Colt couldn't figure out if summer was flying or crawling by. He knew in just over a month he and his friend Sam would be heading to England to visit Hogwarts- which was a funny name for a school- for the tournament; the excitement for the trip made days crawl sometimes. Other days, though, they just flew by and he couldn't believe where the time had gone.

Early this morning his grandmother had called to ask if he and his friend could come by and help her for a while. He pitched the idea to Sam, who readily agreed- he'd been real helpful over the summer. Something that Colton and his family had both appreciated. It was nice to have friends who had similar values and understood that hard work meant something- which was definitely true where he lived.

They were taking a break at the moment, sitting on the front porch. His Ma-Maw had brought them each a tall glass of iced tea, and kept thanking them over and over again. Colton just smiled at her and gave her a (sweaty) hug. "Ain't no trouble, Ma-Maw," he told her. "Me and Sam didn't have nothin' else goin' on, did we Sam? B'sides, you're too old to be mowing your own yard. What kind of grandson would I be if I made you get out there on the tractor?"

Sam was a big fan of Colt's house. Colt had told him constantly before he arrived that it wasn't much, but any house with electricity seemed palatial to the boy.

When Colt asked him to come help his grandma out, Sam's reaction was fairly immediate. He was thrilled to. After all, as a boy, he had been very close with his grandparents and had always taken pride in being the strapping boy who could haul heavy sacks of flour and feed.

Now, of course, if he went home there was a decidedly high chance they wouldn't even speak to him.

He was enjoying his glass of iced tea, nursing it slowly, wanting to make it last. Iced tea wasn't something he'd been able to have at home- or ice, for that matter, generally- and it had been an acquired taste since going to school.

When Colt mentioned that they hadn't been doing anything, Sam nodded quickly. "No, ma'am, we weren't."

He didn't say it, but in fact, he was much more used to having to shove around a rusty old push mower, so anything beyond that seemed almost fun by comparison. He had fixed the rickety, loose railing leading up her steps as well, and felt almost silly accepting a nice drink as a reward for so little.

It was hot, though, and the drink was so cold and delicious that he could hardly refuse.

Trying not to be too intrusive, he motioned awkwardly to the door. "Ma'am, would you like me to take a look at your hinges for you? They seem a little loose."

Colton was glad that Sam didn't mind helping out with his grandmother, and when his friend offered to have a look at the hinges on the door he couldn't help but smile proudly. He had a good friend, and those were hard to come by. His family would probably really want him to bring Sam back over sometime. (Colton knew his sister would, she was at that boycrazy stage in life.)

"I'll go get the toolbox from the truck," he said to Sam, before his grandmother had a chance to refuse. He went to the old pick up and grabbed a rusted toolbox from the bed and carried it up to the porch. "You should go on inside," he told her. "It's too hot for you to be out here. Don't worry, we'll take care of everything." Though she did protest, eventually the little old lady eventually went back into the airconditioned house.

He wasn't sure what else his grandmother would need now that they had done the yard work. She would probably want some help inside. Usually his sister came to do the cleaning- Colton wasn't very good at cleaning, it wasn't something he'd learned growing up, because his mom always took care of the house work.  But it was one thing at a time, and right now that thing was apparently tightening up some hinges on the old screen door.

Colton peered into the toolbox then at his friend. "I ain't got a clue how to fix hinges," he told him. "So this'll be all you." He took another long drink from his glass of iced tea and refilled it with the pitcher his grandmother had left sitting on the small table outside. "What d'you need? Screwdriver? Flat head or no?" he said, digging around in the tools with one hand, drinking the tea with the other.

Sam ran a gentle thumb over the top of the screw. "It's, uh..." There was a good deal of paint smothering the screwhead, and he had to work his thumbnail over the surface to uncover the telltale x-shaped ridges. "Phillips' head," he supplied. He fished a new screw out of the box by his knees and accepted the proper screwdriver from Colton. Clasping the new screw in his teeth, he worked the old one out- bare, as he had expected- and finally, he screwed the fresh new one in place.

Giving the door a test shake, he found it solid and satisfactory.

Sam thought he'd done a good job of adjusting to his new life, given that he'd gone from a life of barn raising and butter churning to a life where magic and technology were both realities. His first year he'd been too nervous to say 'boo' to anyone, and it was only after he began playing sports that he really spoke.

He had other ways, of course, of letting people know that he meant business. It just usually involved someone walking away with a bloody mouth.

"She's a real sweet lady," he said quietly, putting the worn-out screw in his pocket to throw away later. "You're a lucky guy."

His grandparents, while sweet as molasses, were traditional to their core, and had shunned his cousins when they'd left, as well. It was a strange sensation, to be regarded as a stranger to people who had definitely wiped his butt at least once as a baby.

Colton handed Sam the right screw driver, and watched as he simply pulled one out and screwed another one. A quick shake of the door and it seemed to be sitting securely on its hinges again. Colt was glad to have some help- and glad that Sam was able to get away for the summer. He didn't know much about Sam's life up North- but had never asked much, either. There were some things, after all, you just didn't talk about- especially if you were a man. Sam's business was his own. All Colt knew was that it had to be hard to be Amish and be a witch. He could figure that much out from learning about the Salem Witch Trials whenever he was in school. Sam wasn't a pilgrim, but the Amish life was close enough from what little he knew.

He smiled when Sam called his grandmother a sweet lady. "Yeah, she can be- but don't let her fool ya, Sam. She can be ornerier than a nest of hornets if she wants to. I've seen her chase my cousins with a switch before when they dug up her daisies from the flower bed." Colt chuckled as he remembered her catching the backs on their legs with the switch while they screamed and ran through the yard. "She's got spirit," he added, proudly. His grandmother was a strong woman, something which he admired. Colton had learned early on that a woman ran the house and you just minded your manners and said yes ma'am and no ma'am and things would be alright.

Colton closed up the toolbox and looked at Sam for a long minute, wondering if his friend was doing okay. They'd had a fun summer, but it was hard to be away from your family so long- especially since Sam had just spent the year at school. "You miss your folks?" Colton ventured tentatively. He wasn't sure how he'd handle an outpouring of emotion questions like that could provoke- but even if he didn't like to talk about feelings or recognize they existed Sam was his friend, and friends were there for each other- even when it was awkward.

Sam watched Colt's face intently. Some days, he scanned his friend's face with the intensity of a prospector panning for gold. He always expected to see a hint of the other boy's annoyance with him. Every day found Sam heavy with guilt over the burden he was putting on Colt's family. After all, he had hardly any money to offer them, and putting up another teenage boy couldn't have been easy. All he had to offer was his ability to repair things and build modest pieces of furniture.  How useful could that have been? In truth, Colt had never offered even a hint of being displeased with his presence, and Sam had insisted firmly that the Outlaws boot him out as soon as he became a nuisance.

But having a warm place to sleep was really a blessing. He had spent several weeks the previous summer drifting from town to town, and being homeless was really not all it was cracked up to be. It didn't bother him so very much- it was summer, at least, and there wouldn't be a chance of snowfall to worry him. Despite several years of schooling at SWIM, he was still incredibly naive, though. And the world could be a dangerous place for a young guy with no idea how it works.

He glanced up quickly when Colt mentioned his cousins being chased with a switch. Oh, good Lord. "Y'know, it's funny," he ventured. "I used that word at school and nobody knew what I was talkin' about." A little laugh escaped him. "For people that call themselves pacifists, they sure are fond of the belt," he said offhandedly, remembering his parents, his tone oddly light for what he was saying.

The feeling of gears turning in his friend's head was palpable. Sam knew when it was happening. It was obvious, the way it was obvious when a teacher was going to tell him something he didn't want to hear. "You miss your folks?"

It caught him off-guard. So off-guard that he had to take a minute, staring blankly, to think about it. Did he miss his folks? His first instinct was to say yes, of course he did, because... well, that was what seemed to be the normal thing to say. But the more he thought about it, he was having a much better time since he decided not to even try going back. All the sneaking around, the disapproving looks, the rigidity... he hated it. They weren't bad people. He loved them. They just weren't the right people for him to be around. "Yah, well," he said, after he'd turned his face, embarrassed, to fiddle with a hammer. "Sometimes, anyway." He fell silent again, and then shrugged. "I've had lotsa friends who left... left, you know? I dunno."

Another long silence. "It's not a big deal, though," he added with a genuine if slightly dampened smile. "I'm totally fine."

Colton laughed. "I know what you mean. I say stuff at school all the time and they have no idea what I'm talkin' about. I guess that just happens when you live somewhere like I do. Even moreso when you're a muggle."

He watched as Sam's expression changed- pausing for a moment to think about the question. Colton couldn't imagine having a hard time answering so simple a question. He always missed his folks. But Colton knew his life was a lot different from Sam's. Which wasn't a bad thing, it was just... well, how things were.

Colton felt bad for Sam when he heard his response. Friends who just left for no reason? "Well, Sam, if you ask me that's not a friend at all. Real friends stick with ya- through thick or thin. That's what friends do. I mean, I know things are different- cause of how you grew up and stuff- but that's the truth. I'm sure it don't sound right for me to say it- but you're probably better off. You've got real friends at Salem, one who won't stop being your friend. Even if you decided you wanted to go be Amish after you graduated I'm sure everyone would still want to be your friend and send you eagles." Colton nodded to emphasize his point. He wouldn't stop being Sam's friend over something so silly.

He didn't believe that Sam thought it wasn't a big deal, or that it was fine, but he wasn't going to push it. Colt had already made his friend uncomfortable. "Sorry for bringing it up," he offered. "Didn't mean to be nosey."

Sam nodded, smiling a little, even, at Colt's response. It was a weird thing to explain. "It's a little like the mafia, I guess," he added. "When you're in, you're in a hundred percent. And when you leave... they turn their backs. And you turn yours. That's it."

He had never begrudged his friends who got out. He'd been jealous, maybe, sure, but he understood why they didn't want to look back. Even so, the more he thought about it, it did sting a little that he hadn't seen them since. Of course, one boy, John Stoltzfus, had come back during the day to visit Sam and another boy, and had been swarmed upon by every adult in the community and given a rather horrible half-lecture half-sermon on the error of his ways. Sam hadn't seen John again. He'd tried to look him up, but John Stoltzfus was as a name to the Amish the same as John Smith was to the rest of the world.

Or Muhammad, more accurately, but who's counting?

Either way, it would have been impossible to find him, which was probably just how John wanted it.

"It's like... well, if you had to take an oath that guaranteed you were pretty much gonna lead the exact same life your parents led... would you wanna do it? I love my folks, but that's... what's the point?"

"That's exactly why I'm not goin' back," he said agreeably, gesturing to Colt as the boy explained what true friends were. "There's nothin' for me there. At least not right now. Maybe someday." He didn't think so, but wanted to leave it open for himself nonetheless. "If you can find something that you're good at... well, that's pretty special. And I wanna see it through."

"No!" he waved his hands quickly. "You're fine. Trust me, I'd much rather be asked questions by my best friend than some jerk shoving a camera in my face," he grinned slightly. The man in question- a specific guy, no less- Sam remembered getting so fed up with the guy that he'd knocked him to the ground , knelt on his arms, and belted him straight across the nose.

It hadn't gone over well.

Maybe it was becuase Colt was raised differently, or maybe it was because his morality was unshakeable, but he just didn't think there was an excuse for you family to ever turn their backs on you. It wasn't what families did. But life where Samuel was from was just so very different. From what Colton had heard the Amish were supposed to be nice people. Old fashioned, but nice- and Colton was beginning to wonder whether or not that was at all true.

"I don't think you should have to take that kind of an oath," Colt said. "Parents are supposed to want you to have a better life than they did. There's nothin' wrong with how my parents live, and I'm proud to come from where I do, but I ain't going to spend the rest of my life in a dead end job in the middle of no where. And they don't want me to, neither. They want me to be successful and to have the things they never got to give me. I aim to make 'em proud, and that's why I work so hard."

"Even if you don't go back, I guess you learn something from it. And if you ever get married and have kids you'll be a better parent because of it, I think." Naturally Colt assumed that Sam would do that. Every man ought to get married and have babies- that was what he had been taught. And he had a feeling that Samuel was a nice enough guy that he'd end up a pretty good dad. "I mean you learn from the bad experiences in your life what not to do and how to behave. My parents are the best, that's for sure, but there are a lot of things they do that I don't want to mimic when I grow up."

Colt was glad to hear that Sam wasn't offended by him bringing it up. And grinned at the mention of a jerk shoving a camera in his face. His grandparents used to visit Amish country a lot and had told Colt that they would run from cameras because they thought cameras would steal their souls. He wasn't sure if that was true- and wasn't about to ask Sam if it was- but had thought the store was funny when he was little.

"I guess we're lucky, to come from where we do and have magic," Colton suggested. "I mean, I think if you don't have a magical family you appreciate it more. And just think- when we go to Hogwarts for this tournament we're going to meet all kinds of new people who've also got magic. Hard to imagine how many people all over the world have the powers we do and nobody seems to know about it. I don't see how people like us have kept it scret for so long... Besides, I hear the girls from that French school are really pretty. My pen-pal is from Hogwarts, and she's a girl. D'you reckon she'll be pretty when I meet her? Maybe I could ask her for a picture, you think that would be weird?"

Colt had a point, Sam thought with slightly raised eyebrows and a conceding nod. What was the point of working hard if you already knew where you were going to end up? He supposed it had more to do with earning one's way into God's good graces... but the way he saw it, it had more to do with what was in your heart than what you left on Earth that determined your fate in the afterlife. In learning about the rest of the world, he could easily see their motivation- work hard, create, innovate, and leave the world a better place for your children. If things were only going to stay the same, then why bother?

No, Sam was his own man now (well, besides the fact that he was living with Colt's parents) and he got to decide what to work hard on. "I just think it's like... if God gives you this amazing gift... whether it's, y'know, you're a wizard or you're just real smart, or whatever... don't you think it's just, like... a slap in the face to waste it?"

"I'd hope so," he replied, though his tone was not very hopeful. How the hell did parents raise kids in the real world? How would he cope with having kids that had access to stuff like liquor and porn? "I mean, I know I don't wanna raise my kids the way I was raised... not that there was anything wrong with it... but I don't really know how not to." He brushed some errant floppy blonde hair out of his face with the back of his hand and grinned a little. "Maybe I can take a class or something. Raising Kids In The Present Day 101."

He had to agree; the whole thing was pretty incredible. "Yeah, man, it's my first time going out of the country, like, at all. Never in my wildest dreams as a kid would I have guessed that my first time leaving the country would be to go to a wizard tournament." It sounded a bit ridiculous even then. And the more he thought about it, even his first time leaving the state was to go to Salem. He had barely ever left his county before then.

"She'll have a pretty accent, that's for darn sure," he suggested encouragingly. He was very self-conscious of the accent he'd tried to wean himself off of while at school. The slight German lilt to his words made him pronounce a good deal of his "s" sounds as "z" sounds, while the rest of his surroundings had given him a noticeable degree of Pennsylvania diphthongs. The thought of introducing himself to beautiful, stately-sounding Europeans in his neither-here-nor-there voice made him red in the face. "My penpal is from the French school. She's real nice, seems real excitable. I hope they're all that way. Even if it'll make me clam up."

A slight smile played across Sam's sweet face. "Why? You liiiiike her?"

Colton nodded. "No, you're right. You shouldn't waste it. You never waste your potential or your gifts. My parents and my grandparents taught me that. Especially if you're from a small town where it takes gifts like that to get out." And that was all anybody talked about. All of his muggle friends would always talk about getting out of town. Summers were spent laying in the bed of an old pick up talking about it. And, once he got older, laying in the bed of an old pick up truck drinking a beer while you talked about it. Everyone always wanted out. But he knew the truth- almost nobody ever actually got out. They ended up graduating high school and going to work and staying right where they were.

Not him. He was going to actually make it in this world, and then he could have a better life for himself and maybe give a better life to his parents, his sister, and his grandparents (if they were still alive). It wasn't a big dream, but it was a good one- and that was what mattered to him.

"I don't they got classes like that," Colton said. "But I think it's something you just kinda' figure out as you go along. But that's a long ways off. We're too young right now to worry about gettin' married and havin' babies. My dad would jerk a knot in my tail if I got a girl pregnant. So would my momma."

Talk turned to the girls they were writing too, and Colton grinned and nodded. "They're all gonna have pretty accents," he said. "Have you ever heard a girl talk with a Russian accent? That's pretty hot." Of course, Colton was (almost) seventeen- all women were hot to him, in one way or another.

"Course I don't like her, not like that. I ain't never met her. But she sure does seem nice. And I'm just curious what she looks like, that's all. I mean- hell- how am I going to know who she is when we get there if I ain't never seen a picture of her? Walk up to every girl and go 'Hey, is your name Sophie?' That would make me look right stupid, now wouldn't it?" the boy shook his head, blushing ever so slightly. "Didn't you think about that? Maybe you should ask yours for a picture too."

Sam thought with a pang of resentment for the day that he had discovered his magical prowess that it was his gifts, really, that had chucked him out on his ass rather than helped him get out. Did he want to leave? ...Well, sure, now that he'd been forced to make the decision, yes. He was happier being allowed to choose how he dressed and how he wore his hair and what kind of music he could play. All the same, the thought gnawed at him that he would have liked to have had the same choice as the other kids his age. They were all still happily going about their rumspringa, smoking and drinking and running TVs and Xboxes on generators in their rooms.

They only had to choose between that and the church.

"Well, mine, too," Sam laughed. "I mean, I dunno how he'd find out, but he'd probably have a little, like... radar or something go off in his head and hop a train down here to whup me." Actually, if he had stayed at home, it probably wouldn't have been all that far off. His brother had gotten married when he was not very much older than Sam. And if his mother had not had so much trouble having children, he was sure he'd have had at least a handful of other siblings already married as well.

"Russian," Sam said slowly, trying to think. He squinted and frowned. "I don't think so. But, I mean, I've never really talked to anybody who ain't Amish outside of Salem. Are we gonna... y'know... be able to figure out what they're sayin'? I'm not even sure I totally know what a British accent sounds like. 'S gonna be a shock when we're knee-deep in it, I'll bet."

He had, in fact, not thought about that. "I guess I didn't really... figure..." he paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "Don't you think that'd give them... I dunno... the wrong idea? I don't want 'em to think I'm tryin' to put the moves on 'em or... y'know."

Colton laughed. "I'm sure that all dads have that. My dad always knows when I'm up to something, even if there ain't no way he could ever have known it. It makes me wonder sometimes how he knows what he does. Hell, who knows, maybe he's like a seer or something and that's where I got my magic from!" It was a funny idea, to imagine his dad as a seer, but he had an uncanny ability to know what was going on. His mother and father just called it a parent's intuition.

"Well, if they're talking in Russian I don't reckon that we'll know what they're saying. But I mean, a Russian accent is pretty awesome. I'll show you on the computer when we get back to my house. We can look up the different accents on Youtube or something."

He shrugged when Sam said he didn't want the girl to think she was flirting. "I think if you worded it right then it wouldn't seem like you were hitting on her. You just tell 'em, you know, 'Hey, how am I going to know who you are if I don't know what you look like?' I bet that they'd understand.  We could send 'em a picture of us, too. Who knows, Sam, maybe that French girl would think you're good looking and want you to flirt with her," he joked.

"Besides, girls like it when you flirt with 'em, even if they don't want to flirt with you back. That's what my Dad tells me, anyway. He says that they like the attention and like it when someone makes 'em feel pretty. That's why it's always good to be nice to girls, even when they're mean to you." Colt nodded to emphasize his point.

Sam gave another easy laugh, recalling the day when his father had made him copy scripture for hours after he'd caught him hanging around smoking cigarettes with the townies behind a Turkey Hill. How he had figured out where to come looking for him, Sam had never been able to tell. Punishments, corporal or otherwise, had rolled off Sam's back the way water rolled off a duck's. Getting whupped wasn't a great deterrent for the boy, who was used to spending his days doing hard labor and his nights horsing around with his friends. Physical pain had never been as much of an issue to him as the threat of shame.

And shame was what he now had in spades.

If he saw anybody he knew from back home, he was sure he'd have melted into the floor and just about died. The coming and going from season to season, going to school and then going home was bad enough. Having to lie to the people he loved. But the excommunication, the rejection... it was a tough pill to swallow. To see their faces, their glimmer of recognition and happiness, quickly squelched under the need to feign ignorance of his entire existence- it was something he wasn't sure how to deal with quite yet.

Colt's dad was another story, though. He was still proud of his son, and Sam had on occasion felt that he might even have been proud of him, too. "It's not even like he'd have a whole lot to spy on us doin'," he laughed. "Helpin' out old ladies and playin' football. Real juicy stuff."

Sam was mildly excited at the prospect of figuring out the accent issue before arriving at Hogwarts. He had expected to get dropped on his ass in the middle of a cultural soup he hadn't come anywhere near, ever. The thought scared him no small amount. As much as he tried to be intelligent and mature, he was very much a greenhorn in terms of learning about the world. And when Colton had first explained Youtube to him, the poor boy had nearly gone crazy. "Okay, but when we're done with that we should watch the one where the baby won't stop laughing. I love that one."

He had to have Colt look things up for him on the computer. He still hadn't quite got the knack for it yet.

His face flushed bright pink, especially across his nose and on his ears, when Colt suggested that perhaps the French girl would think he was handsome. "Oh, nuh uh, dude," he said, flustered. "Aren't French people s'posed to be- I dunno, aren't they... really..." The right words would not come to Sam. He was very behind the game on figuring out what was "sexy" and what wasn't. As a result, he settled on-

"...glamorous?"

Glamorous was the opposite of plain, which is what he had always considered himself to be. And he had thought of it as a positive trait, his plainness. Getting wrapped up in physical stuff wasn't something he was keen on.

"Besides, I'm sure you'd have better luck'n me. I never know what to say to girls. They freak me out."

Colton laughed. Sam was right. The two of them didn't really get into any trouble. And he'd never done anything more than kiss a girl anyway. The girls at Salem were just so different from the girls he was used to. And the only girls Colt had ever kissed were the ones who'd kissed him first. Wooing women wasn't a strong point of his, even though he did like them. And he liked them an awful lot. "It's a dad's job to think you're up to the worst, though." Truth be told, though, Colton's little sister got into more trouble than he ever thought about getting into.

He snorted when Sam mentioned the baby that wouldn't stop laughing. Sam had a good heart, a very pure heart, and found stuff like that hilarious. It was probably a good thing that Colton's sister hadn't introduced Sam to the funny cat pictures and all of that other stuff. He had a feeling if she had that Sam might end up with cute kitten posters for his dorm.

"Foreign chicks think foreign dudes are hot," Colton stated. "It's kind of like the way American chicks like foreign dudes, and foriegn dudes like them, too. You always like what you can't have and all that mess," he waved his hand dismissively. "You better get used to the idea. If a pretty French girl starts flirting with you and you turn red and guffaw like an idiot then there goes your chances of a pretty foreign girlfriend." Not that Colt had much room to talk himself. When pretty girls flirted with him he made an ass out of himself sometimes, too. But he was getting a lot better at it now that he was getting older.

"What do you mean girls freak you out?" Colton asked. "They're just girls. They just want us to be strong and sexy and to take care of 'em and tell 'em that they're pretty and buy 'em stuff. Dad says so long as you tell the girl you like that she's pretty and you at least pretend to listen to what she's got to say that it's all it takes. My mom just sort of rolls her eyes at him when he says it- but she's never said he's wrong."

"We gotta get you some practice. We're going to have go out and make you talk to some girls around here. At least then you won't have to worry about seein' 'em every day and being embarrassed if you say something dumb. You won't ever be seeing them againa nd it won't even matter. Practice makes perfect and all."