The House of Grey- Volume 3 (23 page)

Monson was not buying it. There was a story here and he wanted to know what had happened to her.  Nevertheless, he did not want to embarrass her or put her on the spot. He decided to give her a way out.

“You don’t have to say anything, Ignace.” Monson attempted to ignore the cynical expression quickly conquering her features. “I don’t want to pry; you can just forget I said anything.”

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?

wasn
t 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!!

it
s almost as bad as

ur “hot little piece” comment
..
.

if u r going to fish
for
compliments

u have
to
b
e

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

don
t try
to
knock other

people down
because
of ur

own inability to
smile
..
.

and didn
t i tell u

that we shouldn
t

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 didn
t realize u were such a

fanboy
...and don
t lecture

me about “smiling”

or being “happy”
…

what reason do

i have to
b
e
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 don
t know, how about

the fact that u r

breathtakingly beautiful?

why don
t 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.