by Earl, Collin
In an odd turn of events Ignace’s face again altered. What was once cynical was now genuine. The change in her countenance was startling-it made Ignace come off a great deal more approachable. “It’s not that big of a deal, Monson. It’s just a little on the embarrassing side. I wasn’t feeling well this morning and I tripped, twisting my ankle when I did.”
Monson’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You’re kidding? And they thought it was necessary to put a cast on it?”
“Crazy embarrassing right?”
Monson shook his head. “Crazy weird. I’m not a doctor or anything but I don’t think they usually put on a cast unless you have a broken leg.”
Indigo broke in. “You didn’t break your leg, did you Ignace?”
A vibrating inside his school jacket distracted Monson from Ignace’s response. He grabbed for his phone, noticing the little flying envelope as he did.
A silly grin made its way onto Monson’s face. Taris.
He touched the read icon on his phone flipping of the clock function as he did. The time on the texts bugged him.
FROM: MY PRINCESS
hey loser face, did u c me perform?
wasnt i totally hot?
come on tell me i was totally hot! ;)
Monson rolled his eyes, but found the smile on his face widening dramatically as he touched the reply button.
TO: MY PRINCESS
taris, we talked about this...
nobody talks like that!!
its almost as bad as
ur “hot little piece” comment...
if u r going to fish for compliments
u have to be
a bit more subtle
Monson waited impatiently for the reply.
FROM: MY PRINCESS
so r u saying that i wasn’t hot?
first u don’t want to stare
at my boobs now this?
i get it...i’m fat.
i think i might cry :(
He started to chuckle.
TO: MY PRINCESS
that’s not what I’m saying!!
Monson sent the message and started to set his phone down when another little envelope flashed across the screen.
He cocked his eyebrow, whispering, “That was fast.”
FROM: CYANN
u have a really stupid
look on ur face right now
“What?” spouted Monson aloud.
Just as he said this, Monson noticed the name attached to the text.
It was from Cyann.
Monson suffered from an extended moment of blubbering confusion in which he tried to figure out what was happening. This text was not from Taris. It was from Cyann; but Cyann was sitting next to Indigo, which meant-
Monson’s mind raced as he reached his conclusion; he already knew what it meant. He shifted uncomfortably and brought his gaze up, leveling it at Cyann. She was already staring at him. Monson touched the reply button. Without looking down, he typed:
TO: CYANN
dont try to knock other
people down because of ur
own inability to smile...
and didnt i tell u
that we shouldnt
speak to one another?
Monson pressed the send key, not faltering in his current staring contest with Cyann. He watched as her gaze flickered downward to read his text, her eyes whipping back and forth across her phone’s screen. Her face changed as the ever-so-persistent scowl, Cyann’s trademark, deepened the longer she stared at the screen. She reestablished eye contact a half-second later as her fingers flew across the phone. Her message appeared moments later.
FROM: CYANN
oh so u can speak to
taris but not me?
i didnt realize u were such a
fanboy...and dont lecture
me about “smiling”
or being “happy”…
what reason do
i have to be happy?
Monson felt a pulse of anger. What did she have to be happy about? Stupid, ungrateful girl. Just look in the mirror, you’ll find plenty to be thankful for.
TO: CYANN
i dont know, how about
the fact that u r
breathtakingly beautiful?
why dont we start there?
oh and how did u know
it was taris i was talking to?
Monson pushed send and waited patiently as Cyann started reading. Her curtain of black hair obscured part of her face making just about any expression unreadable. Monson turned his attention to her body language, hoping that he might ascertain something from the nervous flexing of her hand or the pinky she was nibbling on.
Time passed-Monson was not sure how long. Minutes, hours, days, lifetimes; he really did not know.
Finally a message flashed across his restless screen, except it was not the one he was waiting for.
FROM: MY PRINCESS
so what r u saying?
u r in love with me!!!
i knew it
Monson might have been surprised, interested or intrigued if it had been any other time, but he could not let Taris’ teasing distract him. Not now.
His shoulders slumped, his attention drifting back to Cyann. Apparently she was still riveted by his last text as he found her in the exact same position, head down, shoulders hunched, face almost totally blocked from view. Truthfully, the only real perceivable difference in her state was that her knuckles had turned white with the grip she had on her phone.
He felt a renewed sense of irritation as he scrutinized her. Seriously, what was with this girl? In one quick motion, a motion that did not proceed through the regular internal checks of inappropriate and appropriate behavior, Monson picked up a tater tot and chucked it at her. It smacked her head, much of the cakey potato smushing upon contact. Another one of those long, everlasting silences settled over the moment, growing exponentially as Cyann raised her head. Monson met her flummoxed face with solid conviction. He could tell she was angry, or at the minimum, trying to come across as angry. Unfazed, he reached down to his plate, picked up a second tater tot, and tossed it at her. Cyann’s incredulity found new heights as the food hovered in slow motion. A hand, barely seen, flashed across his line of sight, causing Monson to blink in reaction. When he was able to focus again, Cyann was holding the partially smashed processed potato between two fingers, a half-smile breeching her lips.
He shot her a huge grin and a sideways glance. Shoot, he thought he almost had her there.
“Guys, shut up!” Casey’s voice interrupted the moment. He put a cupped hand up to his ear. “Now what do you supposed that is?”
A crashing noise flooded through the main cafeteria doors, answering Casey’s question immediately. The MIB army was back, marching neatly through the entrance and overrunning the massive cafeteria like ants on a pile of crap. Through the swarm of bodyguards, assistants and attendants, the CEO of The Baroty Conglomerate walked calmly conversing with his personal assistant, Aaron Gibson. Baroty, still dressed in his black suit, gloves and mask, strolled unconcernedly through the opened doors. His presence down shut any and all conversation like a plumber solving a simple leak. It was so quiet in the room that the clip-clap of a woman’s heel resounded buoyantly throughout the hall as Miranda Blake sashayed noisily behind Baroty and Gibson.
Baroty’s own conversation trailed off as he turned charismatically on the balls of his feet. He smiled knowingly as he surveyed the students.
“You know, if you all get quiet every time I enter the room you’re gonna hurt a CEO’s feelings.” Baroty sniffed playfully.
Monson almost started laughing. Here was one of the most powerful men in the country playacting in front of a roomful of high school students…while wearing a mask…
Sadly enough, Monson could not quite get his giggle to manifest. The atmosphere was still a bit too heavy for that. Baroty seemed to notice this, as next he said, “Not quite enough, huh? Hmm…” He put a hand up to his mask as if he were rubbing a
beard. Then snapping, or trying to snap, his fingers, he said, “How about a joke then? Let me think.”
He rubbed at his face again. “OK, I think I got it. Three nuns walk into a bar-”
A hand from behind shot out and spun Baroty on the spot. Ms. Blake had grabbed hold of him and whispered conspiratorially in his ear. Obviously the students could not hear, but it was not exactly rocket science to figure out what she said. They gazed on as Baroty pulled sharply away to look at Miranda Blake.
“What do you mean that’s a horrible joke? That’s a great joke!”
Ms. Blake grabbed him again, whispering for a second time. Once she finished, he stepped back to look at her.
“No way!” said Baroty, his tone disbelieving.
Ms. Blake nodded her head.
“You’re trying to tell me that all I have to say is ‘Coren University Football rules’-”
The main cafeteria at Coren University erupted with noise as all the football players, cheerleaders and bandies exploded into cheers. They whooped and hollered, clapped and clamored, yelled and yodeled, all for Christopher Baroty. The jubilation was infectious and eventually made its way around the room. Baroty made a flamboyant bow, smiling for all to see, and was met with a surge of stomping feet and smacking hands. Monson finally let that laugh out as he watched.
Things quieted and returned to normal from there as conversations broke out among the different groups and people returned to their meals. Baroty did not exit, however, but set out around the room meeting and greeting the different students.
“How does Ms. Blake know Christopher Baroty?” asked Indigo as she attempted to spy on them. “Does that seem weird to anyone else?”
“You sure are paranoid today,” replied Casey. “You seriously have issues.”
“Shut up Cassius.”
Casey glared at Indigo in a mix of surprise and confusion. “Why is everyone calling me Cassius? Your sister calls me that too.”
“What? You don’t know? Ha!” Indigo adjusted herself smugly. “I can’t believe you don’t know. Well, I’m not going to tell you-”
“Indigo!” interrupted Casey.
“Yessss Cassius.”
Casey smiled serenely. “You seem to be laboring under some sort of delusion that I care what you call me, but here’s an FYI. I couldn’t give a rat’s wrinkled butt.”
Indigo scowled and her cheeks flushed with anger. “Oh, Cassius. I don’t know if my sister hit you too hard or what-”
“Well, it’s good to see that the youngest daughter of Guy Harrison has inherited her father’s tenacity.”
Indigo froze, her face contorting ludicrously as she did. She continued to stare forward while everyone else turned towards the source of the voice.
Christopher Baroty smiled beneath his mask at the curious faces of the students, taking a step closer to their table. “You kids mind if I sit with you for a spell? This old body isn’t what it used to be.”
Two of Indigo’s nondescript friends slid away from one another to make space for Baroty. What followed was incredibly awkward. Baroty did not seem interested in speaking to the students about anything specific, or at all for that matter. He just sat there, glancing around periodically and grinning in an unconcerned way. The atmosphere took a turn for the worse when his goons closed in around him, levying their imposing stares on the students.
The gloom surrounding the table mushroomed as time dragged on, the passing minutes on the clock eking away, becoming excruciating to bear. Eventually Indigo tried her best to strike up conversation among her friends, but met with little success. No topic seemed significant or relevant while Baroty sat there. It was as if many of the mundane and petty concerns that hampered them daily lost all importance in the face of something bigger. Ultimately, the privileged teenagers were just a bit too taken by the mysterious Baroty.
Inwardly, Monson wanted to distance himself from the situation, escape to his room perhaps, but predictably, his curiosity beat out his discomfort. Baroty was a complete enigma, even more so than himself, which was saying something considering Monson could not remember much of his past and was quite possibly psychotic.
“So Baroty, gotta ask. What’s with the mask?”
Cassius Kay’s voice cleaved the atmosphere like a battle-axe. There were very few times in his life Monson could remember being totally dumbstruck, especially considering that his current lifetime was only a few months, but the moment those words left Casey’s mouth, he felt his throat tighten. They all waited anxiously for Baroty’s reaction.
To their utter amazement, he laughed.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Cassius Kay,” answered Casey. “But you can call me Casey; everyone does.”
“Kay, huh?” asked Baroty, looking Casey up and down as if to size him up. “That wouldn’t happen to be Kay from K.K. Securities, would it?”
Casey’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, that’s the company my great-uncle started.”
Baroty laughed a second time and turned abruptly to face Artorius, “So that would make you Arthur Paine, the son of Seline Pomerian, would it not?”
Artorius nodded slowly. “Yeah, but how do you know-”
“Your mother? I’ve met her a few times at her shop in Paris. Lovely woman.” Baroty’s attention shifted again, glancing at each of them in turn as he said their names. “So the heir to K.K. Securities, the daughters of Guy Harrison, and the son of Seline Pomerian. You all go to this school and you’re friends?”
Cyann, Indigo, Casey and Artorius all nodded their answer.
Baroty chuckled again in a very ironic way as he addressed Ms. Blake, who had appeared behind him. “Miranda, why didn’t you tell me that you had such influential students?”
Ms. Blake’s sardonic expression plainly communicated how disinterested she was in the proceedings.
Baroty ignored Ms. Blake’s silence and continued inquiring about the different students around the table. Monson had to wonder if he was reading too much into the situation, but it felt as if Baroty was purposely avoiding him, or maybe saving him for last. At long last Baroty turned his attention to Monson, cheerfully smiling at him and even going so far as to get up and move so he could sit directly across from Monson. It was about that time that an impression came to Monson. An impression that made him understand before Baroty said a word to him.
“And this is-”
“You know who I am, Mr. Baroty,” said Monson speaking in a low whisper. “You knew before you even came over here. So why don’t you go ahead and drop the act. You’re not fooling anyone. I know you’re here to talk to me.”
Although reading a facial expression through a leather mask was not exactly an easy task, Monson knew that he was dead-on. Baroty knew exactly who he was. It’s not like I’m easy to miss, Monson thought. Baroty was here for a very specific reason and that reason had to do with Monson.
“How did you know I was here to talk to you?”
“I don’t know. I just did. Something about your mannerisms told me.”
“My mannerisms, you say?”
“Yeah, your mannerisms.”
“Marques told me that you were a smart one. I assumed that was just book smarts, but apparently you’re just as good at reading people as he was. Is there anything else I should know about? Any other skills or talents?”
“Not that I know of.”
Baroty smiled. “Excellent. I’m not very good at dealing with surprises.”
Monson smiled back. “I’m going to have to disagree with that. CEO of the biggest Conglomerate in the world? I’m willing to bet you’re dang good at dealing with surprises”
It was an odd exchange. Small talk of unparalleled duplicity hid the true aims of either combatant. Christopher Baroty was careful in both word and gesture, doing all in his power to avoid revealing any sort of point or conclusion to Monson. The latter grew tired, so he just went for it.
“Not that speaking to you isn’t interesting or anything, but I have
a headache and would like to return to my room. So why don’t you tell me what it is I can do for you, Mr. Baroty? Why are you here?”
Baroty sighed and gave a defeated smile. He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table. “You have a bright future ahead of you, Mr. Grey, a bright one indeed.”
“Thank you.” Monson made to pick up the envelope but stopped right before he did. “You know you never answered Casey’s question, Mr. Baroty.”
“And what question was that, Mr. Grey?”
“What’s with the mask?”
“Read the letter and I’ll tell you.”
Monson’s eyebrow shot up. “How about a hint?”
Baroty smiled, but if Monson was being honest, the word “smile” did not really apply to the mixed, hollowed emotions curling the thin lips of Christopher Baroty. A smile is supposed to convey joy, happiness, pleasure and delight, any one or all of those things; none of these were reflected in Baroty’s expression.
He finally spoke.
“A hint? You really are like your grandfather, Mr. Grey. I’ll give you a hint. Let me just say this. We can’t all be as brave as you.”
Without another word Christopher Baroty stood up and left, Ms. Blake and Aaron Gibson in tow.
Thanks for reading!
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Oh, and don't miss Collin Earl and Chris Snelgrove's other titles:
HARMONICS: Rise of the Magician
Samantha Montgomery of Academy City 676 always dreamed of life outside of school.
Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for…
A rogue weapons manufacturer, a ruthless killer, and a schoolgirl converge as a weapon so advanced it defies the laws of physics is a mere breath away from being unleashed on the world. Now it’s up to Sam and some unexpected allies to keep it out of the wrong hands or risk loosing everything, and everyone, they hold dear.
