The House of Grey- Volume 2 (5 page)

“
Arthur?” said Monson weakly. “Arthur…they…they’re trying to…hurt you. I’m so sorry....”

“
I know,” said Artorius. “But don’t worry.”

Monson was hearing the words and processing them. He felt. He could feel.

“
What? How am I not supposed to worry?”

Artorius smiled. “Don’t worry, because
I won’t lose.
”

Monson stared at him.
Artorius, you big dumb oaf, you’re going to get yourself killed.
 

Killed…killed…
echoed over and over again in his mind.

His arm felt a reassuring pressure. Monson turned his head to see Casey, who gave him a warm smile. Monson did his best to return it.

They settled him back on the bleachers, where Indigo and even Cyann looked concerned.  A number of others seemed to be interested in what was going on as well.  Artorius made sure that Monson was stable before returning to the sideline.

“
Hey Grey!” he shouted as he started to walk back towards the huddle.

“
Yeah?”

Artorius looked back over his shoulder and smiled.

“
Don’t call me Arthur!”

That particular huddle seemed to last a lifetime. There was a lot of gesturing and frantic waving. It was apparent Artorius’ teammates were angry, but
why
they were angry was the question.  Finally, the players lined up on the ball.  More angry muttering echoed from all around, this time from some of the spectators.  People seemed to be complaining about the tenacity of this freshman and how ridiculous it was that the tryout was even taking place.  Glaring looks came in spades as a receiver went into motion.  Artorius came out from his position behind the defensive line and lined up.

“
Hut, Hut, HIKE!”

Artorius burst off the line like a thundering bull, bending slightly as his hands collided with his opponent’s chest. The two players stood motionless, locked for the briefest of seconds. Then, with a surge of strength so palpable it was as if the very ground was shaking, Artorius sent the much larger opponent flying back several yards.  He hit the mud, slid and did not get up. A collective gasp arose from the crowd.   Shocked by this turn of events, a wide receiver coming in for a block was less than a yard from Artorius, and could not adjust his pace. Artorius caught him with a beefy arm.
Smack!
Artorius laid him out flat with a clothesline, the wide receiver doing a theatrical back flip like in a martial arts movie. He grunted, the air rushing out of his lungs as he hit the ground.  Unfazed, Artorius went after the quarterback, knocking down two linemen in his way. When he reached the quarterback, Artorius absolutely crushed him.

 
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 the 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.