The House of Grey- Volume 1 (13 page)

“Nothing, really,” shrugged Monson, “but she called me Hero. Though I guess she could have known that fact any number of ways. Don’t know, really; she was a little vague on the details.”

“The plot thickens,” commented Casey, rubbing his face.  He looked thoughtful, but quickly switched to confusion. “You certainly are full of surprises, Mr. Grey.”

Artorius swore. “I can’t believe you were talking to Taris Green! I know people who’ve been here for two years who haven’t even seen her. She’s usually on tour.”

Monson laughed; the opportunity was too good to pass up: “Yeah, I think she was kind of flirting with me.”

Both Artorius and Casey gasped. They stared at him in total and utter disbelief. Monson tried not to laugh.

“Come on,” Artorius finally said. “We can ponder the enigma of Monson’s popularity later. I’m starving.”

He started to move away but stopped suddenly, a pained look on his face. “I can’t believe you were
talking
to Taris. Freaking. Green. Bastard!”

Monson and Casey laughed and started walking, heading away from the group of chattering girls. Monson glanced over his shoulder as their pace started to pick up. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one.

Taris?

“Interesting,” thought Monson, and then twisting back towards his friends he pushed the encounter from his mind. 

***

“So that’s what it looks like in the light,” commented Monson.

Casey rubbed at his chin. “Yeah…are you sure you want to walk near that thing again?”

“It’s either that or just stare at it, and hope we get nourishment through some sort of osmosis.”

Casey nodded. “OK, but make sure that you walk a bit ahead of us.”

Monson glowered. “You’re too kind.”

The boys stood at an archway that marked the entrance to a massive garden and an even larger building that stood out like a mountain behind it. It took Monson a second, but he recognized it. The reception the night before took place in this building. It looked much different to him in the daylight. It helped that he wasn’t currently close to dying.  The gardens were amazing. Flowers of every kind were divided into neat rows as if guarding the stone pathway, and gave off an intoxicating scent. The stone paths and flowers surrounded grassy knolls where willow, oak, cherry and even pine trees grew, providing both conversation and congregation points. As if this wasn’t enough, Monson thought he also saw the beginnings of a brush maze on the east side of the building.  

Monson looked a short distance off to where he was almost crushed by the falling gargoyle statue.  The only hint of the encounter was some broken tiles and concrete, which a group of workers had quartered off and were cleaning. Pretty amazing, considering it happened only the night before.

“The Halls,” offered Artorius, sounding like he was guiding a group of over-eager tourists. “Though it’s almost never called that.”

Even Casey looked surprised at this revelation and inquired, “What do you mean by that, Arthur?”

“Don’t call me Arthur!”

Casey rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Artorius glared at him but continued with his narration. “Anyway, many of the students call it 'The GM' or 'The Dungeon'.”    

“The GM and Dungeon, huh?”  Monson chuckled. “What’s with all the nicknames? People at this school have too much time on their hands. OK…now I have to ask. Why do they call it that?”

Casey laughed, and even Artorius smiled.

“The GM stands for the Green Mile, after the movie,” said Artorius. “Apparently all the disciplinary offices are on the upper floors. You know, detentions — that sort of thing. The expulsion rate here has created 'The Green Mile' effect: If you get sent to the office at the very end of the hall, you don’t have much chance of coming out still a student.” He stopped, his gaze finding its way to the upper region of the massive building.

“You’re right, Grey.” Artorius turned to look at Monson, “people do have too much time on their hands. Anyway, The Dungeon nickname has to do with a prank that kids pulled on a freshman a few years ago. Something to do with underground tunnels and a dead body or something.”

“Craziness,” said Monson idly. He paused as the meaning of what Artorius said hit him. “Wait—did you say dead body?”

His question, however, fell upon deaf ears. At that exact moment, a large group of girls walked by giggling and eyeing the trio. Many of them looked Monson up and down.  He thought he heard Taris’ name whispered as they passed.

“For someone with no game and the face of a leper, you’re awfully popular with the ladies,” declared Casey, as if he was saying something some both witty and profound.

Monson went red at his words. “Shut up, Casey.”

“How do they do that little hip shake thing?" exclaimed Artorius, his gaze following the group of chattering females.   His head swayed back and forth with the rhythmic jive of the one of the passing ladies. A sober look on his face made him look very comical.

Monson laughed at his expression. But he also wanted him to finish. “Artorius, focus, you were in the middle of a story.”

“I was?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I just asked you a ques—”

“Good morning, boys.”

All three boys whipped around to see Mr. Gatt dressed in a crisp three-piece suit and standing in a semi-posed position, as if he wanted their approval.

“Looking sharp, Mr. G,” said Casey, looking critically at Mr. Gatt.

“Ahh, Cassius, your approval is most heartwarming.”

Mr. Gatt eyed Monson. “And how are you this morning after your encounter?”

Monson waved it off. “I’m fine. Accidents happen. Like I said last night. I didn’t get hurt, so don’t worry,” he said this more brusquely than he intended. Luckily, Mr. Gatt got the hint and didn’t say any more. 

Mr. Gatt gestured to them.  “Come boys, walk with me.”

Monson, Artorius, and Casey gave each other the merest of half-glances, and then fell into step with Mr. Gatt, who was already bounding towards The Halls with surprisingly briskness.

“Mr. Gatt,” said Monson, wanting to make amends for his shortness. “I was wondering, what do you teach here? Like…what’s your subject?”

Mr. Gatt gave him a quick glance but responded very casually. “Why do you ask, Hero?”

“Just curious, I guess,” Monson hoped he sounded offhand.

“Well,” said Mr. Gatt evenly, if you must know, I teach an experimental history course.” He smiled and added, “With the occasional P.E. courses mixed in for fun. You could say that I’m a dabbler in that field.”

Casey interjected, looking perplexed. “Experimental history? What the–” Casey stopped short and quickly looked at Mr. Gatt’s knowing expression. “I mean what does that mean? What can be experimental about a history course?”

Mr. Gatt smiled in a satisfied manner. “My history classes are both investigative and analytical in nature, not mere fact finding.  The students in my classes study legends, folktales and other mysteries, and look at the different factors that might have gone into both their formulation and perpetuation.” He paused, looking thoughtful, then continued. “For example, King Arthur. Who was he and how did he acquire his reputation?”

Artorius gave Casey a sharp look, as if to say, “
See
, I told you he existed!”

Casey ignored Artorius.  “I don’t get it. Why take the time? I mean really, who cares?”

“You should, my dear boy. It is not necessarily important to know just the facts or details of his life, his favorite foods, or things of that nature. What’s important is to examine the traditional points of view concerning him, and the sources of those points of view.  This helps us build both analytical and critical thinking skills. Once acquired, these skills will allow us to observe with limited bias, thus helping us to form conclusions based on observable fact instead of relying on preconceived notions. Which, I hope I do not have to tell you, is one of the greatest skills one can possess."

“If you say so,” conceded Casey.

“Sounds interesting,” said Monson sincerely. “Are freshman allowed to take this class or is it upper division only?”

Mr. Gatt smiled, surprised but pleased, while both Casey and Artorius stared in disbelief.

“I suppose you will find out soon enough.”
Monson could tell that
Mr. Gatt was trying very hard to hide his amusement “Freshman students have a six-period day. Four of your subjects are chosen for you: English, Math, Social Science, and Physical Science. You are allowed to pick two subjects on your own. I do not usually let freshman students into my history classes, but if the three of you really want in, I’m willing to make an exception. “

“I’m in,” Monson almost shouted, without even thinking about it. He liked Mr. Gatt and it would be good to have one teacher he already knew.

“Wonderful,” said Mr. Gatt, beaming. “I must confess, I thought even before I met you that I would probably be seeing you in my class.”

Monson wasn’t sure exactly what to say to this, so he said nothing.

“The Knowledge Bowl is an academic competition, a large part of which focuses on history,” Mr. Gatt said. “Only someone who studied very diligently
could have won that competition.  In turn, only someone that enjoys history would read so much about it. So naturally, I thought I might see the new Hero in my class.”

Monson nodded. “Fair enough.”

The group reached the first set of doors of the Halls and passed through, Monson holding the door for the others. At the second set of doors, Mr. Gatt stepped forward and grabbed the door handle, to let Casey, Artorius, and Monson pass in front of
him. “Ouch
!” Artorius yelled as he bumped into Casey. A stream of swear words came spilling out as he doubled over. He angrily mouthed through gritted teeth,  “Case, what’s the deal?” 

No answer came.

Monson leaned forward to see around Artorius. “Casey, what’s the hold—” He never finished the sentence, because one look was all Monson needed to know why Casey stopped.

Casey stood eye-to-eye with a pretty upperclassman girl Monson instantly recognized.  Curly blonde hair pulled into a half-ponytail partially hid bluish-green eyes that sparkled behind slightly shaded sunglasses. Kylie Coremack stood in front of Cassius Kay as a deer stands staring into oncoming traffic. Emotions ranging from regret and pain to indignation and outright disdain played across her perfect face. Casey’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he took a step back, gesturing to Kylie to move first. He looked away, avoiding eye contact with her.  She moved slowly, not taking her eyes off his, and her gaze softened bit by bit.  Casey simply stood unmoving, face averted as if he had suddenly turned to stone. Kylie’s friends curiously watched the silent exchange.

Monson felt like saying something, but with no knowledge of their past, decided against it. It would probably just exacerbate an already-tense situation. Finally, as if awakening from a trance, Kylie took notice of her surroundings. She realized that about a dozen people were watching their drama. This did not please her.

The understanding brought about an abrupt change in her demeanor. The condescending spitfire Monson had experienced in full force the day before flared back to life. Her eyes went from soft and tender to steely and cold.

Monson assumed Kylie meant to sweep past Casey, a look of maddening superiority re-fixed to her delicate features. Her presumed plans went awry, however. Still paying close attention to Casey but not to her footing, Kylie stumbled, causing the heel of her pump to break off.

Casey was the only one close enough to help and everyone there knew it. A moment of hesitation then, quick as a cat, he stepped forward and caught Kylie by the waist, inches from the floor. Kylie Coremack was not a heavy girl by any means. Nonetheless, it was a feat for little Casey to scoop the girl up in a flash and raise her to her feet.

Monson gaped at him.  There was no way that was normal. The strength and speed exhibited by Casey was truly unexpected, amazing…unnatural. Can people really move that fast?

What really caught Monson’s attention even more than Casey’s unexpected physicality was Casey’s gentle handling of the now thoroughly embarrassed girl.   Fingers filled with tenderness contradicted the scornful tone he used when he spoke of her the previous day. There was an obvious story here — a complicated one.

“You may want to be more careful,” Casey whispered. His voice was quiet and almost kind.  He watched Kylie right herself and check her appearance in the reflection of the windows. “I may not be here next time.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” snapped Kylie. 

“No, I don’t suppose you did.”

Palpable silence followed as Casey and Kylie stood watching one another before Casey silently turned around and walked to the door, parting the utterly perplexed girls in his way. Kylie just watched him go, her eyes slightly glazed as though she was looking right through him. 

Chapter 8 – Coach Able

“What the hell was that all about?” said Monson to Artorius in disbelief. After the scene with Kylie, Casey had beelined it to the nearest bathroom and was now letting out a steady stream of curses as he punched everything in sight. The other two left him alone and talked quietly at a distance.