The House of Grey- Volume 5 (2 page)

Next to this window was a door below a lighted arrow sign, which pointed up a staircase to a second floor. Judging by what was visible through the window, the stairway likely led to a viewing area that overlooked the dance studio. At the far end of that room were two people who seemed to be warming up for something.

The girl wore a black bandanna partially concealing a cascade of dark hair. She wore a black long-sleeve shirt together with black stretchy booty shorts that emphasized strong, tanned legs. The boy sported a bright red headband and tank top over white warm-up pants. Both were stretching in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror; the girl sat in a split, gripping her right foot with both hands, while the boy performed a series of leg lifts, throwing his limb into the air to touch his forehead. From where the three boys stood, the dim lighting made it impossible to identify either of the individuals.

The music was starting to die down, the song coming to an end. Noticing this, Monson quickly and silently pointed up the stairs.

Casey and Artorius gave each other a questioning look, but followed as Monson started to climb.

Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, they slowly and carefully moved up the stairs. The landing looking out over the dance floor was not very large, just a small balcony where spectators could watch the practice in comfort. The music restarted with the simple keystrokes of a piano.

“Grey,” said Casey quietly with confusion. “What are we doing here?”

“I don’t know.” Which was perfectly true. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“And I see why.” Artorius was transfixed on the two below. “You’re not going to believe this.”

He pointed.

Face still obscured by the lack of light, the girl made her way to the middle of the dance floor, stepping lightly with graceful movements. She took up her first position in the exact center of the floor, breathing deeply with her head bowed. She held this pose for a moment before stepping forward up on her toe. She swayed in concert with the gentle strokes of the piano.

“Huh, a contemporary piece.” Monson watched, his eyes following the girl’s movements.

“What’s that?” whispered Casey.

“It’s a type of dance,” answered Monson, distracted. “Often it tells a story with movement. You’re supposed to feel your way through the movements. Come on, Hollywood man—haven’t you ever heard of Mia Michaels?
Big time choreographer—dancer?
Nothing?”

Casey raised his eyebrow.

Monson rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the contemporary style is great. There can be really powerful pieces.”

And powerful it was.

  Violins joined the piano with tender, sustained tones as slight, fluttering finger gestures flowed out from the dancer to encircle all who watched. Other instruments added richness and complexity, eventually increasing the pace and the tempo of both the music and the dance. The girl flittered, towards the far side of the floor meandering in no certain direction but coming to a stop on the far side of the room. Her body was quickly becoming a whirlwind of action with powerful leaps and acrobatic spins. She moved with all the conviction and freedom of a wild animal; the dance was masterful and inspiring and perfectly attuned
to the
flow of the music. Suddenly, an abrupt movement called attention to the boy, unnoticed until now. It was understandable. The girl was so captivating that there did not seem to be room for anyone else. Monson’s focus on the boy was brief as the girl was now deepening her movements, making long, sweeping motions with her arms and legs. Frenzied leg kicks accompanied the music as it built to its all-important climax. On the other side of the floor, her partner took up a stance in the same spot the girl had begun her dance, and then remained completely stationary. Attention shifted back to the girl just as she completed a set of delicate turns.

Everything around her seemed to freeze. Monson did not know if she caused it or if it was his reaction to her beauty. He tried to keep his focus.

This girl
;
it was as if she was abandoning herself and all the freedom she had gained in the violence of her struggle. She was going to throw it all away, but for what? He attempted to figure out the answer; it seemed very significant.

He did not find an answer.

The girl turned on one foot a great distance away from her partner. She ran towards him, and as she neared him, tossed herself into the air, colliding with him just as the music reached its peak. Monson gasped; to him the lines that defined the two dancers as separate people seemed to fade, begetting a wealth of new emotions and possibilities. They melted together as one. The female dancer’s relinquishment of her independence told Monson that he, that boy, was her rock, her foundation, meant not only for support,
but
for enlightenment. He was everything—her everything. 

The three boys held back a breath of anticipation as, for an instant, all seemed well between the two dancers. The two just stood there, the boy cherishing the closeness and the girl hanging on for dear life. Then something caused their emotional connection to falter, and with it, their physical stability.

The boy broke.

He tumbled backwards, falling on his butt and taking her with him. It was then that Monson finally recognized her.

“Cyann?” he breathed to himself. He was at an absolute loss for words.

“Is that who I think it is?” asked Casey, his voice reflecting Monson’s own thoughts. “That couldn’t be the elder Harrison, could it?”

“I think it is.” Artorius strained on tiptoes to get a better look. “I didn’t know she could be that feminine. I’ve never seen anything like that. And coming from Cyann….”

“Hello, is someone there?” said a voice sounding from below.

The three boys ducked as they realized that they’d been talking a lot louder than they’d intended.

“What is it, Cyann?” asked an overly bright and
obnoxious voice
.

“I thought I heard someone on the balcony.” Cyann’s voice sounded as calm as ever. “Boston, you don’t think someone’s been watching us, do you?”

Casey mouthed, Boston Timberland? No way! He then put his finger in his mouth indicating his desire to vomit.

Boston did not miss a beat. They heard him spin around on the balls of his feet.

“Cyann really, can you blame them?” Monson could actually hear the cocky grin in the boy’s voice. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to watch?”

“Yeah, especially that last part.” Cyann’s tone was noticeably sarcastic.

Boston’s next words, inaudible to the audience on the balcony, sounded breathless. Cyann had that effect on people.

“Shall we take it from the top?” she asked, apparently losing interest in whatever she had heard. “We don’t have much time left and we have a lot of work to do.”

“Cyann, I have to admit that I’m surprised by your artistic spirit.”

Monson and the others peeked over the banister.

Boston stepped closer to her. “This piece is very powerful. I’m impressed.”

“There are a great many things you don’t know about me, Boston,” Cyann replied coolly. “I’m glad that you like it all the same.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Boston with exaggerated suspense. He took another step closer to her. “I have to admit, I find you intriguing, if a bit implacable.”

“Really?” Cyann’s voice remained even but a bit harder than usual. “And why do you say that?”

“The whole renegade chick thing. Now don’t get me wrong—I’m all for the mysterious when it comes to parties and circus acts.” Boston studied his reflection in the full-length mirror. He adjusted his headband. “But there’s really no need for that to attract people’s attention. Your looks already do that.”

“I’m flattered; I wasn’t aware.” Cyann stood totally stationary. “But whose attention do you think I’m trying to attract?”

“Now, Cyann,” said Boston playfully. “Why ask a question you know the answer to?”

He gave her a suave smile then continued.

“I have to admit, however, that I’m a bit confused at your choice of friends…and boyfriends. I mean, I guess I sort of understand the Diamond; I suppose he is popular and not all that bad-looking, and certain alternatives weren’t available to you at the time. But that freshman brat, the scholarship boy who looks like a walking corpse! Why would you waste your time on someone who is obviously beneath you? A beautiful woman should be with a beautiful man, someone who is worthy of such...grandeur.”

He took a third step towards her, then smoothly placed his hand on the small of her back, drawing her closer to him.

“I’m just glad that you came to your senses. And now that I have taken care of my little…obligation, we don’t need to waste any more time.” His lips slightly puckered, he slowly drew her into him, freeing her hair from the bandanna that held it bound.

Monson attempted to jump over the edge, completely ignoring the fact that it would have been at least a twelve-foot drop. Lucky for him, Casey and Artorius were there to stop him.

“No, Grey!” Casey clung to him, trying to whisper. “You can’t! Besides breaking your leg, do you really want Cyann to know that we were watching? She’d kill us.”

Monson was not listening but rather muttering to himself. “You pompous jumped-up jack—”

Smack!

In one dramatic motion, Casey, Monson and Artorius all flinched as

Cyann’s hand landed squarely across Boston’s cheek, fully, firmly and with total conviction. Boston recoiled from the solid blow.

“Boston,” said Cyann, her voice becoming very quiet. “It would be imprudent to speak of someone who you do not know or try things of that nature with someone like me.”

Boston acted as if a ten-ton truck had plowed through his living room. He was angry, humiliated and shocked, all at the same time. He had not expected this reaction from Cyann; that much was painfully obvious. An awkward silence followed, during which some of the arrogance evaporated from Boston. Cyann simply looked at him.

He cleared his throat. “Umm…yeah…sorry.”

“No harm done.” Cyann turned from him. “And I’m sorry that I slapped you.”

“Can ask you a question?”

Cyann nodded.

“Most of the boys in this school would bend over backwards for just a moment of your time, a kind word, or a simple gesture of acknowledgment. Yet, we see you with him—him and his other bottom-feeding cronies—”

“Dude, Arthur, I think he just called us cronies.”

Monson and Artorius whispered. “Shut up Casey.”

“And still you slap me and do nothing to him? Me? I must know
,
why do you spend time with that freshman, a freshman of no social standing, wealth, talent or culture? A freshman with absolutely nothing to offer you?”

Cyann ran a hand through her dark hair. “No social standing or wealth? You do know that Monson Grey inherited a one-third share in the Baroty Conglomerate, right?”

Boston’s expression plainly advertised that he did not know that. Not surprising
;
it was not like Monson walked around with a sign on his back that read “One of the richest people in the world.”

Boston started again. “I knew it had to be something. If he’s got that much money—”

Cyann cut him off. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“No, I don’t. If it’s not the money, I don’t get it. What could you possibly see in him? OK, I understand that he’s mildly intelligent, but come on Cyann, not a single guy friend in two years. I have watched you, you know. Why now? Why him?”

“
Boston…”
Cyann spun on the spot, her blue eyes boring into his. “Have you ever had a near-death experience?”

“What?” Boston blanched in discomfort. “No, of course not—I doubt that many people have ever—”

“I have.” Cyann quietly interrupted him. “Over and over again in my dreams. I fall into a place of the purest white where the clouds don’t just cling to the rooftops but are a part of them. At first it seems like Heaven itself has created a special place for my family and me, but then I realize that Heaven is on another cloud—in another dream. What’s left to me, Boston, are the stares of nameless, horribly disfigured people and the echoes of bloodcurdling screams. Because of my dreams, my peace of mind is constantly being tested and my fortitude at times is almost gone. I know no relief and in this, I was always alone…until he came.

“Now you want to know what I see in that boy? I will tell you. I see a boy who could have had everything but fell just a bit short. I see a boy who not nine months ago was almost killed—who almost died, Boston.”

She paused as her voice broke but was almost instantly off again. “Now, I see a boy who despite losing almost everything, his family, his friends, his literal self-image, even his memories…who smiles. Yes, he smiles. Monson Grey maintains a kind and loving demeanor, neither judging nor detesting. He’s overly simplistic in his thoughts and quick to anger, but it’s always accompanied with a sense of love and justice that warms the heart. All this causes me to sit and wonder what he really thinks and feels. What kind of pain does he have that he hides away? I wonder all this because I know the secret horrors that can visit you in the night.”