The House of Grey- Volume 2 (3 page)

“
What a weird chick,” said Casey in disbelief. “Well, regardless of what she does to train, she hits like a bull.  I’m not going to be able to lift my arm for a week—” He stopped suddenly, horror spreading across his face. “Oh no…this can’t be happening!”

“
What?” asked Artorius.

“
I can’t believe this! Of all the crappy times this could have happened!”

“
All the times
what
could have happened?”

“
Tryouts for the Legion are on Monday!” exclaimed Casey. “There is no way I’m gonna be able to play with a bruised shoulder. That…
girl
just ruined my tryout!”

Chapter 14- Tryout

Monson’s next few days were some of the best and worst he had experienced in a while. The good: Casey and Artorius were awesome. He could not have asked for better friends. The bad: Derek Dayton was a terrible, terrible person.  

Derek, who just so happened to be Dean Dayton’s son, was a sort-of rival to “The Diamond,” and an all-around jackass. Monson was not sure what he did to rub Derek the wrong way, but whatever the reason, it was unforgivable in the eyes of Derek and his followers. Monson found out very quickly that he would have to deal with threats and taunts from every direction while walking to classes, during free time, and while eating. And of course, this was all in the midst of trying to navigate Coren’s huge campus and student life. Twice already, he had been the target of a one-sided, rather enthusiastic, food fight, the second of which was so widespread and out of control that the lunch workers called the Dean of Discipline simply to restore order.  What followed was both so unreasonable and outrageous that the indignation caused Monson to burn with anger every time he thought of it. The dean whisked Monson off to his office the moment he arrived and forced him to endure twenty minutes of incoherent ranting, during which Monson was not even sure the food fight came up. When the dean finally released him, he saw Derek standing just outside the office with a smirk that should have been punishable by law. All Monson could do was sigh in frustration.

Derek’s enthusiasm for harassing Monson came to a head when the rumors started. The chosen topic: Baroty Bridge, which Monson from the furtive looks and whispered conversations. Twice he found notes written by students in class that related directly to him and he even found his name Googled on one of the school computers. Most people, in the beginning at least, seemed to understand that Monson was one of the survivors of the disaster and his scars were a result of that tragedy. By the end of the week, however, the rumor making the rounds suggested that Monson was actually working for a foreign intelligence agency, went rogue, and was the one responsible for everything that happened at Baroty Bridge. This was especially stupid because no one knew
what
had happened at Baroty Bridge. And yet, the rumors continued to escalate.

The word was out: Derek and his groupies were after the
Horum Vir
and those who were in the way would get the same treatment.

The good news was that not everyone cared about Derek's influence. Indigo Harrison was very friendly and took time to talk to Monson, Casey and Artorius (much to Artorius’ delight), whenever possible. Taris Green was usually straightforward as well. Monson wished she wouldn’t be, as her high profile made him nervous and agitated an already tough situation. People—boys, mainly—did not like it when Monson talked to Taris. No one came out and said it, but he knew; it was difficult not to be aware of this.

Aside from the poor treatment and outlandish rumors, Monson really could not complain. He found two great friends in Artorius and Casey, both of whom made huge efforts to cheer him up. Brian was also trying very hard to be of service, giving Monson advice whenever he asked for it and bringing or making his meals when he did not feel like going to the dinner hall.  That is how the first weeks passed—with Monson wedged between friend and foe. He simply endured. It was all he could do.

One Monday morning, the August sun was delivering a rare gift of warmth and sunshine. Artorius’ private tryout was to be held that evening on one of the smaller fields on Coren’s eastern border. It was a perfect day for football and Monson and Casey were pumped. While Casey had spent the better part of the last couple of days moping around, he quickly got over himself in deference to Artorius.

At the designated time, the three boys made their way out of The GM towards the field where they were to meet Coach Able and Coach Hawke.  When they arrived, a not-so-pleasant surprise was waiting for them.   The coaches were there, but they weren’t alone, as about two-dozen of the Legion’s players were with them. The boys were dressed in full gear and looked intimidating. In addition to the fully armored players, there were many spectators on the benches and sidelines. This was turning into quite the production. Coach Hawke approached them, a large grin on his face.

“
Boys, in all of my years of teaching I have never seen the kind of solidarity and mutual understanding I saw just now as you forged your way towards this meeting. I commend you on your
—
”

“
Hawke!”

“
Yes, Coach Able?”

“
Shut up.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
OK, Grey,” Coach Able looked at Monson. “Let’s see what your boy’s got.”

“
Umm...Coach,” Monson sighed. He had to explain that Casey wasn’t going to be able to participate.
This is really gonna suck
, he thought to himself.

“
What, Grey?”

“
About the tryout…you see, Casey got hurt a few days ago….”

“
Oh yes,” Coach Able smirked, looking around at the players. “We all heard about his run-in with Harrison.” With a great deal of mock concern he continued, “I hope that Cyann wasn’t too hard on you.”

It pretty much went downhill from there. Monson had a tough time restraining Casey from jumping on the one man who could single-handedly destroy any chance he had at an athletic career. Meanwhile, Artorius was pumping himself up, readying his mind to confront players who were not only three years his senior, but also looked like they suffered from extended steroid use.

Coach Able turned to Artorius. He looked him up and down, leveling a beady, analytical eye at him.

“
Paine, is it? Arthur Paine?”

Artorius grimaced at the sound of his given name. He didn’t say anything, however, but just nodded his head.

“
All right, Paine. Suit up,” Coach pointed to a building entrance labeled “Locker Room.”

Artorius ran towards the locker room while Monson and Casey tensely waited for him to return. Encased in full football gear, he settled in with a big group of players kneeling around Coach Able.

“
OK, gentlemen,” said Coach Able, rubbing his hands together. “We're gonna split up into two teams: blue shirts and gold shirts, full offense and defense, quarterbacks in red. I want to see a three-deep stack with rotations every two downs. This is the real deal. Let me see it!”

While Monson had no idea why, he did not know the first thing about football. But even he could tell that Artorius’ team was at a disadvantage from the start. From what little he did know, he gathered they were doing a fourth-down start from the twenty-yard line and switching back and forth from offense to defense — or something like that. Artorius was playing something called a middle linebacker while on defense. The linebacker acted as a sort of second guard to the row of linemen at the line of scrimmage, which, indecently, was an invisible line that people weren’t allowed to cross until the game was put into play. The reason for this escaped Monson but it was what it was. When playing offense, Artorius was a fullback. After one of the large players called a center hiked the ball, a guy called the quarterback stood back behind a wall of massive players engaged in blocking the oncoming defense and either passed the ball or handed it off to someone like a fullback who ran towards the “end zone.” This end zone acted as a sort of goal for scoring points. Besides all of that, it did not really seem too difficult to follow.

Monson and Casey watched from a small set of bleachers in the exact middle of the field, not far from the sideline.

“
Hey boys, what’s up?” Indigo Harrison cheerfully greeted them as she sat down on the other side of Casey.

Casey turned toward Monson, giving him a stern look that plainly said that he did not want to deal with her right now. It looked like it was going to be up to Monson to carry the conversation.

“
Indigo,” he said in what he hoped was a light and friendly voice. “And to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“
Pleasure
? Why Hero, what do you mean by that?”

There was a rather devious tone in her voice.

“
It’s an expression,” said Monson, annoyed and still not looking at her.

“
I’m sure it is.”

“
Indigo.”

“
Yes?”

“
Are you going to answer my question?”

“
No, I don’t think so.”

Monson leaned out in front of Casey so he could look at her, hoping to instill by glance alone his annoyance. The problem was, it was not Indigo who was looking back.

“
Cyann?”

Now
that
was unexpected. Cyann was sitting next to Casey with Indigo leaning out from behind her. Casey was still oblivious to who was next to him.

“
You remember my name. Impressive.” She looked at him with a guarded expression. “How are you?”

“
I aim to please,” said Monson in a rather forced way. “And I’m good. How about yourself?”  He suddenly felt awkward and didn’t know why. Casey finally realized that Cyann was sitting next to him and stared at her while she spoke.

“
I’m OK,” she said simply. She turned to Casey. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. I didn’t get the chance to ask while—”

“
While you were pounding the crap out of me?” Casey glared at her.

“
I would hardly call that ‘pounding the crap out of you.’ I only hit you once and it wasn’t even that hard.”

“
Not even that hard?” Casey tone was one of outrage. “I’ve been sore for days. If you didn’t hit me that hard, then what’d you do?  Some kind of African voodoo to make my muscles melt?”

Monson busted into laugher.  It was obvious, however, that neither Casey nor Cyann thought it was funny. They both looked at him.

“
OK, I know you’re all serious and stuff,” he glanced back and forth between them, “But you have to admit that was funny.”

“
I thought it was funny,” said Indigo, again with her devious grin.  

Both Cyann and Casey gave her irritated looks before turning their attention back to the game.

Monson, not wanting to give Indigo any encouragement, followed suit, watching ruefully. Monson had initially suspected that Artorius was at a disadvantage; his team was smaller, slower and noticeably less talented. The longer the game went on, however, the more obvious the difference in abilities. Artorius and his team were receiving a good old-fashioned beating.

Did Able do this on purpose
? Monson wondered.  

A whistle blew and the two sides retreated to their respective sidelines. Artorius was visibly upset. He gestured angrily as he talked to the older guys on his team. They all seemed reluctant to speak to him.

“
There’s something wrong with this picture,” noted Monson, as he continued to watch the interactions between Artorius and his team.

“
You noticed, too,” said Casey contemplatively. “Artorius’ team isn’t as good; that much is obvious….”

Casey’s voice trailed off.

Monson waited for the rest of Casey’s thought, which did not come. Casey stared across the field as a very curious look crept across his face. Suddenly he turned to Monson and then turned back, his expression noticeably more confused.

“
Penny for your thoughts,” said Monson, leaning forward and looking back towards his friend.

“
How cheesy are you?”

“
Shut up.”

“
Thought you wanted to know what I was thinking.”

“
Changed my mind.”

Casey chuckled, but his gaze did not shift from the field. The game resumed and the pounding recommenced, with many of Artorius’ teammates recipients of some exceptionally hard hits. Monson was right; the other team seemed too good. Despite the performance of his teammates, Artorius was impressive. He was incredibly fast for someone so large and his hits appeared to have all the impact of a freight train. Yet Monson still had a feeling that something was out of place.

“
Casey, is there something that I’m —”

A particularly loud outbreak of noise from the surrounding crowd interrupted Monson.  It sounded like someone was calling his name. When he looked around, however, he saw no one.

“
What was that, Grey?” asked Casey, who seemed not to have noticed anything.  “Weren’t you saying something?”

“
Yeah…,”  Monson answered distractedly as he searched for the source of his uneasiness. “I was just asking about the match. I don’t know much about football, yet something about this just seems...off. You know what I mean?”

Casey looked at Monson, sarcasm all over his face. “Something about the ‘match’ is ‘off’?.”

Monson sighed. “I guess I was hoping you would be able to put into words what I was feeling.”

Casey raised his eyebrow.

“
Oh shut it, you know what mean.”

Their laughter came in a burst. Casey’s gaze switched back to the game and just then, Monson noticed something.