The House of Grey- Volume 2

by Collin Earl

  The whistle blew. Everyone looked on in awe. Artorius shot a grin back at Monson and Casey.

  Monson smiled back and settled in to watch. He already knew it was going to be a very different game.

  “Arthur Paine,” Coach Able yelled from the sideline. “If you ever hit my QB again, I will have you running laps for a month.”

  “Yeah, sorry Coach!”

  From that point on, Artorius was like a whirlwind of power, speed and precision. He hit, tackled and maneuvered with a determination and force that was borderline inhuman. He was like a machine built especially for playing football. Again and again he overpowered, outran and trampled over players older, stronger and more experienced. He played with such drive that despite his teammates being useless, they gained ground.

  “What in the world is going on, Grey? asked Casey incredulously after watching his friend’s display. “I’ve never seen anything like this from Artorius.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” replied Monson, his tone also disbelieving. “It’s like he’s a totally different person.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Casey continued, looking amazed.

  The second half of the game was completely different from the first. Artorius’ team seemed inspired by their younger comrade—so much so that they, too, started to play to win; it was now a real football game.

  Even though Monson did not fully understand the rules, he felt renewed from the excitement. His strange feelings were gone and his body felt fine. It was like none of it had ever happened.

  There was some disappointment when despite the second-half effort, Artorius’ team lost. Yet, that did not seem as important as the fact that they fought hard. Monson figured that sometimes the actual score did not really matter. At least it didn’t matter to Indigo who seemed to be enjoying the social aspect of the event; Monson and Casey were still pissed. Artorius, however, had won the respect of his potential teammates and that was what was really important.

  Monson had to be honest: The best part of the whole experience was Coach Able’s reaction. During this almost dream-like change in his sadistic plan, he had watched this supposedly second-rate freshman categorically destroy his seasoned players. By the end of the game his attitude was noticeably different. He was watching Artorius intently. His movements, his gestures, everything about him had changed. The man seemed to have a proud streak a mile long, but he recognized talent. Talent that he could mold into wins. Monson knew that regardless of how Artorius came to his attention or how young he was, Able would not allow someone like him to get away. Monson found it very satisfying to watch the coach walk over and talk to Artorius after the game. Finally, Artorius made his way toward the bleachers. He looked very pleased with himself.

  “Arthur!” bellowed Casey and Monson in unison. They looked at each other and laughed. Casey continued, “That was UNBELIEVABLE! I’ve never seen you play like that.”

  “It was rather impressive,” said Indigo. “Not that I know much about football, but you really were amazing.”

  Artorius seemed embarrassed by the attention and compliments—especially Indigo’s. Monson was willing to bet that were it not for the mud, they would have seen him blushing brightly. Artorius then left them briefly to change out of his gear.

  There was a bit more posing and congratulating upon his return, then the five of them, Cyann included, made their way back towards the dorm where Artorius could clean up and they could all get ready for dinner.

  “Artorius, I have to ask,” said Monson, as Indigo and Cyann headed towards the girls’ dormitory and the boys lingered near the entrance to theirs. Artorius stopped, pausing to open the door for a few other people including the boy in a wheelchair, who went through the door without so much as a “hello” or “thanks.” Monson stopped speaking for a moment until everyone else passed. “What happened to you that second half?”

  “Just got lucky, I guess,” Artorius replied, walking into the dorm.

  Casey and Monson looked skeptical. Artorius continued, “I'd like to say that there was an awakening. You know Casey, just like one of your animes. Like some untapped power came to me in my time of need, but I didn’t feel any different; things just happened to go my way. I truly just got lucky.”

  “Well, I hope your luck continues,” Monson smiled, shaking his head. “Because that was truly unbeliev—wait a minute. What’s anime? And what do you mean, an awakening?”

  Casey gasped, rather theatrically, thought Monson.

  “Oh no,” Artorius placed a hand over his eyes. He spoke with a rather resigned tone. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “Arthur!” barked Casey. “Why doth thou act in such fashion? Thine dearest companion, Lord Grey, hath not been educated in the world’s literary mediums. To not be acquainted with the writings of something so divine and so pure as Japanese anime…truly we shall not be numbered among his friends if we close our eyes to such an educational affront.”

  “Kay, first of all,” replied Artorius, obviously annoyed. “DON’T CALL ME ARTHUR. Second, I don’t have a problem with anime. Anime is great. I love anime. But! Do you really have to talk like that?”

  “Hold up!” cut in Monson before they could continue. “Before you answer that question—and yes, Casey, the speech was a little weird—would someone just tell me what anime is?”

  “Grey.” Monson noted thankfully Casey’s return to normal speech.

  “Anime is my lifeline. But for you to truly understand the ins and outs of anime and its potential world….” Casey trailed off while looking distant, almost as if he was conversing with some unseen individual. Monson thought he sounded drunk, though he realized Casey was probably just trying to be dramatic. He and Artorius waited until he finished.

  “I have it,” Casey stated in his best I’ve-come-up-with-a-solution-to-world-hunger voice. “I won’t tell you what it is. I’ll show you what it is.”

  Monson did not have the heart to tell him he wasn’t interested, and rarely had he seen Casey this excited. How could he refuse?

  “Does it have to be tonight?” inquired Monson, detecting in Casey's voice a proposal for an all-night exposé.

  “Of course!” said Casey “I can’t go on knowing that such deprivation has occurred.”

  “You’ve lost this one,” whispered Artorius, as Casey became progressively more extravagant with his verbiage. Monson and Artorius just laughed and trailed behind as they made their way to Monson’s apartment.

  Chapter 15- Here Come the Cheerleaders

  Over the next few weeks, things changed for Monson and his friends. Artorius was quickly inducted into the Legion’s ranks. As a result, some of the animosity towards Monson seemed die down, or at least lessen to a simmer. This in turn improved Monson’s everyday life at school. The jocks who had been so enthusiastic about harassing him seemed to find other interests, and eventually they regarded him with indifference. Monson still was the brunt of all kinds of mistreatment from Derek and his groupies, many of whom were on the football team. However, they were less aggressive these days as academic and other pressures started to mount on everyone.

  The official tryout for the Coren University Legionaries football team was held during the first week of September on the main field of the Battlegrounds. This three-day event was quite the spectacle and most of the student body attended; the school allowed them to by creating a “holiday” for the occasion. Many other people, including college recruiters, newscasters, and A-list celebrities came out to case the potential stars for this year’s team. Monson showed up, as promised, and did his little P.R. dance, even though he was still upset with Coach Able for what he did to Artorius. Despite this, he had made a promise and was not one to go back on his word. His actual part was not really that eventful. He repeated rehearsed answers to a few non-intrusive, totally expected questions, then was shuffled away so Coach Able could promote the team.

  Afterwards he felt annoyed. Not because of the Q and A; he gladly answered th
e questions, but because the reporters really didn’t care about what he had to say. They seemed more interested in gawking at him than anything else. He also felt a stab of irritation when Coach Able shot him his paternal smile after some reporter asked about their relationship. Monson couldn’t help but feel like a puppet in all this. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed at all.

  There was, however, an upside to this agreement: Coach Hawke. The man was absolutely hilarious, as Monson found out firsthand when Coach Hawke took over preparing Monson for his screen time with the journalists.

  “You have to feel your answer, Grey,” said Coach Hawke on more than one occasion. “Only then will your noble blood be seen—”

  “Noble blood?” Monson remembered asking. What was noble about his blood?

  “It’s an expression and declaration of your regal deposition, Mr. Grey,” responded Coach Hawke, as if it were the most obvious fact.

  “Right….” Monson snickered.

  Since all of their planning sessions proceeded in this manner, Monson and Hawke became friends. Honestly, Coach Hawke’s cheery personality made it almost impossible not to befriend him. In addition, he was one of the few people who knew about the falling statue outside The GM and was strangely protective of Monson as a result.

  Monson thought the actual team tryout was very interesting to watch. The running of the drills, the learning of the plays, and the countless repetition of movement made for an exhausting event. Truthfully, it was all for show. This “tryout” seemed to be more of a publicity stunt than an actual determining factor for avoiding the cut list. Coren probably flaunted the event purely in hopes that it would attract crowds to the campus. Publicity: It was all about publicity, an opportunity to show the world a glimpse of this truly elite institution. It appeared to work.

  The players played their hardest; Monson grew tired just watching them. He had to wonder whether there was a real chance for Casey as the varsity player appeared to be well established in their positions. Monson spent a great deal of time worrying about it. His concern was misplaced, however; Casey did very well, so well that even from the very beginning of tryouts it was hard not to notice him. After all, Casey was incredibly fast. The boy could run and displayed reflexes to match his quickness. On more than one occasion he left other players totally in the dust. His ability caught the attention of many a reporter, and it was this probably more than anything that caused him to make it all the way to the final varsity cut, when he was let go in favor of a senior. Casey was obviously better, but the boy was a two-year starter and his father was on Coren’s board of directors, thus school politics played its part.

  The big talk of the event surrounded Damion Peterson, whose appearance was unexpected, as it was obvious that he was already on the team.

  Monson was surprised when Damion appeared mid-morning on the second day of tryouts, at the entrance of a massive tent-like structure reserved for authorized personnel. He glanced around calmly as he surveyed the scene. Many in the crowd noticed him immediately, and their rapt expressions revealed the awe he inspired. Monson's view of Damion was cut short the minute he walked out of the tent and was mobbed by the waiting media and adoring fans.

  Monson was excited about Damion's cameo for a multitude of reasons. Mostly because it was the first time Monson had actually seen him aside from that glimpse the first day of school. Of course, since they had competed against each other in the Knowledge Bowl it wasn’t the only time, but it was the only time Monson could actually remember.

  Also, Monson found himself watching Damion just out of simple curiosity. The kid had drawn an unbelievable amount of hype as a student athlete. He was active in baseball, basketball and football, and people speculated that he could go professional in any of the three. He was a regular at the hottest nightspots in L.A. and New York despite his age, and supposedly occupied more covers of magazines than Michael Jordan himself. (Monson did not know who Michael Jordan was, but according to Casey, this was a big deal.) ESPN's local edition said Damion Peterson’s type of talent was “born once in a generation” and that very talent would be responsible for three state titles in three different sports.

  The whole celebrity things mattered very little to Monson. No, the thing that made him curious about Damion was that his only connection to him was the reason for much of his grief in the early days of school. Monson wanted to know about the guy. Was he as bitter as many of his classmates? How did it feel to have the world literally bowing down at your feet? What did the limelight do to you on a personal level? They were all interesting questions, indeed.

  Damion seemed confident but not haughty, unlike Derek. He was patient with reporters, answering questions with a smile, and was relaxed and friendly with teammates. He seemed very likeable—almost too likable, truth be told. He was also very good-looking, commanding the attention of just about everyone, male and female, wherever he went. Monson wondered if that kind of attention might be fun for a little while, but get old at some point.

  Monson also quickly discovered another benefit to Damion’s presence: Everyone left Monson alone. For the time being, the scarred little freshman Horum Vir was just not as interesting as the sports god. Monson definitely did not mind. It was nice to get out of the spotlight.

  Damion was always busy doing something, talking to someone, going somewhere. He moved from group to group greeting people, shaking hands, and smiling. All in all, he seemed just about perfect—either that or he was a really good actor.

  Tryouts proceeded in a quasi-circus-like atmosphere with sports stars and celebrities milling about the grounds. Monson idled the time away watching Casey, accompanied by Artorius’ almost constant chatter concerning the who’s who of famous people. They remained on the side bleachers away from the throng until Damion walked right by them. It was like magic. One minute there was chatter and laughter, then the next, silence, as Damion stood not ten feet away.

  It was a tense moment for Monson because he was not sure how the superstar would react to him. Damion’s eyes fell upon the two of them, despite the fact that he was attempting to divide his conversation among a half-dozen other people. Dirty blonde hair fell messily into hazel-brown eyes. His eyebrows were prominent, his jaw line robust, and his stubble masculine.

  Damion turned towards Monson and Artorius, who were both staring like deer in headlights, and waved. Then, his gaggle of girls and groupies in tow, he continued off towards a group of waiting reporters.

  “Was he waving at you or me?” asked Monson, looking confusedly at Artorius.

  “I don’t know,” answered Artorius. “I don’t know him personally, do you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Artorius looked towards the still-retreating Damion. “Weird.”

  “Weird indeed.”

  Damion's cryptic actions aside, the day passed with ease. Football and famous people were interesting to watch, even if Monson knew little about either. The excitement was something that you could cut with a knife as students mingled with the up-and-coming. Monson, much to his enjoyment, remained separated from it all. There were no dirty looks or whispered conversations. It was just Artorius and him, relaxing. Despite the respite from the normal tumult, he knew it was too good to last, and he was right.

  A horn on the loudspeakers announced a sort of entrance song like the ones pro wrestlers use when they are trying to be flashy. With the sounding of the first notes, the male population of the school went wild, as if some rabies-like virus suddenly infected them. They ran to the front of a large raised platform, literally drooling in anticipation.

  Artorius, who’d moments earlier left for the bathroom, ran up to Monson at a breakneck speed. He stopped suddenly and almost fell. He righted himself without missing a beat.

  “Grey, we got to move or all the good spots will be taken.” He pulled Monson up and started to move him. “Man, we aren’t going to be able to see anything if we don’t hurry,” he said desperately.

  “What aren’t we going
to be able to see?” asked Monson, “Artorius, what are you on about?”

  Artorius eyes bulged comically. “You don’t know?”

  Monson sighed; of course he did not know. He never knew.

  Artorius gave him a wide, slightly lecherous smile. “The cheerleading squad is performing, Grey. The cheerleading squad.”

  From what Monson pieced together, apparently a cheerleading squad was a group of girls that attended the various sports games to cheer for their school’s team, and apparently it was a big deal. It sounded kind of silly to him; why the games needed something like that was beyond him. Seemed like sort of a waste of time and resources. It was not until Monson saw the girls in their cheerleading attire that he decided how wrong he was.

  The cheerleaders wore short red skirts with gold trim that were cropped above mid-thigh, showing off their strong, tanned legs. Allegedly, the attire was designed to make their acrobatic feats easier, but Monson was sure that was not the only reason. Sleeveless white and gold tops that did not quite cover the midriff begged for attention from anyone fortunate enough to be close to the girls. Bright white shoes with no visible sock rounded out the outfit and gave the blatantly sexualized ensemble a wholesome touch that did not quite help Monson shake off the feeling that really, he should be averting his eyes.