinned. "So I've been told," he said airily, getting his manual from his backpack. "I'll always remember a conversation between me and my dad when I was nine."

"Oh?"

"He said to me at the dinner table, 'Son, you have a freak flag, but that doesn't mean you have to fly it constantly!'"

Carl gave a low whistle. "Ouch."

Tom made a face. "No, he was right. I was originally the gay dreamer from California. Now I'm even weirder, I'm the gay dreamer from California who's also a wizard. And speaking of wizards, I'm absolutely dying to know more about this Speech thingy and about the Powers and what spells I can do and—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up a second!" Carl said, holding up a hand and wincing. "Okay. It's the Speech. Not 'this Speech thingy'; the language of Life itself deserves a little more respect than that, don't you think?"

"Fine, whatever, the point is that I need to learn as much about wizardry as I can!" Tom's face was a mask of frustrated earnestness. "And maybe I'll be able to make Grogan not bully me anymore. C'mon, man, help me out!"

Carl sighed. "Alright, start reading the Manual. It describes things really well. Then we'll work on the Speech, and once you get the concepts I guess we can try relatively simple spells, okay?"

Tom's grin could have rivaled the sun in the instant before he cracked open his Manual and began to read.