by Collin Earl
“If you beat me, Damion. If.”
Casey turned to Monson and Artorius. “Did you guys catch that?”
“Yeah, Cyann almost took the Diamond’s head off!” exclaimed Artorius.
“No, not what she did; what he said.” Casey answered.
“Yeah, I heard.” Monson looked solemnly at Casey. “Back out of what? I don’t understand—what are they talking about?”
Casey answered, a malicious grin beginning to creep across his face.
“He wants to go out with her!”
Monson’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding!”
“No way.” Artorius added.
Casey laughed. “Think about it. Why would he be fighting her otherwise?”
He made a very good point. There was no reason to fight Cyann unless you were trying to hook up with her.
It was true. It had to be. Damion Peterson was jonesin’ for Cyann Harrison.
There was a moan from the crowd, then silence. The three boys swung their attention back towards the fray just in time to see Damion’s mock long sword soaring overhead and the tip of Cyann’s blade coming to rest on his throat. The two opponents stared at each other.
Damion’s expression was a mix of awe and admiration.
“Well played, Cyann.”
“You too, Damion.”
His gaze bored into her and seemed to intensify by the moment.
“If I beat you….” His words trailed off.
“If you beat me,” she repeated.
Cyann removed her blade from his throat. Damion looked like he wanted to say something, but was unable to as she turned from him. Indigo called her name, beckoning her forward to a waiting group of girls. Damion watched her go, following her every step as she walked slowly away from him. His behavior reminded Monson of something. He paused in an attempt to center his thoughts. He realized something. This had happened before; it was not the first match between Cyann and Damion.
Cyann’s gaze fell upon Monson. He lifted his to meet her. The timing! It was spooky, as if she was reading his mind or maybe his…mood? He shifted as he looked at her and she at him. This was making him very uncomfortable.
What’s going through your head, Cyann? What is it you’re thinking? he wondered. Nerves…confusion…gray…very gray…belief…pain…so much pain….
Casey’s voice jarred Monson from his reverie.
“Is there anything that kid can’t do?” His voice boomed as if it was coming from a megaphone. “Football, basketball, baseball and now bastardized fencing?”
Monson broke eye contact with Cyann as he looked towards Casey.
“What was that, Casey?” His eyes darted back to Cyann to get in a sneaky double take. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”
Artorius spoke up.
“It does seem rather amazing.” He looked quizzically at Monson and Casey. “But there is no way that was just natural talent. Someone taught him, just like Cyann. Someone gave him lessons. Someone with a lot of talent.”
“Hold up fellas,” said Monson before either could make additional comments. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Damion Peterson’s fencing ability,” said Casey.
“And who taught him,” added Artorius.
Appropriately enough, it was Damion who answered their question. He was again standing among his groupies and speaking to the very last person the three boys expected to see.
“I’m sorry. I did exactly as you showed me, but it appears that Cyann may have been holding back last time.”
Monson, Artorius and Casey looked on in disbelief, all of them thinking the same thing.
“Mr. Gatt?”
Chapter 19- Pudding
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Mr. Gatt taught Damion?” The voice of Taris Green exploded across the table.
Monson and his friends nodded.
She sat back, a look of total astonishment across her features.
It was dinnertime, mere hours after the match between Cyann and Damion. An odd assortment of students was sitting at a table in a back corner of The GM’s massive cafeteria. Taris Green, Indigo Harrison, and their circles of friends sat chatting with Monson, Casey and Artorius, meriting frequent and furtive glances by envious upperclassmen.
Monson looked around at the peculiar collection of girls. How the heck did this happen? he thought.
Dinner that evening began normally enough. Monson, Artorius and Casey were discussing the match when Indigo and her friends overheard. Indigo switched tables right away, while the others, including Ignace Ikeco, waivered before eventually joining them. Taris made her appearance shortly thereafter, with Coren’s upper echelons of sophomore, junior and senior beauties in tow. Taris venturing into the main cafeteria at all was unusual enough, but eating with Monson and his friends was something else altogether. During the subsequent conversation, Monson discovered that she and many of her friends had not actually witnessed the match, being among the few who either did not receive the viral invite or just could not come. Whether this was the reason for Taris’ sudden excursion to the dining hall, he did not know and did not feel like asking.
The outcome of the big match produced many questions. The first and most intriguing had to be Mr. Gatt. How does a history teacher understand the mechanics of medieval fencing techniques? Movie stuntmen learned that stuff, not high school teachers. Furthermore, how would Damion know that Mr. Gatt had this skill when it came as such a surprise to everyone else? And why go through all the trouble?
Actually, they all knew the answer to this last question.
Cyann.
After all, she was absolutely gorgeous with her black hair and icy blue eyes. It was more than her outward appearance, however. She expressed an inner power, an unflinching, unassuming strength that boasted absolute control. Absolute confidence.
Absolute confidence, thought Monson. He thought back to their conversation right before the match. He remembered the unsettled rhythm of her walk, an unsure step, a wavering thought. Discordance… a great deal of discordance.
Monson shot a glance at Cyann, who sat two tables away eating alone with earphones on and her face in a book. Monson studied her for a moment as she subtly swayed to the music of her iPod. Monson had the distinct impression that her interest in the book was not as earnest as it seemed.
Artorius continued telling Indigo and her friends about their discovery of Damion’s instructor while Monson watched Cyann. There was a huffy silence to his left, but he looked on despite Taris’ passive-aggressive objections. Unexpectedly, Cyann glanced his way and caught him staring at her. A confused expression, the same one he witnessed right before her match, stretched across her face. A loud voice rang out from his left.
“Grey!”
Monson shifted towards the voice. Indigo and her friends were staring at him. He scanned their faces. Did he miss something?
“Did you need something, Indigo?”
She laughed. “Grey, I asked you a question like ten minutes ago. Are you so entranced by my sister that you don’t even know when someone is talking to you?”
Monson sneered at the girl. “Don’t be dramatic; I was thinking about something else.”
“I bet you were.”
Giggling filled the air around the table.
Monson glared at Indigo.
“Funny.”
“I thought so.”
“So do you need something, Indigo? Or do you just like to annoy me?”
She cocked her head as she gazed at him while playing with a strand of her light brown hair.
“Yes.” Her tone sounded playful.
“Yes?” Monson’s tone reflected his weariness with this game. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I need something and yes, I love to annoy you.”
“I hate to interrupt,” cut in Taris, “but weren’t we talking about Damion?”
Artorius spoke. “Well, there’s not much more to tell.” The big guy was not doing well with Taris being there. He
was struggling to look directly at her. “It was amazing. I think we should leave it at that.”
Taris stared, her lush green eyes boring into him. “I don’t understand.” Her voice seemed tight, almost cold. “What is so amazing?”
Everyone’s gaze settled on her, including that of Artorius, who met her eyes for the first time since she sat down. Taris seemed to notice that her words were not coming off as exactly sweet; Monson could see it in her face. As if concluding that she needed to correct them, she spoke again, this time with a much kinder tone.
“What I’m saying is, I’m having a hard time understanding what is so amazing about another guy trying to beat Harrison.”
She ran her hands through her hair. “People trying to take a whack at Cyann isn’t out of the ordinary, even if it is Damion.”
Artorius shook his head as if to say that she was missing the obvious. “It’s not that he was fighting Cyann. Everyone tries and fails at fighting Cyann…it’s almost like a rite of passage. Silly if you ask me. I mean, I’ve never known a girl to have so much hype—” He broke off, looking towards Indigo, his expression proclaiming that he had said too much and was well aware of his mistake. Working through his embarrassment, he continued.
“Anyway, it’s not that Damion tried to fight Cyann. It’s how well he did.”
Taris, Indigo and their friends looked baffled by this. Indigo voiced their collective doubt.
“Why is that so hard to believe? Everyone knows that Damion is amazing at pretty much everything he does. Why would this be any different?”
“Fencing and other martial arts are vastly different from your average everyday sports. They aren’t something you can just pick up and become amazing at. You need talent, timing, balance, technique and most importantly, a master…a teacher. Sure, you can have all the talent in the world, but if you don’t have anyone to guide you, it’s all for nothing.”
The girls’ faces reflected their continued confusion. Monson picked up the conversation.
“Martial arts aren’t just kicks and punches, or swords and staffs. They constitute a way of life, a way of perceiving the world around you. Damion, or anyone else for that matter, can learn the strokes and practice them until his hands bleed. But unless a person is taught how to think like a warrior, training your mind with your body, they won’t be able to reach the level they’re aiming for.”
Monson’s gazed shifted towards Cyann again. “Cyann is a master, or really close to it. That wooden sword of hers echoes her heart’s strength and conviction. To be able to match her level, even for the briefest of moments, says that in some way, Damion’s heart and conviction are like Cyann’s.”
Monson stopped talking. Not that it mattered; he was not all that aware of what he was saying anyway.
Artorius took over as Monson’s words started to fade out. His voice sounded unsure, as if he was still working through what had happened.
“In short, what Grey is trying to say is that Damion must have put in an enormous amount of work researching a style and creating a game plan to counter Cyann’s strengths. He had to have found a teacher to help him, as no one learns that fast without one. And finally, he must have put in countless hours of practice to be able to keep pace with her as long as he did. That’s why it’s so amazing.”
A shocked silence followed as the words found their mark. Taris’ eyes went wide. She looked ruffled. Something that Monson, until now, considered impossible. Her friends whispered behind hands as a shared sense of awe settled over the table. They each thought about Damion doing all that just for a date with Cyann. Now that was persistence.
“Mr. Grey...hey, Monson, I mean….”
The unfamiliar voice startled Monson. He turned, looking down the length of the table. Ignace Ikeco was peering at him intently though her stare felt passive, glazed, almost numb. She spoke again, the rest of the group now staring at her.
“Can I ask you a question?” Her gaze did not falter and again her tone felt hollow.
Monson did not answer, but put out a hand as if to prompt her to continue. She nodded, acknowledging his gesture.
“I was just wondering….” Her voice was quiet but with a hint of eagerness. “How do you know so much about…well,” she struggled to find the word, “everything? Are you a martial artist? How about your knowledge of history? Nobody normal knows that much about history. My father and I were there when you won your scholarship. How did you win a competition that is well-known to be rigged?”
His jaw dropped. Talk about loaded questions! He did not even know where to begin. He did not know where the words and explanations had come from, he just knew these things. The words just came to him like a programmed computer, but he couldn’t say that, not to all these people. And what did she mean, “rigged”? The Horum Vir competition was rigged? Then how did he win? How did he make it into this bloody school? He did not know the answer to these questions any better than she did. What was he supposed to say?
He remained silent for a long minute. The table was quiet—too quiet. It felt as if the rest of the cafeteria noise was hushed, like an invisible sound barrier surrounded their table.
“I can’t answer your question Ignace, even if I wanted to.” He stopped trying to find the proper words. To his relief, he was saved the effort.
“Hello? What’s with all the serious talk?” Indigo butted into the conversation. “Why would you want to know about boring old Monson anyway? Especially when you could talk about someone like me!”
Laughter broke out among the girls. Monson joined in even though he didn’t think it was that funny. Relief streamed through him. He looked toward Indigo. Their eyes met. He was starting to realize why Artorius found Indigo so attractive.
But Monson was not out of the woods yet. Ignace seemed to be trying to say something. As she tried to speak over the noise, Monson noticed something.
Casey.
Up until now, Monson had hardly registered the absence of Casey’s laughter. Monson turned to where he was sitting. Casey was not paying attention, but poring over a notebook, writing madly.
“Casey. What are you doing?”
Casey put up a single finger in Monson’s direction and did not say a word. He finished his scribbling with a flourish of his pen, and then finally looked up.
“It’s finished!”
Casey gently closed his yellow three-ring notebook, clearly relishing in what he assumed to be the undivided attention of all around him. Monson looked at the rather unremarkable notebook. There was nothing on it that distinguished it from any other notebook a student might be carrying. He turned his head towards Artorius as he spoke.
“Finished? Finished what?”
Casey beamed around at the crowd at their table as they started to notice his and Monson’s conversation, yet still did not offer any explanation. Artorius shook his head, a serious expression on his face.
“His story,” said Artorius to Monson. He switched his attention to Casey. “You actually finished it?”
Casey’s smile grew more pronounced. “Yep, Grey was the inspiration I needed.”
“Hello?” A voice cut across their conversation. The three boys turned their attention to Indigo. She looked huffy and slightly red-faced.
“Do you realize that you guys have now been ignoring some of the hottest girls in school for the better part of five minutes?”
Casey gasped in a way that was almost certainly not genuine. “I’m so sorry. I will make sure I pay better attention to Cyann.”
Indigo’s face flushed red. Monson jumped in before she could start.
“What story, Casey?”
Casey repositioned his body towards Monson. Indigo continued to appear upset, though her friends looked like they were about to laugh.
“This is my screenplay,” said Casey with a proud nod of his head.
“Screenplay?” Monson peered more intently at the notebook in front of Casey. “I didn’t know you were writing a screenplay for real—what’s
it about?”
Splat.
Monson winced as mud-like goo oozed down his face. He heard laughter and jeering. He dragged his hand across his face to clear the viscous substance from his eyes. He smelled it.
“Pudding,” he announced, looking around at the shocked crowd.
“Who did that?” asked Artorius in a booming voice. The girls at the table recoiled as he stood up.
Not again, thought Monson. This is really starting to get old. He glanced towards the middle of the room looking for one particular individual. He saw him laughing with a group of friends.
Monson’s eyes became slits as he felt his heart beat a little faster.
Derek.
“That guy is really starting to get on my nerves.” Even through the pudding, Monson looked irritated.
Casey stared at him. “Why don’t I just beat him down and be done with it?”
“Yes, that would be wise.” Artorius cut in before Monson could say anything. “Why don’t you go and beat the snot out of the dean’s son? You would get kicked outta here so fast, it would make your head spin.”
Casey shrugged. “It might be worth it.”
Monson turned towards Taris, but spoke to the girls as a whole.
“We’d better go unless you all want to get caught in the crossfire.”
Muttering broke out among the various girls. He could tell they were more anxious for him to leave than upset by the prospect of a food fight. He glanced at Taris. She seemed unsettled and even a little upset, but she nodded her head in acknowledgment as she met his gaze. Monson, Casey and Artorius stood up and headed towards the main doors of the cafeteria.
“We’d better get out of here fast,” said Casey. He quickly glanced over his shoulder towards the middle of the room. “We don’t know when this is going to escalate.”
“Yeah, let’s get a move on,” answered Monson, annoyed. The pudding was starting to feel sticky on his face. “I want to wash this off.”
But a commotion behind them drew their attention. They turned around to find many students laughing, including Taris and her friends.
Pudding—lots of it—covered Derek! He stood up to wipe globs of the thick brown dessert from his head and chest, and he looked livid. Monson thought he might seriously lose it. He and the others laughed.
