The House of Grey- Volume 2

by Collin Earl

  “Who threw that?” bellowed Derek, looking wildly around the room. No one answered. The tables of students were either laughing or trying not to laugh as they looked away from him. Derek’s eyes found Monson’s.

  Oh crap! thought Monson. Not good. He’s going to think it was me.

  Surprisingly, Derek’s gaze slid right past Monson to where Cyann was sitting. He scowled at her with an expression that was half-puzzled, half-enraged. She, however, did not seem to notice what was going on. She just continued to read her book. But there was something different about her.

  Monson felt a hand take hold of his shoulder. It was Artorius.

  “Grey, is Cyann blushing?”

  Monson scrutinized her, focusing intently on her cheeks.

  True enough, she was blushing.

  Chapter 20- A Unique Talent

  “I’ll meet you guys outside.” Monson motioned down the hall. “I need to clean up.”

  Casey and Artorius stopped short. They exchanged looks.

  “You sure you don’t want us to come with?” Casey asked.

  Monson snorted as he started to backpedal. “Of course not. What are we, a group of chicks? I’ll see you out front.”

  Monson headed towards the bathroom. Getting slathered with pudding was more than a little bit irksome. He was sticky and it was a waste of perfectly good chocolate pudding, something in and of itself totally criminal. But seeing Derek Dayton covered in the ooey-gooey goodness was worth every moment of his own sticky torture. He knew he was going to have to do something about Derek; he just needed to figure out what. Derek was an idiot, but also the Dean’s son. Truly a problematic situation if Monson ever knew one.

  Monson went through the door butt-first. He hated the main restroom for The GM, as it was absolutely massive. It was like trying to relieve yourself in an Olympic-size swimming pool.

  “But I don’t think you understand. It isn’t that simple. There are rules, you know—no, I understand your—but, no, it’s important that we— ”

  Monson stopped dead as a raised voice echoed throughout the bathroom. The speaker seemed to immediately notice his heightened volume and lowered his voice. Monson could no longer hear everything as clearly, but the tone still sounded frantic.

  “I told you. These things take time. We have to execute perfectly, absolutely perfectly—I understand that—no really, I do. Of course, he’s the last person I would ever want to disappoint after everything he’s done for me.”

  Monson held himself back, listening, then admitted to himself that the conversation was none of his business. He walked around the inlet and into the bathroom. Damion “The Diamond” Peterson walked into a stall just out of view. Monson neared the closest sink, turned on the water, and began scrubbing his face. The moment the rush of the water became audible, Damion’s voice faded.

  A few minutes later, waterlogged but decidedly less sticky, Monson groped for paper towels, feeling particularly stupid that he did not plan that step in advance. He struggled until he felt a bunch of wadded sheets shoved into his hands.

  Monson cracked open a droplet-flecked eye. The Diamond peered down at him with an unrecognizable expression. Clear, penetrating, but oddly concerned and a bit scared.

  “You look like you got into a mud pie food fight.” Damion handed Monson another bunch of paper towels, which Monson gratefully accepted.

  Monson quickly dried his face. “Not completely incorrect. But alas, it wasn’t mud. It was pudding.”

  “Pudding,” Damion chuckled. “What a waste of perfectly good pudding.”

  Monson agreed. “My sentiments exactly. However, there was some justice to the perpetrator—and not only in a poetic sense.”

  Damion smiled. “You, my friend, have been watching too many cop dramas.”

  Monson shrugged. “Recently I thought that being a cop would be sort of neat. You know what they say. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery.”

  Damion rubbed at his face contemplatively. “Who exactly says that?”

  Monson thought a moment. “You know I have no idea. We could just say that I said it and leave it at that.”

  Damion chuckled again. “That works for me.”

  His laughter died off after a few moments, and silence descended between them.

  Damion studied Monson; Monson felt inclined to stare back. This went on for a solid ten seconds before Damion, his expression becoming very serious, said, “Monson, I’m glad that I saw you. I was hoping you and I would have a chance to talk before the homecoming game.”

  Monson raised his eyebrow at the admission, which caught him by surprise. Why would Damion “The Diamond” Peterson, of all people, be interested in talking to him?

  Monson did the only thing he could do. He smiled. “I'm listening, Mr. Diamond. What can I do for you?”

  “Next week's homecoming game—are you coming?”

  Monson’s smile changed from genuine pleasure to downright confusion. “Why do you ask? If you’re wondering if I'm coming to watch you play, the answer’s probably no. But you won’t miss me. You’ve more than enough groupies to rock the house.”

  Monson attempted to regain his smile after his joke. He failed. Damion, on the other hand, laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. What I really need is a moral boost for the team.”

  “If you’re putting something down, Damion, you’re going to have to drop it a little slower because I sure ain’t picking it up.”

  Damion nodded. “Allow me to explain. Couch Able and I just thought since you and I competed last year that the other teams might think the school was divided, you know, because of my loss in the spring. The gossip blogs are already saying I’m downtrodden—beaten—whatever you want to call it. With me losing the position of Horum Vir, I now look…weak. It’s safe to say that our rival teams have a psychological edge. I’d like to take away that edge, using you.”

  “And me coming to the football game helps that how, exactly?”

  Damion intertwined his fingers together, making a bridge. “Solidarity, Monson. You being on the field, suiting up, and showing up side-by-side with me completely refutes those rumors. It’s all about us being seen together, working together for the good of the school.”

  Monson considered this. The explanation seemed slightly…well, stupid. There had to be more to this.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours, Monson?”

  I think you’re playing me like a sucker, thought Monson. But he did not say that. Monson shook his head. “I don’t know Damion, I’d kind of like to keep a low profile.”

  Monson neglected to tell Damion that he had already punched out a deal with Able to a similar effect. What Damion didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  “Monson?” Damion’s voice wasn’t angry; it sounded annoyed and probably exasperated. He was obviously used to getting his own way. “What do you say to coming to the game? You’d really be saving me.”

  And there it was. Monson could dismiss a great many things, but quiet humility? Nope, he was out for the count. How could he refuse?

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. I can’t promise I’ll be of any use. But I’ll be there, smile attached. ”

  Damion’s grin grew to epic proportions. “That’s all I can ask for.”

  He started for the door. Monson called after him.

  “Oh, and Mr. Diamond?”

  Damion stopped.

  “If I’m going to be kind enough to grace the football field with my presence, politeness dictates that you’d better win.”

  Damion glanced over his shoulder. “You’d better bring a camera, Mr. Grey. I promise this year’s homecoming is going to be a night to remember.”

  *****

  Casey popped Monson on the arm. “Dude, seriously. What took you so long? What’d you fall in?”

  Monson shook his head. “No, actually I dived in. It was the only chance I thought I had to get away from you.”

  “You dived into a toilet?”

  “And yet I stil
l smell better than you.”

  “Har, har, har.”

  Monson laughed before saying, “I ran into the Diamond in the restroom and we had a bizarre conversation. He started talking—”

  Monson stopped. “On second thought, how about we take this conversation somewhere private.”

  Casey shrugged. “Whatever you want, Bro-has.”

  Casey turned and looked at Artorius. “All right dude, I know you’re just dying to talk about it. Go ahead.”

  Artorius tried to play it cool. “Come on, Grey, not that your run-in with the Diamond wasn’t interesting, but what about what just happened back there? You guys don’t really think that Cyann threw that, do you?”

  The boys turned the corner and walked along the path leading back to the dormitories. Artorius was in a state of shock and having difficulty believing Cyann Harrison was capable of throwing a bowl of pudding at Derek Dayton.

  “There’s no way she would do that.” He looked wildly at Monson and Casey. “There is just no—”

  Casey interrupted him. “OK, time out Arthur.”

  Monson waited for his inevitable retort. It did not come, causing Monson to gawk. Artorius must be really frazzled. Casey continued his thought.

  “Why are you getting so worked up? Even if Cyann did throw that pudding at Derek—which by the way was hilarious—why do you care?”

  Artorius looked embarrassed for some reason.

  “It’s just that I….” He paused. “You see, Indigo said that—”

  Monson heard something in the distance and put up a hand. “Hold on Artorius.”

  Whatever the noise was, there were too many people around to hear it clearly. The boys walked a bit farther, reaching their intended destination just outside The Barracks. A shrill voice cut through the crowd’s chatter like a blowtorch.

  “You’d better get out of my face!”

  A massive bear-like boy stood in the middle of a group of smaller boys who were yelling at him.

  “Are those guys insane?” asked Monson.

  Casey shook his head. “Grendall? Seriously, what on earth are they doing?”

  Grendall, the center for the offensive line of the Legion, was a very big boy, and known for his fierce nature on the football field. Off the field, however, he was very mild-mannered, almost gentle. He did not react to the screaming boy standing in front of him, but remained completely passive.

  Monson nodded towards the crowd of people. Casey and Artorius closed in on the fray.

  “What goes on between me and my girlfriend is none of your concern.” A tall pasty boy with dull brown hair was up in Grendall’s face. He sneered at the much larger boy who was a sporting puffy bruise on his left cheek. “You don’t have any right to interfere.”

  Casey and Artorius noticed the bruise and exchanged significant looks.

  A small group of girls hovering just beyond Pasty Boy and Grendall’s hulking frame caught Monson’s attention. The girls surrounded a single figure. She, too, seemed to be nursing a bruised cheek and was crying softly. Tears flowed down her face as a red flush dulled the black and blue skin. It was plain to see that she was embarrassed by the current proceedings. One of the students tending to the crying girl stood up and stepped in front of Grendall, facing the other boy.

  “How dare you, Martin!” The girl’s voice rang out. “We should report you. And don’t think just because you’re the governor’s son that you’ll get away with this. You should be expelled.”

  Martin sneered. “Shut your hole, Emily. Or need I remind you, you’re a scholarship student. You’re here because of people like my father and by extension, me. It’s through our generosity that simpletons like yourself can even step on the grounds of Coren. Know your place. Do not presume to act with such audacity.”

  Emily laughed but her face burned red, reflecting the ounce of truthfulness contained in Martin’s words. She was not finished, however. “You and your money, argh! You know Martin, it’s a good thing that you have money because it’s probably the only thing keeping you here. It sure isn’t your grades. What did you score on our last math test, like a five percent?”

  Her accusation produced hoots and snickers from the spectators. Emily’s face was still burning, but she stood her ground as she leered at Martin. His face flushed as the laughter continued. He raised his hand.

  “Why you little….”

  Shock swept through the watching crowd as Martin’s hand came crashing down, aimed directly at Emily’s face. She closed her eyes and tried to shield her head. Monson sprang forward as soon as the action registered, but someone beat him to it.

  He let out a breath as Kylie Coremack appeared next to Emily. Ignoring the looks of astonishment, she held Martin’s hand in a vice-like grip, cranking it back with surprising strength.

  Monson studied Kylie’s face. She wore tinted sunglasses despite the dusky hue of impending evening. Her glasses, this time green and a little darker than the ones Casey took so many weeks ago, sat high on her face and gave her a cool and unconcerned air. But like the other times he had seen her, something about her posture seemed forced.

  “Martin, what seems to be the problem?” Kylie’s voice washed over the crowd. Martin eyed her with something close to wonder because of the fact she was touching him—even if he was in pain as a result.

  “Well—you see, I—” stammered Martin. He was having trouble answering her. The effect of her presence obviously was robbing him of his ability to speak. She gave him a cold smile.

  “Martin, don’t worry. I understand exactly what’s going on.” An intoxicating voice penetrated Monson’s consciousness. Chords of sound found his emotional and spiritual centers and stroked them softly, coaxing them into submission with their musical inflections. Whatever it meant, he did not care; it was bliss.

  “Grey.” Casey smacked him upside his head.

  Monson’s mind rushed back to reality but still felt a little hazy. He glanced around at the crowd, taking in the slack jaws and glassy eyes.

  “Martin….” Kylie’s voice sounded again. And for a second time, Monson felt the subdued vibration of rhythmic chords. For a second time, his thoughts drifted away from lucidity to a waking dream. Casey whispered to him.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Grey. Snap out of it!”

  Kylie continued speaking to Martin in a gentle coo. Despite the softness of her voice, Monson heard each word, each divine syllable roll off her pink lips. Martin gazed at her with glassy-eyed attention.

  “Martin.”

  His body seemed to slack as she spoke his name again.

  “Martin.”

  He turned his whole body away from Emily, who seemed oblivious. Kylie spoke again.

  “You and Elizabeth are no longer together. You will not talk to her again and you will never strike her or any other girl…ever. Do you understand me?”

  Martin nodded his head.

  “Answer me, Martin.”

  His words sounded slurred but he spoke with conviction.

  “Yes, Kylie, I understand.”

  “Then you may go.” She released him slowly and then turned to everyone watching. “You all may go.” She clapped her hands together. The gesture visibly drained her.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again, Elizabeth.” Martin’s words were forceful, now absent of the dreamy quality Kylie had elicited. Elizabeth did not look up but tears started rolling down her cheeks. He turned on his heel and walked away. Elizabeth looked up as he left. Kylie bent down and spoke to her, but Elizabeth gave no indication that she was aware of her presence.

  With nothing left to see, the spectators slowly moved away. Grendall shifted reluctantly. He stared down with concern at the crying girl, but he too eventually left.

  Monson, Casey and Artorius followed the rest towards the dormitories. Monson gestured to the other two to move them away from the entrance and out of earshot, and then barraged them with questions.

  “OK, what was that? What is going on? What just happene
d?” Monson gestured wildly with his hands, stepping in front of Casey as he did so. He was not sure whether to be impressed or disturbed. Nevertheless, the excitement of the situation had gotten to him. He had to know.

  Artorius spoke, sounding confused. “Grey, what are you getting so excited about? I know you’re from out in the sticks, but stuff like that isn’t uncommon, you know.”

  It was Monson’s turn to be baffled. “Arthur?”

  Artorius shot a quick glance in his direction.

  “Sorry,” Monson said almost laughing. “Artorius, do you really not know what I’m talking about?”

  “Of course I do,” answered Artorius indignantly. “Kylie just broke up that Jerry Springer scene back there and I’m just telling you that it’s not all that uncommon. Couples fight publicly all the time. You should get used to it. Though I’ve personally never seen one get physical.”

  Monson looked from Artorius to Casey, neither of them saying anything. No…there was something going on here.

  “Casey….” He repeated the name with a certain degree of pleading, “Casey!” But Casey shook his head. He did know something, but either could not or would not give it up.

  “Fine,” Monson said coming to a decision. “I’ll go and talk to her myself.”

  He turned around and started to walk back. Casey ran after him.

  “Wait, Grey.” Casey grabbed his arm to stop him. “You can’t do that.”

  Monson yanked his arm out of Casey’s grasp. “Why can’t I? If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I might as well get it from the source.”

  Casey had no answer for that. Monson turned and again was off. His friends caught up to him in a hurry.

  “Grey,” said Casey, slightly out of breath. He tried to jump in front of Monson but Monson moved a little too quickly for him. Surprised at his sudden agility, Casey shuffled to his side as he moved. “Can’t you just drop it? Why do you want to know so badly?”

  Monson answered without breaking stride. “Why wouldn’t I want to know? Kylie basically just brain-scrambled a few students and you play it off like it’s nothing. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not one to judge, but I have to at least ask. It will drive me nuts if I don’t.”