The House of Grey- Volume 3 (20 page)

Monson answered the phone, rubbing his head as he spoke. “Hello?”

It was Casey.

“I see you found your phone.”

Monson rolled his eyes just as they started to water. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Do you have any more morsels of information for me or did you just call to cite the obvious?”

“You said obvious twice in one sentence.”

“Casey!”

“Chill dude, I was just wondering where you are. So I ask the question: Where are you? It’s about that time. You aren’t going to want to miss this. Supposedly they’re going to tell us what the heck is going on. ”

“Whatever, I’m on my way. Save me a seat.” Monson ended the call.

He did his best to remove himself from under the desk, but quickly became frustrated. He closed his eyes as he stood up.  He was stressed, irritated, and now his head hurt. He kicked the box of wigs. It slid out from under the desk, but only barely.

Why was it so heavy?

As so often happened, his curiosity flared and overcame his aggravation. He debated with himself.

You just missed a close call. Do you really want to take a chance getting caught doing this?

Oh come on, nobody is going to know. They’re all going to the Coliseum, right? Just a little peek isn’t going to hurt anyone.
Yes it is, you should get out of here right now
-

Shut up you pansy.

Monson knocked his forehead a few times then shook it vigorously. He was arguing with himself. Wow, the evidence that he was crazy sure was stacking up.

He decided that there could not be any harm in just a quick look.

He slid the box out and placed a hand on one of the wigs. That group did not come here to see a bunch of wigs. So there had to be something besides the wigs, which also explained why the dumb box was so freaking heavy. He pulled the hair away in one jerky movement.

He gazed curiously at the remaining contents of the box. Dolls. The box was brimming with dolls. But not just any dolls; delicate statuettes, perfectly painted in the likenesses of their life-size models. Soldiers from every era
-
Greek, Roman and Egyptian, just to name a few
-
and animals of every size, many real but most mythical, were in the box.  While the miniature replicas of Roman gods and goddess stood out the most, all of the pieces sparkled with breathtaking detail. Monson made to grab one when another of the dolls caught his attention.

It was a miniature copy of a schoolgirl in a Coren University uniform. The detail was absolutely exquisite. Monson wondered if Ms. Blake made these they were under her desk after all. If she did make them, why was she not teaching Art instead of English?

Monson grabbed the statuette, intending to examine its dark hair and tawny eyes. 

Unexpectedly, something zapped him like a spark from an electrical outlet. To his own horror, he dropped the figurine. He tried to grab for it, but his reaction was slow and the small statue landed in the box.

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.” He stared at the work of art. He dared not touch it again. He leaned closer to see if he cracked the doll and was relieved that there did not seem to be any marks on it.

He replaced the wigs and pushed the box back under the desk. He made sure everything was in its place before he left the room and started walking down the hallway.

“Man, what a day,” he said aloud. “It’s not even lunch yet. I wonder what else is going to happen.”

Monson instantly wished he had not said that.

For some odd reason, there was fresh wax on the floor. Monson slipped and bit it hard. His feet flew out from under him in one of those comical fashions, his whole body almost parallel to the ground before slamming into it.

The air rushed from his lungs.

He lay there, his head and back throbbing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He sighed, or tried to, but was finding it hard because of his lack of breath. He closed his eyes. Was it Christmas break yet? Seriously, how much bad stuff can happen to one person? Shouldn’t there be some sort of rule about that?

“Monson, are you OK?”

Monson looked up, his eyes instantly wide.

The very first thing he saw were perfectly tanned legs and green high heels. Bright green
-
the kind of green that sparkled under stage lights and lit up on illuminated floor panels. Monson stared at the shoes.  Those were
so
not the heels Ms. Blake was wearing.

His eyes stared at the sharp point of the heel, tracing it up the ankle and perfectly rounded calf muscle. That calf muscle bulged rhythmically as its owner shifted her weight. His mind started to wander, but he forced it back, pressing forward with his determined discovery. He continued up the calf to the lower thigh until his gaze fell upon the frayed flare of soft, creamy material. He gaped at the hem of a mini-skirt, realization and embarrassment smacking him like a sledgehammer.  His lids snapped closed and his head turned to the side as his cheeks burst into color. He spoke to Taris Green with his eyes glued shut.

“Taris! How are you?”

Taris sounded highly amused as she answered. “I’m fab. And yourself?”

“My back and head hurt but besides that, I’m just peachy.”

“Yeah? Does your back and head hurting have anything to do with you being on the floor?”

Monson spoke with watering eyes. “Yeah, I slipped right before you got here.”

“Oh, that’s no fun.”

He laughed. “No, not at all.”

An awkward silence followed. Well, awkward for Monson. By the way Taris was holding back her giggles, she was thoroughly enjoying herself.  The patter of steps told him that she was moving. Relief engulfed him.
Good, she finally figured out why I'm squeezing my eyes shut
, he thought.

He opened his eyes and started to speak, only to see the same pair of legs even closer than before, literally right next to his face. They were so close he could smell suntan oil and some sort of perfume.  He dared not adjust, very much afraid of what he might see if he did, and instead found a small blemish in the floor to occupy his attention.

“Taris, what…what are you….”

She spoke from somewhere above him, moving her leg slightly as she did. The touch of smooth warm skin caressed his face. 

“Monson, why do you seem so fidgety?” She sniffed as if she were about to start crying. “And I came all the way over here to see you.  Didn’t you miss me?” 

Curse you, you redheaded devil woman
, he thought.  She was totally teasing him, getting a thorough kick out of his embarrassment. “You know dang well why I’m fidgety. Could you move, please?”

“Monson! You weren’t looking up my skirt, were you?” She attempted to sound scandalized, pressing down the front of her skirt in a very Marilyn Monroe maneuver.  “You do realize that would make you a pervert, right? Going around looking up girls’ skirts
-
aren’t you the bad boy!”

“That’s rich,” replied Monson. “You stand over me wearing a tiny sundress and somehow that turns me into a pervert. Yeah, that makes total sense.”

“Hello, it’s not a sundress.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

Taris giggled. “Are you sure you want me to move? You do realize who’s standing over you, right? You may not get another opportunity like this.”

Monson tried not to let his jaw drop. There was
teasing
, but what she was doing was just plain
mean
. Messing with the heart of an innocent boy
-
unforgivable! “I know exactly who you are and if you don’t move, I’m going to take a picture and sell it on eBay.”

“Oh you’re no fun.” She gave a little pouty whimper as she started to back away. He slowly got his feet as she did.  “You know Monson, you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

He lifted his eyebrow. He was not sure that was a compliment.

Taris continued. “I mean, you have to be the only boy in existence who would tell a hot little piece like me to get off of him.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I must be losing my touch.” 

Monson rolled his eyes and felt the red drain from his face as she backed away. “First of all, you weren’t on top of me
-
”

“Practically….”

He put his hand to his forehead feeling weary. This girl really tuckered him out. “Second, who seriously calls themselves a
hot little piece?
Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?”

“Isn’t that a show on the Cooking Network?”

Monson felt the tiredness take on a whole new meaning, but laughed all the same. Taris joined in, but it sounded a bit on the forced side, like she was not sure why she was laughing.

“It’s great to see you Taris,” Monson acknowledged. “But why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be performing at some sort of awards show?”

Taris nodded. “Yeah, but something bigger came up. So I had to back out.”

Back out?
thought Monson.
Are you allowed to do that?

Getting to his feet, Monson got a really good look at Taris’ dress. Not that he was completely oblivious to it before, but now he could see it in its entirety and was sure he was not going to be exposed to anything…inappropriate.

The chime of his phone signaled the arrival of a text message.

It was from Artorius. “
Dude, get moving. This thing is about to start. Apparently we’re going to find out who Molly’s mystery visitor is.  Move your butt
.”

Monson stared at the message, his face going slack and his mind starting to race. Why was Artorius getting all worked up? It was like Casey had pointed out, with a student body like Coren’s, what visitor could possibly merit such attention?  A gust of suspicion suddenly filled his mind as the dots started to connect. The group of MIBs, Molly’s visitor, Ms. Blake and the heavy-voiced man; it all had to do with the assembly. They were all related. The extra security was not because of what happened to Damion, it was for this unknown visitor, but that begged the question: Who was it?

“I know who’s coming.”

Monson glanced to his side to see Taris leaning in and looking at his phone. He almost took a step back. She was again a little too close. He righted himself before he spoke.

“You know who’s coming?”

She nodded her head, beaming. “Yep, I’ve known for some time. Apparently he’s a fan. That’s why I’m
-
”

“Dressed like that?”

She winked at him. “Bingo. I knew you were smart, even if you don’t take advantage of good opportunities.” She sighed again unexpectedly. “You know, you’re going to make a pop star feel bad about herself.  At the very least you could stare at my cleavage while you talk to me.”

“Taris!”

She started to giggle again.  “Anyway, our visitor is also a fan of Damion’s, though that’s secondhand information, just what I heard from my manager. Apparently he, Damion and I are doing dinner after my show.”

Monson interrupted again, confused as to what Taris was talking about. “You’re going to dinner with Damion? Where are your reservations? The hospital cafeteria?”

Taris cocked her head, giving him a sideways glance.

His eyes went wide. “You don’t know?”

Her eyes went just as wide. “Know what?”

Despite her teasing manner, Monson could see the truth reflected in her eyes. She really did not know.

Monson answered, “Damion was attacked last week. He’s in the hospital. It’s been all over GossipGuyblog.com.”

Taris rolled her eyes. “No wonder I haven’t heard. I never get on that dumb site. Not after last year.”

“What happened last year?”

“Never mind.”

She touched her lips as an oddly concerned expression edged its way onto her face. “He’s in the hospital? Who attacked him? And why?  What about the team? Don’t we have a huge game coming up? What are they
-
”

Monson touched her hand, which surprised both of them. “Taris, relax.”

He felt the tremble of hot skin and watched for a second time as Taris’ face altered. This expression was very different, anger perhaps, but equally enigmatic. It felt genuine, like maybe he was actually catching a glimpse of the inner Taris. This thought caused him to wonder: Was the Taris who sat next to him in Mr. Gatt’s class somehow fake? He raised his eyebrow without even realizing it. What an interesting thought.

Regardless, Taris’ concern really threw off Monson. He never knew she liked football so much.

Taris turned on her heel and tried to take off a little faster than her pointy shoes would allow. Monson reacted as she started to slip, grabbing her around the waist and wrapping her up in his arms.

“I’ve got you Taris.”