Miles Turner
November 17, 2008 7:53 PM
Stuck in some flippin' video game by Miles Turner
The fresh air was nice.The ground smelled green.
This place looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland.
Miles awestruck eyes panned the scenery around him as he studied the gardens for the first real time. Sure, he'd had to swing by them before, but only in passing. Only when he was going somewhere else. It had been a week since he'd arrived at Sonora...an entire week. Though with classes that threw him in the fire more than anything had in L.A., he hadn't had time to think about it. Miles didn't even have time to think about home. But now, it was the weekend and his mind was his own once again.
Holding a basketball snuggly under his arm, Miles walked blindly down the path towards the hedges ahead. He was well aware by now that wizards didn't play basketball. They played quidditch. A sign had been posted in the commons at the beginning of the year and it seemed meal times, class time, study time, getting-ready-for-bed time, and really any other time they possibly had available was all interspersed with talk of quidditch. But Miles still liked basketball. He wasn't the kind to rebel against the establishment, not by far. However, this magic school had already taken everything else he had from home. His family was far away, there wasn't a TV in sight and they didn't work anyway, the food wasn't mom's, he missed his friends, he even sort of missed english and math and science. So, the least they could do was let him have his basketball.
Miles continued to walk aimlessly, trying his best to dribble his basketball as he went. The ground here just wasn't made for it. It wasn't like wizards had concrete courts, after all. That would be too easy. After several twists and turns around the garden, and almost losing the ball several times as it unexpectedly bounced at an odd angle and nearly rolled under a bush, Miles gave up. This just wasn't working. They had taken basketball away too. Except, he still had his jump shot.
Making a run down the path as though pursued by an invisible player, Miles dodged and twisted, not dribbling the ball but imagining himself on the court with seven foot tall players all vying for a chance to steal his possession. The announcer was becoming increasingly louder in his head until finally he couldn't be contained in Miles’ head.
"Turner fakes left. He passes to Kobe. Kobe's on the move. Passes to Turner down the court! Oh, look at that!"
Miles leaped from the ground, tossing the ball in the air as though taking a shot for the basket.
"He scores! Turner wins the game!"
The excitement of winning the championship game just couldn't be contained. Miles punched his fist in the air and gave a what's up to his adoring crowd. Forget about being a wizard, he was going to be Shaq someday. In fact, he'd be both. He sure could make some crazy slam dunks then. Magic was great like that. Plus the money would be good. And he'd have a mansion and get some of those Prairie Elves to clean it. Those little guys could really clean. And he'd be famous and on TV and...
Where was he?
Miles walked around another corner of the maze, tossing the basketball between his hands. It was a dead end. He turned around. Nothing looked familiar. In fact, it all looked the same. Miles chose a random path, the look of confusion growing on his face by the second. It was like he was in some video game, wandering around, looking for the exit or at least a health pack. But this wasn‘t a game. He was lost.
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Miles Turner
Stuck in some flippin' video game
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Miles Turner
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Deepa Rajaram
November 20, 2008 10:18 PM
...I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. by Deepa Rajaram
Deepa stopped--she must be far enough into the gardens to escape interruption now. She peered around, standing on her tiptoes for a glimpse over the hedges, and when she was finally satisfied that she was alone, she padded over to a grassy spot and collapsed onto it happily. Even the grass here felt different, special somehow. She exhaled a long, contented sigh and closed her eyes.It wasn't that Deepa disliked people. It was just that--well--when she was at home, there was always someone around. Her uncle, to tutor her--she shuddered at the thought--or her mother needing her company, or her grandmother fussing over how she must start thinking about her looks if she wants to make a good match and make the family proud, or her grandfather looking at her like she was an insect, or an exasperated, overwhelmed aunt looking for help with her dozen-odd cousins. (The cousins, most of them younger than Deepa, were so ubiquitous that she hardly counted them as people anymore.)
So, yes, it was nice to be on her own for a bit. It was peaceful out in the gardens--thus far, at least--and she had brought a book to keep her company if her thoughts weren't enough.
For now, though, she was happy to lie in the grass with her eyes closed. It was comfortable... and warm... and... she was getting awfully... drowsy....
Someone was talking. A boy's voice infiltrated her sleep, melding with a character in her dream who was trying to sell her some green bananas. "They're very cheap, very sweet--down the court--and perfect for--he scores!--and I won't even--wins the game!"
The banana-seller's nonsense jarred her into wakefulness, and she opened her eyelids, wincing at the brightness of the sky above her. She could hear footsteps and a repeated, hollow thudding somewhere nearby, and, rubbing her knuckles in her eyes, clambered to her feet to look around.
Oh. It was just another student. He was carrying a basketball--one of the few Muggle objects that Deepa could identify--and looked pretty confused. He passed her little garden-nook, looking around as though for a way out. She watched him for a moment, a look of perplexed concentration on her face as she attempted to place him--then shrugged and followed him, her sandals crunching in the gravel a little.
"Hello?" she said, stepping out into the path behind him. Abruptly she remembered herself, and brushed her palms across her golden-orange salwar kameez to rid herself of grass and dirt.
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Deepa Rajaram
...I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.
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Deepa Rajaram
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Miles Turner
November 22, 2008 10:46 AM
That's not good. The aliens are after us you know. by Miles Turner
Hello?Miles jerked a step back, startled by the voice behind him, his basketball flying from his hands into some unseen area of the labyrinth. He had been so lost in his thoughts of being lost that it hadn’t been apparent someone or something for that matter was around him. He wondered for a moment if magic hedges could talk. Paintings could talk. Why not plants? But, on turning around, it was just that girl from the opening feast. He’d of course seen her in class all week too, seeing as they were both first years and all.
“Oh…Deepa?” Miles said hesitantly. There had been so many names, really, really weird names too, thrust into his head this week that they were all mixed and muddled together in one large lump. He had for a moment almost called her Benpa, but stopped himself as obviously he was confusing her with that other guy at the feast whose name he still couldn’t pronounce despite them being roommates now. Miles thought of him as Ben. But that was of no matter now.
Miles looked at his hands, then up at the tops of the hedges, his brow furrowed slightly in consternation.
“Just great, Deepa. I lost my ball now,” he said, shaking his head and still surveying the sky as though the basketball would just fall into his arms. He wasn’t upset with her exactly, even though if there was one thing that aggravated Miles it was being snuck up on. Well, surprises in general were annoying. And those stupid Pecaris, with their spontaneity were starting to get on his nerves too.
“Now I have to find it and a way out of here.” Miles sounded a little grumpy at this. Who knew how long it would take to find a path to the other side of the hedge. Or over the next two hedges. He wasn’t exactly sure which direction the basketball had gone either. Then what if one of those Prairie Elves got to it first? Then what? He’d be here all night looking for something that was now in the dumpster!
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Miles Turner
That's not good. The aliens are after us you know.
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Miles Turner
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