Summoner Summer Camp ch. 1-2

Chapter 1

I never cared much for academics. These days, you can pretty much learn anything you want to learn for free on the internet, and that isn’t an exaggeration. Between YouTube, Khan Academy, apps like Mimo and Duolingo, sites like Coursera and Codeacademy, and of course our growing dependence on all things AI, just about anything you want to learn is available at the click of a mouse.

It’s a scary, beautiful thing.

School, to me, always seemed to be little more than a big daycare center where the so-called teachers were mainly tasked with keeping you busy long enough for your parents to get home from work. As an added courtesy to them, they assign you “homework” to fill up your evenings and keep you out of ma and pa’s hair a bit longer.

As the son of a single dad and a mother dead from cancer, I lost my motivation to pretend I gave a shit about school right around the same time my dad lost the will to care about my decision one way or the other. Poor bastard just did his best to keep me fed, and I thank him for that, I really do, but after mom passed, he wasn’t the same.

Then again, neither was I.

For my teenage years I dreamed of a world where my mother was still with me, where my dad didn’t have to struggle so hard with employment and depression. I dreamed of a world where money wasn’t such a huge problem for us, where we could feel secure in our finances just once in our lives.

In moments of desperation like the ones I regularly experienced during those years, you have basically one of two possible reactions.

Most people choose the default reaction, which is to ignore the fact that you have a choice and just keep existing the same as you currently are. Continue to struggle. Continue to suffer. Just… continue.

I chose that option for years.

But one day, in a particularly bad month where my dad’s Buick broke down, and our electricity got shut off for a week in the middle of winter, the second reaction became less of a choice and more of a… hunger.

Or a response to a hunger.

I was done. Done with accepting the trap of poverty and mediocrity that my father had fallen into after my mother’s death. Done with pretending like I had no way out. Done with caring about what other people thought about me.

Step one? I dropped out of school. Yep. I know it’s probably not very cool of me to say, but it was the only choice that made sense to me. What was I going to do? Go to college and end up drowning in loans?

I learned the basics of freelancing and dropshipping online in about a week. I took a test and earned my GED on the first try—didn’t have to study for that. It was nothing, basically a fucking joke, and that isn’t me bragging.

Look it up; it’s weirdly easy.

Within a year, before I was even eighteen years old, I’d learned to program, do web design, fix my dad’s car whenever it had issues, speedread, use the mind palace method to enhance my memory, and picked up the basics of Latin on Rosetta Stone so that one day I might go to law school when I earned enough money to pay for it. The LSATs looked like they’d be a freaking joke, so why not?

Okay, that last one was me bragging. I’m a bit of a self-starter.

Even better, my old man perked up when he saw me so hard at work, changing our circumstances. I was relieved to discover that he took it well. Before I knew it, he was more or less back to his old self, reinvigorated. I showed him how to earn money with the dropshipping business I’d started up, and the next thing I knew, we were moving into a new home—one without rats and roaches and painful memories.

Yep. Things were looking up. And they continued to look up, honestly. But one day, life slapped me in the face in a brand-new way. It was about as big and brazen a slap as the one it had given me when my mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer, sure, but it was also much happier. It was like a friend giving you a celebratory clap on the shoulder.

I’ll never forget the moment. I was in my bedroom, on the phone with a freelance coder that I had outsourced one of my gigs to. Actually, it had been several months since I had time to do any coding myself. I was more focused on training the boys working for me at my upstart auto repair shop. It was one of those rare days where I allowed myself a morning at home, and I’m glad I did.

I remember reaching for my coffee mug, and as I raised it to my lips, a tiny fist shot out of the container holding an even tinier piece of damp, coffee-soaked paper.

Letting out a bark of surprise, I dropped the mug, which shattered against the desk. There in the black, pooling liquid was a little… girl. Not a little girl in the sense that it was a child. But a little woman, I suppose, maybe a few years older than I was. She wore thin-framed glasses and was dressed in some fancy maroon robes that were open, revealing a business skirt and blouse underneath with a prim pink ascot. Her hair was a curly mane of red, and she had pale skin and bright white eyes with no visible pupils or irises.

“What the crap!?” I gasped out in surprise as she rose to her feet, looking more than a little miffed at me.

“This is why I hate dealing with humies,” she huffed in a shockingly high-pitched voice that was much louder than I’d expected it to be. “Honestly—never seen a ground sprite before?”

I blinked. “Uh. No.”

She blinked right back, cocking her head as she adjusted her skirt. I couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a single drop of coffee soaked into it, nor did I get the sense that it had suffered any cosmetic damage. “Right, I suppose that makes sense. Non-magical upbringing and all that.”

“Sorry,” I began, extending a pinky as though offering it to shake her hand. She didn’t seem to get the intention and instead just kicked it, giving me a brief and unexpected view of quite possibly the tiniest pink panties in existence. “I’m Reggie. Reggie Hickson.” I was trying my best to not freak the hell out.

“I know who you are. I came here to see you,” she muttered incredulously, rolling her eyes. “Ugh. Humies. Well, I’m sure you’ll integrate splendidly in time. My name is Wimbledip Thistletop, and you have been cordially invited to join the Pigpimples School of Wizardcraft and Witchery!”

My brow furrowed on its own, I swear. “The what now?”

“You’re a wizard, Reggie! Congratulations!” She clapped her hands. The way her face lit up, I got the impression she was genuinely excited for me. That was a good sign, but it still didn’t take me any closer to figuring out what she was going on about.

I sat back down in my chair and slouched, putting us at eye level. My mouth gaped open, flapping a bit as I tried to come up with words to speak. Eventually, I started pinching my leg, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. The spaghetti o’s last night had tasted a bit off. “Am I having a stroke?”

“Huh?” the ground sprite grunted cutely. “No, humie, come on. Keep up.” She snapped her fingers a few times, trying to refocus me.

“So, I’m a wizard.”

“Yes!”

“So… I can do magic?”

“Yes! Well, not yet, but soon!” she clarified.

My eyes narrowed. “So magic is… real?”

“Yes.” She was less enthusiastic suddenly, like I had just exhausted my question quota.

I shook my head. “Prove it.”

She pointed at herself—all three inches, then curtseyed.

“Touché,” I agreed solemnly. My head was already spinning. I was a successful businessman, self-made, owning multiple companies. I had come so far and still had much to accomplish. Could I really abandon everything I’d built with my father—and by myself—to learn magic?

“What kind of magic do I get to study?” I asked, arching a brow as I turned over the possibilities.

She pulled out her folded letter and unfolded it a mathematically impossible number of times until it was big enough for me to read normally. “See for yourself!”

I grabbed it from her, nodding, and held it in front of my face. My eyes scanned it once, twice, rapidly flitting across the parchment surface. It was dry, somehow, like it had never been soaked in coffee at all. “Let’s see here,” I muttered.

PIGPIMPLES SCHOOL OF WIZARDCRAFT AND WITCHERY
Office of Student Recruitment and Admissions
1313 Mystical Mountain Road
Salem, Massachusetts 01970
April 20, 20XX

Mr. Reginald J. Hickson
[Address to be determined by messenger]

Dear Mr. Hickson,

It is with great pleasure that I write to formally extend an invitation for you to join Pigpimples School of Wizardcraft and Witchery as a transfer student for our upcoming fall semester. Our mana detection systems (albeit running on a rather antiquated Windows XP platform) have identified you as a human-born potentiate with exceptional magical capabilities, particularly in the realm of Summoning arts.

Founded nearly a thousand years ago, Pigpimples stands as Earth’s premier institution for magical education. Our distinguished alumni include renowned practitioners across all magical disciplines: conjurers, healers, summoners, alchemists, spellswords, and elementalists, among others. Your natural affinity for Summoning magic is particularly noteworthy, and we are excited about the prospect of having a human male practitioner join this traditionally female, monster-dominated specialization.

Regarding your academic placement: While your human age of twenty-one is more common among our third-year students, your unique situation as a newly discovered potentiate requires special consideration. Standard protocol would place you as a first-year student beginning this September. However, we are pleased to offer you an alternative path:

Special Placement Opportunity:

Attempt to advance directly to third year by attending our Remedial Summer Camp (Summoner Track) and successfully passing the second-year exit examinations other remedial students will take at the end of Camp.

While I must be candid about the unprecedented nature of mastering two years’ worth of magical curriculum in a single Camp term, we encourage you to consider this opportunity rather than standard enrollment. It would provide an invaluable introduction to our magical community and educational approach, and it tends to be lower pressure than a typical semester.

Please note that this opportunity is time-sensitive and non-recurring. You will lose your memory of this letter, and all things related to us as soon as our messenger departs should you decline our offer. Our messenger awaits your immediate response regarding your choice of placement.

Should you have any questions about our institution, or the opportunities presented, please don’t hesitate to ask our messenger, who is authorized to provide additional information.

Yours sincerely,

Grizelda Applebottom
Director of Recruitment
Pigpimples School of Wizardcraft and Witchery

P.S. Wimbledip has been instructed to await your response. This truly is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Mr. Hickson. Choose wisely.

Well, when they put it like that, there was really only one choice. “I accept,” I said. Dad would definitely understand. Still, if the majority of my classmates were monsters, I had to wonder what kind of horror show I was in for. I’d been off the dating scene far too long, and I was finally in a place with my mental health and financial security to make a bold return… but I wasn’t so sure I liked the sound of ‘female monsters’. Still I couldn’t lose this opportunity.

“Glad to hear it!” the ground sprite squeaked. “Wonderful news! And will you be joining our summer camp?”

I furrowed my brow. It was April now. “When does it start?”

“The start date hasn’t been announced yet, but sometime in early June, typically,” she explained, folding her hands. “If you’re going to attempt the tests, which frankly you shouldn’t bother with, you’ll need study materials. I’ll have those shipped to you soon. If you aren’t taking the tests, then just the basics will be enough.”

“I’ll be taking the tests,” I declared confidently. “Anything specific I need?”

“We’ll send you some basic equipment. Once you arrive, you’ll have the opportunity to upgrade. Essentially, you’ll be issued the standard beginner wand, brooms, and robes all students are provided with upon enrollment. We’ll also provide you with all the textbooks and media you’ll need to brush up. Do you have a VHS player?”

I cocked a brow quizzically. “Uh… No. But I can get one on Amazon Marketplace.”

“There are some DVDs too, but they’re scratched up. You know the toothpaste trick?”

“Oh, to fix the scratches? Yeah, I can do that,” I said, making the “Okay” sign with my fingers.

“Sweet. Okay. Well—humie, nice to meet you. I’m going to head out and relay your decision to the enrollment office! Congratulations! Now, I really do want to reiterate that you don’t have any practical chance of passing—”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “What about things like tuition? Cost of textbooks?”

“It’s much cheaper than a mortal college program, and we take PayPal,” she chirped, kicking up a foot. “Oh but—make sure to select the Friends and Family option.”

I paused. “Uh. Sure.”

“It just helps with tax stuff. You understand.”

“Does the IRS know about you guys?” I asked, unable to resist.

“No,” she said slowly, handing me a business card. “But they know about Grandma Jubel’s Quilting Co., if you catch my drift.”

I frowned. “Just so you know, that Friends and Family thing doesn’t work anymore. Check out form 1099k if you—aaaand she’s gone.”

Before I could reply with further clarifying inquiries, she had snapped her fingers and disappeared in a puff of pink smoke. After the dust literally settled, I stood up, pushed in my desk chair, and collapsed backward on the adjacent bed, staring at the ceiling. “What the hell just happened, exactly?”

Chapter 2

“Y-you’re a freakin’ wizard, boy?” my father exclaimed in the den. “Says who?”

“Says a tiny, seemingly racist woman who emerged from my coffee mug,” I calmly explained. My father, most understandably, looked at me like I’d just grown an extra butthole between my eyes. “I know how it sounds.”

“Not sure you do,” he said.

“No, I do,” I chuckled. “It sounds crazy.”

Dad shook his head, shaking out his mullet in the process. He grabbed the uniform cap for the local cafe he helped to manage for me and put it on, pressing his hair down and pulling his bangs out of his eyes. “‘Crazy’ was when your uncle told me he was in love with a stripper named Patches. This is certifiably insane.” The poor guy started pacing right there in the living room. “This is my fault somehow—I’m a failure as a father. The stress of you stepping up to be the man of the house when I was depressed finally got to you and—”

I held up my hand and cut him off. “Dad. Stop. I’m telling you, it really happened.”

He stopped in place and stared hard into my eyes. “Alright. If you insist—but I want to see some evidence. I want to be sure that this isn’t just a delayed side effect from those expired Spaghetti-o’s you ate last night.”

I straightened up in alarm. “Those were expired?”

“Boy, don’t you ever check the can?”

“I thought they tasted a bit too much like squid, but I figured they changed the recipe or something.” I let out a sigh of defeat, squared myself up and rested my hands on my old man’s shoulders. “Anyway—you have my word. They’re going to send me some study materials soon, and—”

Right on cue, the window shot open, and we both jerked our heads toward it in surprise. For a moment, we stood in silence, scanning the room for evidence of what had just happened.

Our answer came a few seconds later when a cardboard box strapped to a pair of broomsticks flew through the window. The package descended like a helicopter and landed gently in the middle of the living room, right in front of the coffee table where my dad kept his collection of retro Nintendo Power magazines.

“Well I’ll be a rat with herpes,” my dad muttered in quiet awe.

“Didn’t we talk about you saying weird shit?” I replied, slowly taking my hands back and wiping them off on my pants. We made eye contact for a brief moment before stepping one foot at a time in accidental unison toward the package.

I half expected something to jump out at me.

When I got right in front of the box, I knelt and picked it up, setting it on the coffee table.

“No, wait!” Dad protested, quickly grabbing his Nintendo Power—it was the one with Samus Aran on it, circa the release of Super Metroid. “Last thing I need is magical goblin turds getting on these things. They’re worth a small fortune, you know.”

I wasn’t precisely sure what corner of his imagination expected the box to be filled with the fecal matter of a monster, but I nodded and lifted the box for him long enough to finish cleaning up. It felt feather light, even though I somehow sensed it was packed to the lid.

When he was done, I started removing the tape along the top, sealing the box, and spared a downward look at the twin brooms on the floor. There was a tag on one. Perhaps it was another note?

Rather than continue opening the box, I reached for the tag, just in case it contained instructions.

Dear Mr. Hickson,

Congratulations on making the wise choice to join our premier institution. Your journey as a Wizard, specifically a Summoner, begins today. This package contains all the materials you will need to study for the second-year exit exams. Inside you will find the following books:

• Basic Spellcraft by Kenny Lickett-Goode

• An Introduction to Magical Latin by Vici Veritas

• Alchemy and You by Grizelda Applebottom

• A Brief History of Rhyme: The Importance of Rhyming Verse in Non-Latin Incantations by Will M. DaFoe

• Cursing Can Be Oh-So-Fun by Saria Moonshadow

• Is Anyone There? Basic Summoning Magic by Laticia Netherdawn

• Grip It and Whip It: Wands For Beginning and Intermediate Wizards by Moonbeam Starfall

• Poof! Conjuring Items out of Thin Air For Fun and Profit by Mindy X

• The Joy of Sex Magic by Umber Springleaf

• Wham, Bam, Pentagram by Tawnee White

• Broom Riding Isn’t (Necessarily) Gay, Actually: A guide to brooms for male magic users by Michael Oxlong

In addition to the textbooks, you have been provided with:

• Relevant lecture notes and accompanying VHS tapes—these will take you beyond what’s in your textbooks and should be studied closely!

• 2 broomsticks (the very same that delivered your package). The red one is a beginner’s broom and cannot go very fast. The black one is a normal broom. Please consult the textbook, specially suited to male magic users.

• 1 magic wand imbued with a black ridgeback dragonscale. You can trade this in at the school store when you arrive at the summer camp if you choose, however this wand is well-suited to Summoners.

• Your Summer Camp uniform, to be worn to all classes and official activities during Summer Camp.

• Your school robes, to be worn at formal functions during the summer camp such as the opening and closing ceremonies.

• Your student ID. Don’t worry about how we got the photo.

• A contract that will, upon signing, magically bequeath all the above items to you permanently, and formalize your enrollment with our fine institution.

Naturally, you will want to practice your magic. Please do so in the privacy of your own home or other secluded locations where non-magical humans will not see. You are allowed to tell your next of kin of your schooling with us, but that’s it. Any other humans to find out will have to have their memory erased, and while this isn’t an issue nine times out of ten, it does cost money for the Board of Magic Affairs to ship out agents. Furthermore, repeat infractions could see you barred from using magic outside of the company of more established witches and wizards.

Regarding riding your broom, that is less of a worry. Non-magical people will not see you when you use your broom unless you wish to be seen, which of course you won’t.

If you should have any other questions, feel free to write “Grizelda Applebottom” on a piece of paper or parchment and light it on fire. I will be in touch shortly thereafter.

Yours sincerely,

Grizelda Applebottom
Director of Recruitment
Pigpimples School of Wizardcraft and Witchery

“Well, I’ll be a balloon-titted orangutan,” my dad muttered in disbelief. He started shaking his head and clicking his tongue as he peered over my shoulder and read the letter along with me. “It’s true.”

Blinking a few times, I mouthed the word ‘balloon’. “I told you. It’s true. Also: what’s up with the orangutan?”

“Just rolled off the tongue, I guess.”

I furrowed my brow, looked into his eyes and shook my head. “Before I get into this shit, we need to talk.”

“About what?” he said.

“About how you’re going to have to run the finances alone—or maybe with Aunt Becky—while I’m gone. We’re in a real good spot now compared to where we were before, but—”

He placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered. I’ll sell off everything I can’t run on my own and manage what I can. If you aren’t going to be around here most of the year, I can basically just live a semi-retired life on virtually no budget. We’ve still got loads of expired Spaghetti-o’s in the cellar.”

I nodded, thinking about what he was saying. Though we did need to have a stern talk about those Spaghetti-o’s, he wasn’t wrong. We earned more than enough these days, and then some, and neither Dad nor I really were all that high maintenance.

“We’ll need to bust into our savings account and pay off the rest of the mortgage, just so that’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

His eyes widened, misting up a bit. “We still got a mortgage?”

I laughed and stood, looking down at the box. “I’ll take care of everything, Dad. Don’t you worry. But first—let me take care of this.”

***

Once Dad had left me to it, I looked over the contents of the box in disbelief, just staring at or fondling every individual object one after another until I finally reached a sealed envelope at the bottom. I skimmed the letter, which had yet another enclosed, this one with an enrollment agreement, and when I’d determined that there was no funny business, I signed it straight away.

As I did so, I saw more actual magic take place. The second I set the pen down, the paper lit itself with a white flame and dissolved into thin air. “I’m going to assume that’s normal,” I said to no one but myself, cracking my knuckles, then promptly turned my attention to the box's other items.

The brooms tempted my attention at first, but I decided I’d better read the guide to those before messing around. They seemed like they’d be a lot of fun to use, but I wasn’t very clear on how safe they were to just experiment with unprepared.

I arranged the books in order of apparent content importance. The theory textbook and the one about basic spellcasting seemed to be where I should spend my time early on, and then after that I’d probably read the wand guide. Going from there, it seemed prudent to read the Summoner’s guide next since that was going to be my focus, but then again pentagrams might be important. I’d have to read the basics and theory books first and play it by ear. Maybe preview some of the VHS tapes before that to get a quick idea of how important various topics were.

I examined the books and found they averaged about 200,000 words each. While I could normally read 250,000 words of non-academic material per day, this content would be completely unfamiliar to me. Since I needed to truly understand and memorize the information—not just read through it—I decided to set my sights lower.

If the summer camp started on the first Monday of June, then that gave me just over five weeks to prepare. There were eleven textbooks to consume, and I estimated that I could read any one of them in about two days while still leaving time to practice their content and help my father transition into running our businesses on his own.

In fact, if I stuck to the rate of a book every two days, I could reread about half of the more difficult, or essential, textbooks one more time before the first day of camp. Looking through a few pages at random, I was a bit intimidated. The wand book had charts and diagrams and magically animated images of wand gestures. The broom guide wasn’t much better. Thankfully, it didn’t seem linked to any important classes and was more of a complementary addition I could conquer at my own pace, so I made that one my sacrificial lamb and resigned to deal with it last.

This was going to be one of the most stressful months of my life. Adding to that stress there was a little bit of pressure to make sure that I was in good shape when I arrived. I had no idea what to expect, but the invitation letter had explained that male summoners were rare, which meant I was going to have mostly female classmates, though it sounded like they weren’t going to be human. Human or not, I didn’t want to look… well, not hot.

I definitely wasn’t unattractive, but I needed to put on some bulk or at least get some definition to my muscles. Thank God I was taller than average at six feet four inches. That counted for a lot around here, and I had to hope that it was the same in magic school.

 So—my priorities were settled.

Objective One: Prepare my dad for the rigors of managing our family businesses and running the household without me around.

Objective Two: Memorize my textbooks completely and become proficient with my wand and broom. This way, I wouldn't fall behind my classmates at Summer Camp or have to cram for the final exam. If necessary, I could postpone the broom training as a last resort.

Objective Three: Get in tip-top shape, book a haircut appointment, resume my old skin care routine, maybe do some manscaping, and try to more or less maximize my bangability.

Failure was not an option. I didn’t want to get dropped in with my peers and be the idiot in the group. I wanted to be at the top of the class. I wanted to come in out of nowhere like Florida Man riding a hurricane and impress my teachers and classmates.

What was I even going to do once I had magic? What would I be allowed to do? Would embarking on this life make me privy to a whole secret world that I would be beholden to instead of this mundane life? I had no idea what the answers to these questions were, but I knew that saying no wasn’t an option.

All I could do for now was work hard and hope for the best. I did not expect, on any level, just how awesome Summer Camp would actually be.