"I still can't believe they've banned flying," James complained. He was sitting in the grass by the edge of the water, carefully inspecting a pile of stones he'd collected specifically for skipping. "And just when I'd nearly convinced Father to buy me a broom, too."

It was, of course, terrible what had happened to Miss Bixby. Absolutely. But James had spent all summer carefully working on convincing his parents that he was old enough and responsible enough to handle a broom. He hadn't injured himself doing anything ill-advised in weeks. It was quite possibly a new personal record since the boy learned to walk. Something like that deserved some kind of acknowledgement!

"I can't fly a broom in our garden with Gran there," he said with a sigh. "I'll have to wait until September. And at this rate, I'll have to use a school broom." The horror. James assumed. Not that it would probably matter, since he wouldn't have time to practice flying before school, anyway!

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