by Earl, Collin
Casey grabbed at an imaginary pen and paper, speaking as he wrote. “Note to self: Never ever let Artorius do any marketing, especially anything that has to do with naming things.”
Artorius scowled. “Shut up Casey. Don’t be jealous of my witty comments.”
Casey made another mark on his pretend pad. “Reexamine possibility of mental health institution for friend. The delusions are getting worse.”
Artorius gritted his teeth and was half a second away from throwing a scrap of bread at the still-writing Casey. He stopped as he caught a sharp look from Indigo.
Monson smiled and looked down at his own emptied plate. Artorius was right about one thing; that had been one of the best meals of his life. It was a good thing, too, as it gave Monson and Taris something to focus on other than the incredibly awkward atmosphere surrounding the royalty candidates’ table. Monson promised himself that if he got the chance he would punch whoever put together the seating chart for the Dinner of Elegance.
Everything up until the actual dinner had passed without a hitch. Dean Dayton had introduced Monson, Taris and the other royalty to the important people in attendance, quickly reciting a list of accomplishments and honors for each of the candidates. Monson did not even mind that his list was distinctly shorter than anyone else’s. In fact, he would have been just fine with a simple name. After his introduction, he took his seat at the center table in the massive dining area. Dean Dayton continued talking, welcoming guests and thanking sponsors, but Monson was busy worrying about sitting directly underneath the world’s biggest chandelier He could not stop the mental replay of the massive jumble of crystals and lights crashing down on him and his friends. He shuddered at the thought.
The chandelier was the main reason for his preoccupation, though his general uneasiness, apathy and weariness also contributed. Sharp blue eyes brought him back to reality.
The dinner had taken a turn for the worse once he realized who was also at the table. Apparently the dinner planner felt that it was prudent to place all the students together, so without any time to prepare himself, Monson found himself sitting directly across from Cyann Harrison. He should not have been surprised; Mr. Gatt did mention that Cyann and Damion would be sitting at the same table, but not that Monson had an assigned seat right across from her. It was uncomfortable.
Cyann did not appear to be in a good mood, as she had hardly spoken a word the entire meal. Directly to his left and not making things any more relaxed was Taris. She floundered through the meal with a distracted air. Across from her and huddled close to Cyann sat Damion Peterson. Damion also spoke very little, yet continually drained a Pepsi-filled wineglass, eyes narrowed in a somewhat irritated expression. It was hard to gauge how the sports star was feeling and Monson was not sure he really wanted to know. It didn’t help that the image of Damion plunging a giant knife into him flashed before him whenever the sports star shifted in his seat.
Monson did not know what to do so he continued to eat, reaching a gloved hand towards a basket of rolls glistening with honey.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Cyann’s voice rolled over him; quiet, but cracking like a lion tamer’s whip. “Why are you wearing gloves?”
Monson’s gaze shifted slowly from his bread to Cyann. Great. He was going to have to lie; he was a terrible liar.
“They were a gift from me,” said Taris, leaning into Monson and placing a hand on his neck. “He wears them as a gesture of affection.”
“That’s pretty sentimental, Monson,” Damion took another swig of his Pepsi. “I didn’t picture you as the hopeless romantic.”
Monson ripped his honey bread in half. “Yeah, there’s plenty that you don’t know about me.”
Monson felt an intangible crackle and turned to see Cyann and Taris glaring at each other.
“Good evening.”
Monson and the others stopped talking immediately as Dean Dayton took his position waving for silence.
Monson turned to face the dean but paid no attention to his words. Avoiding Cyann Harrison had just become his new priority; she was not one to give up and he did not feel like explaining the glove thing to her—in other words, what had happened to the scars on his hand. He could just imagine that conversation.
Monson inadvertently locked eyes with Casey as his visage slid over the other students sitting at their table. He did a double-take as Casey started to mouth something and pointed towards the dean.
“Saved by the dumbbell! Lucky!” Casey pointed at the gloves on Monson’s hands. “Take off the stupid gloves!”
Monson rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the dean.
***
Monson and his friends entered the main chamber of Coren’s Coliseum and gasped when they realized that—
“Did you know that the roof of the Coliseum opened?” Casey had to yell to make himself heard.
Artorius looked skyward. “Can’t say that I did. You don’t think that’s Baroty’s big announcement that Dean Dayton was talking about, do you?”
Casey shook his head, still staring straight up. “I doubt it.”
Monson turned towards his group, minus Taris, who had left shortly after dinner to get ready for the Imperial Showcase. Cyann and Damion had not hung around either and Monson was not at all sad to see them go. They all stood in the exact center of the Coliseum with the rest of their schoolmates, looking around the room with wonderment.
The whole space was completely transformed. The chairs, railings and even the slight incline were all gone. Now the students stood on dark cherry wood flooring in front of a massive stage littered with every instrument possible. Guitars, violins, keyboards, drums and even a grand piano glowed with a sense of readiness. To the far right, a giant glass-enclosed DJ booth held not one, not two, but three DJs, all hard at work at whatever it is that DJs work hard at.
Casey stared at Monson, plainly suggesting that he wanted him to answer the roof question.
Monson took another look around. “Do I ever know anything about this school?”
Casey gazed at him blankly.
Monson sighed. “Of course I didn’t know that the roof retracted.”
Artorius gestured skyward. “Pretty cool though. I don’t know about you but now I’m really ready to rock out.”
Monson and Grayson laughed. “Rock out? You?”
Artorius nodded. “Oh yeah. I’ve got moves you’ve—”
“Dude! Mr. Gatt. Check it!” interrupted Casey.
Mr. Gatt, appearing from seemingly nowhere, stood at the front of the massive stage. Wild whooping sprang from the crowd of students as he picked up a mic.
“It seems my reputation precedes me.” After another round of whooping, Mr. Gatt put up a hand to silence the crowd. “I will be the host for this evening’s entertainment. Long has the passion for life flowed through the young and vibrant! I would invite you all to take part as we proceed with this evening’s activities.”
Sly grins on many of the students’ faces coupled with nodding heads told Monson that he had missed something. He decided to let it pass. He did not have the energy or nerves to worry about something else.
Mr. Gatt shook his head in resigned amusement. “Ladies and gentlemen, students and teachers, stage one of the Spring Solstice will now commence.”
Casey rolled his eyes as he gestured towards Monson. “Well, let’s get the boring part out of the way.”
“The boring part?” asked Monson more out of habit than actual interest.
Casey answered distractedly while searching for Christy, who had been MIA since they arrived at the modern coliseum. “Yeah, stage one is the boring part. It’s the part of the dance that all the cameras and politicians see. There will be some waltzing and proper displays and then….”
Casey stopped, a wide grin dominating his face.
Monson waited for a punch line that never came. He repeated Casey’s last words. “And then?”
Casey clapped Monson on the should
er. “Can’t say, my friend. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.”
The music started as Christy finally found her way back to their group, her hair slightly disheveled.
“Where’ve you been?” Casey met her puffy face with mild curiosity as if he wanted to know but would not care once he did.
“Oh…you see... I….”
Students began taking up positions on the floor.
Casey waved aside Christy’s explanation. “Never mind. We need to dance.”
Monson watched as his friends left with their partners—all except Grayson and Marie, who seemed to be arguing. Grayson was twisting around in his chair to see Marie, who was cowering slightly behind Grayson.
Monson tried not to listen but failed, as their voices seemed to carry over to him.
“Stop acting like a maid for a minute and come stand next to me.”
“But I am a maid, my lord. What if someone recognizes me? No, it is much better if I stand back a bit. I would not want to disappoint your father.”
Grayson rolled back, lowering his tone a bit. “You know that isn’t how it—”
Monson quietly stepped away. He should not be listening to this. Taris should be about done; he should go and find her. Monson bobbed and weaved among the rich and privileged, feeling as out of place as a beggar at a wine tasting. He attempted to ignore the piercing stares of parents, and reporters who were not used to his appearance.
I’ve gotten soft, he thought. I’ve almost forgotten how normal people react to my appearance.
With a heavy heart, he peered through the many students dancing in their pristine refinement upon the cherry wood floor. Some were very good, gliding from pose to pose like muses. Others were not as talented, stepping on their partner’s feet and attempting not to trip over their own. Monson watched as Christy and Casey glided back and forth like ballroom pros.
His eyes narrowed. Stupid Casey, thanks for the heads up idiot, he thought. Monson made a mental note to punch Casey when he had the chance. A few feet away, Artorius was struggling. Monson focused all the more intently on the big guy and Indigo, who were stiff and awkward, yet seemed to be sharing a sort of moment; a look that would only be noticed by one who knew each of the participants particularly well. He did not know what it meant, but it seemed like a step forward for Artorius.
The splashy hem of a light blue dress caught Monson’s eyes.
“You look awfully lonely there, Mr. Grey.”
He shifted his body and squared up to Ignace Ikeco.
Monson beamed, pleasantly surprised. “Hey Ignace, it’s been a while. What have you been up to?” Up until recently, her leg had been in a cast from some mysterious injury she refused to discuss.
Ignace smiled a vibrant smile, incredibly vibrant; more vibrant than he had ever seen. It caught him off guard.
“Monson, would you like to dance?”
Taken aback, he recovered quickly and bowed grandly. “I would love to, my lady. Are you sure you’re up to it? How’s you leg?”
“Your observance of my injury is quite flattering Mr. Grey.”
Ignace led Monson out onto the floor, her brown hair bouncing playfully over her shoulders. She moved with authority as she forged a path to the center of the dance floor.
Monson took her hand.
Chapter 51 – Rescue
“Your leg appears to have recovered.” Monson pivoted with Ignace as they maneuvered around the floor in a simple but playful version of the fox trot.
“I’ve always healed fast,” said Ignace, her tone ironic. “Just one of those special features I have, you know.”
She squeezed his hand as he released her and she spun out. He quickly whipped her back into him, her frilly light blue dress subtly reflecting the lights of the dance floor.
Monson laughed. “Special features, you say? Well…I’m going to have to learn more about those.”
Ignace giggled.
Monson’s grin broadened. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a great laugh, Ignace? You should really use it more often.”
Ignace stared at him. “You know, you’re different than I thought you’d be.”
Monson stared back. “What do you mean? How’d you think I’d be?”
“I’m not really sure, but different than you are.”
Ignace gripped him even harder than before, really hard; extremely hard for such small hands. Her strength was a little surprising.
“You know, Ignace.” Monson grimaced slightly as he spoke. “You have really cold hands.”
Ignace’s eyes dropped to the ground as her grip slackened. Her hands fell to her side. She sighed. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
Monson caught both her hands in another one of those act-before-you-think maneuvers that he was becoming so famous for. He held Ignace’s hands in his own, drawing her a bit closer.
“I don’t know why that would bother you, but for me, I’m happy. Concerning you, I’ll take what I can get.”
Her face screwed up in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ll take what information I can get. I know so little about you. You have this funny way of keeping your distance. Not that I’m one to talk, but it’s nice to learn something—anything—about you, even if it’s just something small.”
He cupped his hands over hers and blew warm air onto them. Her face lit up like a stoplight.
He started to crack up as she pulled her hands back, her face reddening even more.
“I’m sorry,” laughed Monson. “That was totally inappropriate. I was just teasing you. Forgive me.”
“Oh, you were just teasing me!” Her voice brightened.
He took a quick half-step towards her, spinning her before she could object. He spoke as they twirled.
“I’m sorry I was so forward. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything. And I meant what I said; I’d be glad to get to know you better. Sometimes I forget how I’m supposed to act, even with my friends.”
The music ended and people around them started to clap. Terrible timing, as Ignace was just starting to respond.
“What was that?” asked Monson, unable to hear. “I didn’t quite catch it.”
Ignace walked away, shaking her head. Monson let her leave. He knew she was not angry; exasperated maybe, but not angry. He laughed. He noted the need to apologize again later.
Monson was just about to start towards Casey and the others when Ignace halted mid-stride. She glanced to both sides, then over her shoulder back at him. She about-faced and walked quickly towards him, stopping right in front of him. Her tawny-colored eyes met his in a stare that he held for what seemed like a long time. Slowly her eyes left his as she glanced downward along the lapel of his jacket. Small fingers brushed his pocket. She raised her mouth to his ear.
Ignace touched his chest, moving her fingers slowly. She spoke inaudibly at first and then in a soft voice. “Remember, in your most dire of times.”
She walked away from him without so much as an explanation.
Monson watched her retreat a second time in bafflement. “Remember? Remember what?”
As soon as he had said it, he found he was not at all concerned with the answer. Not in the slightest.
***
An hour or so later Monson was starting to get bored. After that first dance with Ignace, he had not danced much—not that it surprised him. He was partner-less after all; he glowered at that fact. Where was Taris? She could not still be getting ready. What was she doing, sewing the outfit herself?
He took a deep breath and tried not to dwell on it.
Thankfully, things seemed to be winding down as the important business people, parents of students, and A-listers began leaving for some adult-only party where Monson was sure that deals would be made and careers brokered. He took another deep breath; maybe he would buy an island somewhere and hire a model as his private tutor.
Monson rubbed at his face thoughtfully. Now that plan has some merit, he thought. Yet,
who to hire? Maybe he could sponsor a new reality TV show: Tutor an Ugly Billionaire.
Monson licked his lips. That sounded like a series that could be on Fox. Yeah, definitely on Fox.
Another twenty minutes went by with Monson deliberating on the difficulties of employing a model as a tutor. Deep in thought about the subject, he did not notice Mr. Gatt return to the stage. Mic in hand, he pointed at the students.
“Well, boys and girls…are we having fun?”
The crowd of students responded half-heartedly. Apparently Monson was not the only one bored. They should just give out the stupid awards already and let everyone go home.
“I’m sensing some dissatisfaction. What do you have to say about that, Ms. Green?”
Noise sprung from every corner of the Coliseum right as the lights cut off in mid-glare. The rhythmic boom of a bass guitar enveloped the crowd, growing louder in a climatic build. All at once, massive floodlights illuminated a huge hanging platform dangling far above the students’ heads, and focused on a single spot right in the middle. Monson, up on his feet now, rotated in a circle staring at the descending monstrous projection screens now facing the crowd of students. The screens flickered to life and zoomed in on the platform.
The hourglass figure stuffed in a green top and mini-skirt was instantly recognizable.
Taris.
The platform descended directly towards the students and incredibly enough, the stunt did not cause outright panic. The students simply moved out of the way for the platform, which touched down with a loud metallic clunk.
Taris stepped gracefully onto the stage and the students watched as the platform ascended.
Artorius rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Oh yes, OHHH YES. Let it begin!”
He scooped up a surprised but amused Indigo and spirited her to the dance floor. Casey and Christy followed soon after with Monson right behind them. The student body pressed up against the stage as, in another one of her magical displays, Taris launched into her performance.
***
