by Liz Thomas
“What criteria?” Roger blurted.
Rose smiled, enjoying the power she had over him. “I’m not at liberty to discuss, Mr. Huntington. Your legal counsel can go over the will with you if you like. I represent the late Mrs. Huntington, you understand.”
Roger felt his world spinning out of control for the first time in years, and once again, he was powerless to do anything about it. “I see. Thank you.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Huntington.” Rose said, “How about I come back a little later, when Cassilia is here? We can all sit down and go over this then.”
Roger nodded. “That would be fine.”
Rose smiled fully for the first time, revealing perfect teeth. “Well then, thank you for your time, Mr. Huntington, and congratulations. Your stepdaughter is about to become one of the wealthiest women in the state.”
Roger smiled but gulped involuntarily and nodded. Rose grinned like a shark and turned, and moments later, she was gone.
Roger whirled and headed up the stairs. It was time for Trina, Ramona, and Annalise to sober up. There was much work to be done.
Cassilia entered the museum-like classroom and was relieved to find it empty. No longer in the mood to please herself, still feeling dejected by Ashlynn’s betrayal, Cassilia made her way to the far left corner of the classroom, stopping to admire the other paintings that stood waiting on easels. When she reached her own, she gasped at the sight that greeted her.
The destruction was total and merciless; someone had first thrown red and blue paint upon her canvass, so much of it that the floor was a mess. Her painting was now completely unrecognizable. As though defacing it weren’t enough, someone had then torn it in half.
Her professor, a kindly elderly lady, was dutifully mopping up the mess, having set the ruined painting off by the wall.
The professor smiled and took a breath when she realized that Cassilia had joined her. “Oh, hey! Cassie!” The woman greeted cheerfully, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you arrive.”
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to frighten you, Professor Lindsey.” Cassilia replied softly as she approached slowly, “What happened?”
“Cassilia, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, please, please call me Lucy. It makes me feel old when you call me Professor.”
For the first time in a long time, Cassilia laughed. “Sorry, Lucy…old habit my mom got me into.”
“Your mom was a smart woman, then.” Lucy replied, continuing to tend to the sapling with gloved hands, “But you don’t have to stand on formality with me. You have a good heart.”
“Thank you.” Cassilia tried to take the mop from Lucy, who merely waved her off and kept the mop, continuing to work. Cassilia meandered over to her painting and looked upon it sadly. “What happened? Who did this?”
“Oh, I dunno. It’s like these punk kids sacrifice decency for money around here.”
Again, Cassilia laughed, surprised to hear such words from her professor. “Lucy! Those are your students!”
“Yes, and anyone who picks on something that can’t defend itself is a punk in my book.” She looked at Cassilia with a smirk, “You’re not gonna report me to the dean now, are you?”
Smiling, Cassilia shook her head, and the two of them took the small trunk of the baby tree and put it straight before packing soft dirt around it. “Of course not.”
After a moment, Cassilia asked, “Lucy…they didn’t hurt anyone else’s project, did they?”
Lucy knew where this was going and continued working, shaking her head. “No, honey, they didn’t.”
Cassilia sniffed. “Well, I suppose that’s good…” Her emotions got the better of her and she nearly began crying again. “Why does everyone hate me so much?” She whispered
Lucy sighed, stopped working, and placed the mop in the nearby bucket. She looked at Cassilia with blazing sincerity. “They hate you,” Lucy began, “Because they’re afraid of you, Cassie.”
Cassilia felt tears run down her cheek. “But why? It’s not like I bother anyone.”
Lucy looked as though she might cry herself, touching Cassilia’s face, “Oh, baby…do you know what most kids do when they graduate from here? If you wanna call it graduating? They go work for their mommies and daddies. They marry and breed little assholes of their own. They don’t care about anything or anyone except themselves. They don’t know how.
You, on the other hand, you care about everyone, even people who hate you. I don’t know how you do that, honey, but I hope you never change. You’re gonna get out of here and make the world a better place. You’re gonna be bigger and brighter than anyone here because you put emphasis on the world before yourself. They know that and they hate you for it.”
Cassilia nodded, grateful for the warm words. She clasped Lucy’s hand and lowered her head to the ground, “Ashlynn threw my clothes in the shower…” she whispered.
Lucy gasped. “That witch…I thought you two were friends.”
“I thought so too. I mean, she went to mom’s funeral.”
Lucy pulled Cassilia close, and the girl broke down in her arms. Lucy held onto Cassilia as she sobbed, clinging to her. As Cassilia released so much negativity, she realized; over the years, Lucy had become the closest thing she’d ever have to a mom again. “Thank you.” Cassilia whispered.
“Shhh, you don’t have to thank me for anything, child.” Lucy replied softly, rubbing the back of Cassilia’s head. “You’ll be fine one day, you’ll see.”
Cassilia nodded and pulled away. “I tell you what.” Lucy smiled, reaching into her pocket. She pulled forth a set of keys, removed a smaller one, and handed it to Cassilia. “You come in here, anytime you want, day or night, to paint or…” She rolled her hand, smiling, “…do whatever.”
Cassilia chuckled and raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious?” She replied, astonished, “Won’t you get in trouble for this?”
“Cassilia, don’t get it twisted. This may be the school of the rich and spoiled, but this is my classroom. I set the rules here, and if they don’t like it they can kiss my—”
Cassilia laughed aloud and held up a hand. “Okay, I get it.”
Lucy brought her close, and the two shared an embrace. “Thank you, Lucy.” Cassilia whispered.
The professor shushed her like she was holding a baby. “Don’t you worry about it, Cassie. After all you’ve been through, it’s the least I can do.”
Coach Doug Ruger’s office was situated high above Victoria’s football field, and located at the fifty yard line. It was not a climb for those out of shape, and he often made his players run up and down the stone steps that led to his office as punishment for a loss.
He was a stern, but fair man, only asking the best effort from his players and quickly cutting those who slacked off. He’d been employed by the university for thirty years, working his way up from offensive coordinator. He had led the school to many state championships, but his winning record was quickly being tarnished by the new Allan squad. He’d faced their emergent rivals three times in as many years and lost twice. Some said he was losing his passion for the game, and truthfully, the players closest to him, including Cody and Matt, had noticed that his passion had dropped off over the past couple of years. He didn’t even coach on the field anymore, giving Cody instructions through a headset.
Cody reflected all of this as he climbed the mountainous bleachers with Matt in tow. His knee had degenerated from mild irritant to full blown pain, and he’d nearly stumbled, falling back down the stairs more than once. He’d managed to hide the worst of it from Matt.
If they could just get past Allan this year, championship be damned, that would be an accomplishment. Coach Ruger could hold his head up high again.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. Of course, with professional scouts looking at him, Cody wanted to win the state championship. But he wanted to help the man who’d been there for him more than anyone else after his father died.
The coach’s office was
his alone, and he liked it that way. A gorgeous marble edifice seated high like a throne atop the field, it was large and comfortable enough to be resided in. Cody suspected that Coach Ruger did actually live there, from time to time.
Matt was breathing hard as they reached the top of the five levels of bleachers, stepping onto the winding cement walkway that led to the office. As they reached the top, Cody turned and smirked at Matt, who exhaled as he put his hands on his knees. “Hey, man.” Cody teased, “You okay? You want some water? Maybe a gurney?”
Matt glared up to him as he caught his breath. “Ha, ha. Funny man. You know, there’s two ways back down these steps.”
“You’d have to catch me first.”
“Well, if I don’t, Allan will.”
Cody laughed. “You prick.”
Matt stood up, smiled, and pushed Cody back down the walkway towards the office. “Come on, running man. Let’s go.”
The walkway wasn’t big enough to accommodate the two of them walking side by side, so Matt trailed Cody as they neared the office. “You sure you wanna do this?” Matt asked seriously after a moment. Cody nodded. “Yeah. The worst he’s gonna do is say no. And you’ve got my back, right?”
“Against Allan? Yes. Against Coach Ruger…I dunno.”
The two reached the heavy wooden door and Cody knocked softly. “Coach? You in?”
No answer.
Cody looked at Matt, who shrugged. “Maybe he’s already in the locker room.”
Shaking his head, Cody put his ear to the door. “No, it’s too early. He doesn’t start prep till exactly sixty minutes before a game.”
When he heard nothing, Cody knocked louder, banging the underside of his fist against the door. “Coach!” Cody bellowed with the same authority he used on the field, “You in there? It’s Cody!”
After a second, a soft, nonchalant voice spoke up. “Yeah, I’m in here, Cody. Come on in.”
Cody and Matt exchanged concerned looks, and then Cody entered the office first.
It had been a long time since Cody was in his coach’s office. The man had rearranged things. The oak desk was now at the window facing the field, allowing him a magnificent view of the football field from which Cody imagined he called the game. Coach Ruger had built shelves into the wall across from him, and stacked his many trophies on them. At the far left wall, beside a door that led to the bathroom, was a small cot with a simple sheet and pillow strewn about. At the wall to their immediate left was a bookshelf, most of which contained information on the sport and history of college football. He had written a number of these himself, all of which had gone onto become best sellers.
But the office, surprisingly, was a mess. It looked as though it was home to a teenage boy, rather than one of the most respected football coaches in history.
There were clothes everywhere, as though he’d gotten undressed and left the clothes where they fell. The shelves had an inch of dust on them, giving the impression that they were standing in a mausoleum. His desk was the worst, with crinkled, stained papers and open drawers as though someone had gone through it.
Horrified, mouth agape, Cody raised his eyes to his coach, who was ashen and looking as though he’d aged ten years overnight.
He seemed heavier, the lower half of his gut protruding out from under his tan sweater, his hands folded atop. His feet were crossed and propped up onto his desk and he was dressed in his traditional bright red jacket with matching cap. On the screen in front of him was last year’s disastrous outing against Allan. Cody winced as he remembered the vicious hit he’d taken from their defensive lineman. They’d lost that game by more than thirty points.
“…Coach?” Cody began hesitantly, “…are you okay?”
Coach Ruger smiled slowly as if he’d forgotten how. His eyes narrowed and his wrinkles accentuated. “Yeah, Cody.” He grinned, “I’m fine. What do you need?”
Again, Cody and Matt exchanged furtive glances. Cody then stepped towards Coach Ruger as Matt closed the door behind them. “I was kinda hoping to talk to you about today’s game.”
Coachj Ruger nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He mused, “We’ve gone over the plan plenty of times. Just go out there, do your best, and you’ll be fine.”
The fact that the man wasn’t moving a sense of urgency was disconcerting. “Yeah, well…” Cody continued, “…that’s just it. I don’t think this plan is gonna work.”
Cody was expecting the coach to breathe fire on him. Instead, the man actually laughed. “You don’t say.” He replied, lowering his feet to the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. “Do tell.”
“Hey, Coach, for real. You okay? You don’t look so good, and we got kickoff in like three hours.” Matt blurted.
The coach nodded but lowered his head. “Yeah, yeah, Matt, I’m fine. I promise.”
He turned, gesturing to the two empty seats at the other side of the desk. “Please, have a seat. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Matt sat first, taking the chair on the left.
“Coach, straight out…” Cody breathed, “…I don’t think we’re gonna beat Allan if I stand still. I need to move around. It’s how we got here.”
The coach looked at Matt. “What do you think, Matt?”
Matt nodded. “I think he’s right, sir.” He replied confidently, “I can protect him. The whole line can protect him.”
Cody pointed down at the desk, “Sir, the fact is, we all wanna beat Allan. We got here cause I was able to scramble around and make plays downfield with my feet when I had too. Why’re you having me stand still in this game? That’s what you did last year and we got killed.”
Matt held his breath as Cody blanched. He didn’t realize how angry he was about the situation until that moment. Even as he calmed himself down, he felt a burning in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. “I wanna beat these guys, sir.”
Coach Ruger was still a moment, and then fell back in seat so quickly that Cody thought he might fall through the window. Coach Ruger sighed, throwing up his left hand in resignation. “I know, son, believe me, I know. But my instructions come from someone higher up, and then from me to you. They want you to keep still, pick ‘em apart with your arm.”
“Why?!” Cody exclaimed, no longer able to contain his anger, “I’m telling you…Coach, you know! I can’t beat these guys by throwing alone!”
“The administration disagrees, Cody.” Coach replied in an infuriatingly nonchalant manner, “And your passer rating is against you. Your completion percentage is seventy-five.”
“We weren’t playing the number one defense!” Cody shot back, shooting up out of his chair. Matt rose with him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Cody, man, take it easy.”
“No, screw that!” Cody roared, knocking Matt’s arm away before pointing at his head coach, “These guys blew us out two years in a row cause I standing still! Why is the…administration…even calling plays? Aren’t you the coach?”
Coach Ruger nodded, his face devoid of expression. “Yeah, Cody, I’m the coach. But I take my orders from the guy that signs my paycheck. That guy wants you to stand still and…”
“And what, take a beating?!” Cody snapped, “That’s bull and you know it. We’re gonna get killed today.”
As Cody stormed off, Coach Ruger called after him. “Cody.”
At the door, Cody whirled.
“I know you don’t like it, but tread carefully, son. You’re not like these other kids with rich parents paying their way.” He looked up at Matt. “No offense.”
Matt quickly backed away, raising his hands and shaking his head. “Hey, none taken.”
“So what?” Cody growled, stepping back into the office, “What’re you saying, coach? If I don’t do what they tell me, they don’t let me graduate?”
“No, they’ll let you graduate, but you’ll never, ever play pro ball. They own the sport, son. You play at their leisure.”
“The hell I do.” Cody snapped back, “I’m gonna pla
y my game, my way. I’ll let the stats speak for themselves.”
“Where are you going?” Matt asked as Cody opened the door.
“Away.” Cody snapped back. He shot his coach a dark look and concluded, “Or does the guy that signs your check have a problem with that, too?”
Before Coach Ruger could answer, Cody stormed out, slamming the door so hard that the office rattled, knocking down two of his trophies.
Matt looked back at Coach Ruger, who looked at him as though Matt was supposed to be saying something. “I’ll just see myself out.” Matt said quickly.
Coach Ruger nodded, and Matt sped out of the office.
Cassilia had tried to force herself to start work on her painting again, but after seeing her hard work so brutally and hatefully destroyed, she just wasn’t feeling inspired. She debated whether or not to head home and fold up her stepsister’s clothes, but decided against it. She was already in a bad mood.
Lucy had tried to cheer her up by sharing her chai with her, but after everything she’d gone through that morning, there was only one place where she found peace anymore. Lucy had known what that meant, and excused her from having to attend class that day.
Three buses and two walking miles later, Cassilia found herself at the black, well-maintained Gates of Remembrance, one of the oldest cemeteries in the city. It cost serious money to be buried here, and the graveyard was in immaculate condition.
Head down, Cassilia entered the cemetery and quickly hopped up onto the grass, off of the road. The landscape sloped, and Cassilia made her way between glorious headstones as she moved down a small hill, heading towards a small, square-shaped crypt on its own island. Once she reached it, she pulled keys out of her pocket, searched for a bronze one, and then entered into the matching door with an Angel emblazoned upon it. After the lock gave, she pushed open door, which groaned in response.
She stepped inside and grunted, leaning against the door to close it. Sighing, she turned, facing the monument on the far side of the crypt. Three benches had been spread across the room; one on each wall, and then one directly ahead of her in the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through pink and blue stained glass bathed the room in a beautiful sunset-inspired hue.
