There it was, the newsstand, jammed up in the center of the park like some kind of ignored art piece. Piles of untouched newspapers teetered dangerously, their loud headlines crying into a void of city indifference. With no buyers in sight, they seemed like ghosts of yesterday's headlines. And perched on top, as unmoving as the stand itself, the gargoyle sat, one leg over his knee, reading another editorial that wasn't his own. He noticed me approaching.

"Greetings, youthful sorcerer," the gargoyle said, his stony features carving out a broad grin. "What brings you hither on this splendid afternoon? Such a radiant closure to summer's symphony, wouldn't you concur?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. How's it been going over here? Selling many papers?" I said.

"Not a solitary purchase, yet I find myself unperturbed. I scarcely harbor expectations of prolific trade." The gargoyle chuckled deeply. "You may address me as Ronoke. The pleasure of our acquaintance is entirely mine. I am both the chief curator and the erstwhile vendor, it seems, for this stony congregation we affectionately term 'Global Gargoyle Editorial.'"

"We've met before, actually. My name is Rollie Magpie, we met at Port Harbor in the park there."

"Indeed, I retain the vestiges of our previous encounter within my mind, a testament to the formidable recall of our gargoyle kind." He tapped the side of his head with his sharp fingernail. "I refrained from imparting such knowledge to spare you any disquiet. Your presence graces us again, Rollie. Did you derive any pleasure from your initial literary acquisition? Fear not to express dissatisfaction, for we gargoyles are intuitively attuned to the dance of untruths."

"I enjoyed the last paper, actually. It was interesting to hear what doesn't go reported on. So I have to ask, why are you here today? I've been going to this mage therapy joint for 3 months, and I've never seen you at this part before. What gives?"

"My usual domain, you see, is the bustling realm of Port Harbor. It is there that I encounter the majority of my commercial success. Venturing to the grand urbanites within the mage communities rarely attracts considerable patronage, unless the tales contained within my offerings hold direct relevance to the locale in question."

My eyebrow raised. I had the darndest time following what he said, but I understood. "You're saying something has happened in Bexleyford?"

"Indeed? Has news not yet reached your ears regarding the transgressions perpetrated by those of white cloaks?"

I shook my head.

"Would you care to peruse this week's compilation? A mere sum of five dollars, I assure you."

"I don't really have any money at the moment."

Ronoke flapped his mighty hand. "That's all right. I can give you a copy on the house. Tell your friends about the Global Gargoyle Editorial, that's all I ask."

"Nonsense, we will happily pay for the paper, thank you," My grandpa said as he came up behind me and gave Ronoke $10. "I'll take a copy for myself."

"My sincerest gratitude, esteemed gentlemen. May the remainder of your day be filled with delight. Alas, this transaction might well constitute the zenith of today's commerce." Ronoke snickered.

My grandpa and I strolled away with our newspapers in hand.

"I had no idea you had an affinity for the gargoyle press?" my grandpa said.

"Yeah, I talked to him once at Port Harbor," I said, walking and avoiding the cracks in the pavement. "He had some interesting thoughts on the bank robbery and the masked man. I'm interested in what he was saying about attacks that were happening in Bexleyford. Have you heard anything about this?"

"I don't think so." My grandpa scrunched his brow. "We'll read it on the boat going back home."

On the boat, we read all about how those ruffians in Bexleyford were attacking innocent people in the Mage Markets. It was an interesting write-up and certainly sounded familiar. My grandpa and I finished reading it at the same time.

"Well, that's certainly more enlightening than I thought it would be," my grandpa said as he finished reading about it. "Remember how we saw those hooligans wearing the white cloaks last year when we went to purchase a necklace for your girlfriend?" my grandpa said.

At the start of summer, if my grandpa had tossed Farrah's name into the mix, it would've knocked me sideways. Sent me spiraling into a melancholy pit for the whole freaking day. But therapy, that mind-bending trip, gave me a bit of a backbone. Now, it's like a sting, not a gut punch. Yeah, it hurts, but it wasn't going to spoil my day anymore.

"Yeah, Grandpa, I remember," I said.

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"It sounds exactly like what Ronoke was talking about in his article here. Those kids must have kept going and going and started ramping up their behaviors." My grandpa shook his head. "It's just sad. I don't get why anyone would want to do such a thing."

"Yeah, me either. It's really unfortunate. If I saw someone do that to you or anyone, I would have to intervene." I cracked my knuckles as menacingly as I could.

When we got back to Grandpa's place, we put together a document for Principal Zita. I had sent her a message at the start of summer, and she hit me back with a reply that said,

"Once you finish therapy, contact me again, and we will consider it. Thank you."

So round two had come.

The first time I attempted that letter, Grandpa was there, guiding me through every word. But post-therapy, they instilled in us the idea of embracing challenges, no matter their size, and letting go of fear. It's natural to feel a bit snowed under at first, but the key was to tackle tasks myself, reaching out for help when truly necessary. Writing's never been my strong suit, especially under the strain of persuading someone to let me in as a student, fresh off getting kicked out from one school and barely hanging onto my spot back in Ohio.

My grandpa and I sat at the kitchen table, and I pulled out a sheet of paper and started writing.

"You don't need my help, Rollie?"

"That's okay, I think I can do this by myself. I'll run the first draft by you, though." I smiled.

Writing it took me a half hour, and I was focused the entire time. As soon as I finished writing the letter, I was about to hand it to my grandpa, but there was a knock at the door.

"Hold on, Rollie. Let me check on the door, and I'll read this as soon as I'm done." My grandpa went to the front door and answered it.

I was still in the kitchen, so I couldn't see who he was gabbing to, but I leaned my head to the entrance and saw his jaw drop.

"Oh my gosh! It's you! You're here? At my home? Uh... To what do we owe this pleasure? Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting any company."

"Logan, hello, my old friend, how are you this lovely afternoon?"

I heard a voice I didn't recognize.

"Doing uh okay. Would you like to come in?"

"Sure, I would love that. Is Rollie around?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he was just writing you a letter about how he wants to attend your school." My grandpa moved out of the way, and an older woman walked in. She looked similar to my grandpa's age. She had styled gray hair with streaks of black, was almost as tall as my grandpa, and had an athletic build. They came walking into the kitchen, my grandpa still stunned.

"You must be Rollie. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Zita Wattle. The Principal at Loxton." Zita shook my hand.

Compared to Principal Pine, Principal Wattle had more power in her voice and an intimidating presence. Yet, her voice and smile were warmer than Principal Pine's.

"Your grandpa tells me you were just working on a letter for me?" Her thick eyebrow arched.

I nodded, a little too star-struck to say anything. Even though I didn't know her and had never seen her before, she was the one I planned on writing a letter to all summer.

"May I see it?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

I slid the paper to the other side of the table, and Zita picked it up, and her eyes scanned the document from left to right a little too fast. "I spotted a few grammatical errors, so I'm guessing this was the first draft. Either way, it's a finely written letter, and I would be more than happy to have you on our campus." She smacked the paper on the table.

"Really?" My lips curled up as wide as they could go.

"Yes, of course. I mean, who are we kidding? I came by to let you know that you will be attending Loxton, letter or no letter. The therapy graduation was on my radar, and you were a major subject of interest during the summer discussions. In fact, there were quite a few summer discussions, I needed a teacher replacement, and then my other duties with the Mage Force became more active than usual, sorry, I won't bore you with all the details." Zita flapped her hand.

I was actually curious to hear the details.

"But just know," she continued, "that I've been quite the busybody, and you were a major subject. Some teachers were a little worried about taking you on. Still, I firmly believe in second chances. You seemed like a great kid from my conversations with your previous head counselor, Jonathan, Principal Pine, and the other lovely folks at Attleton. And I went to Loxton at the same time as your grandfather here. We were friends one year and then became acquaintances, but I always had nothing but tremendous respect for your grandpa. Especially with him winning all of his Dragonstryke championships." Zita smirked.

My grandpa and Zita glanced at each other.

Zita cleared her throat. "And from what I hear, you're a pretty good Dragonstryke player yourself. It would be a shame to have your talents go to waste, especially since our program sends quite a few players to the pros."

"Wow," My grandpa said, "So you took the time out of your busy schedule to come here and tell Rollie he's accepted?"

"I had other business in town. They figured I would stop by and deliver the good news myself. That way, you don't have to wait in anticipation for a while until the letter gets sent, and then I read it and sent my letter and blah blah blah, I figured it would save a lot of your time and stress."

"Well, thank you so much, Zita. I'm so surprised you still remember me from the old days at Loxton. With your leadership and all of your accolades, I just assumed that you would have forgotten about all those people from back in the day." My grandpa fake laughed.

"Nonsense, Logan. It's good to see you. And I also wanted to tell you to meet at the port on the first day of September. You will be taking a ship to Port Harbor, and you should get there by 5:00 p.m., and then you can take the boat to Loxton. It's a 2-hour boat ride, so you'll be there in time for dinner. Do you have any questions at all?"

I shook my head. "It would be nice to get this all in writing. Sorry, I wasn't taking notes on everything you said."

"Understandable." Principal Zita reached into her emerald cloak and threw out an envelope. A casual toss that landed perfectly in front of me. "That will have all the information you need. I won't take up any more of your time on this lovely Sunday. When you come to campus, have an open mind, and make new friends, I guarantee you will love your new home at Loxton." Zita smiled and stared at me for a moment.

It was almost like she was proud of me, even though she had no idea who I was really. I smiled courteously back.

She must be a really nice person, I guess.

"Goodbye, Logan. It really was lovely seeing you again," she said.

My grandpa had a slight smirk. "Agreed."

Zita bowed her head and rushed out of the house.