Second (History Plays, Book 1)

15: but yet i will not yield, curse me, depose me, do the worst you can

Gaveston

The tournament is our last weekend before the Thanksgiving holiday, which lasts an entire week for us, ergo most students fly out Friday. My mother, by some miracle, has mailed me my ticket, so I am off home as well. I'm not strictly looking forward to it, I find. I've not been home since I left in mid august, and while it feels like the blink of a moment, I also can't believe how much I've settled in here. On Sunday, when we wake back at Rose and Swan, Edward idly remarks 'good to be home', and I realize he's right.
We are home.
As, annoying as it might be, these halls, and seas of crimson red uniforms, hot meals three times a day, my friends gathered around a table in the library, or in the Dover House common room, our little room at the end of the hall, with the steeped roof and foggy window pane, it's all become home. I have a routine. I'm rolling out of bed to go run about the hockey stadium until I'm properly awake, Clare and I passing notes in Chem and making dirty jokes about what the teacher says, Mr. Ambrose  quizzing me on history on Sundays, French lessons with Teddy largely consisting of me teaching him to swear in French. And of course, quietly crossing the room in my bare feet, cold on the wooden floor, to crawl into bed next to Edward, tucking my now cold feet between his calves as we both drift back to sleep on lazy Saturday mornings. Stealing kisses in the laundry room, my back jammed against the vibrating, cantankerous old washing machine. Hiding chocolates when the nuns come around to search our rooms and Teddy and I hiding as much candy as we can on our persons.
It's all home. It's a routine, it's me and my friends, real friends, laughing as we hide our secrets and race each other back from the sports complex. We don't all know each other's secrets. But we're closer. I have Edward now, and he's more than I could have asked for. And I have more than him. I have entire group of friends. I have the fencing team. I have a home and I'm—so happy here. And deep, awfully in my mind I feel like I don't get to be, but I'm angry. I deserve to be.
And I hate the idea that going home will break that spell for it to never return. I must force myself to believe it. The Rose and Swan will always be here, and we shall forever haunt these halls. As we graduate and all eventually leave, it won't matter that these sweet innocent school days are past. Because the happened, and our memories are ghosts that laugh and trip each other as they run through the halls. Forever having illegal poker games in the Dover house basement, or overly violent dodgeball house tournaments, or getting lost in the woods to share kisses under a canopy of golden trees. We got to have it. And so if I have nothing else to carry me forward. I have that. I am glad for every moment, even if they cannot last.
"All right, flight schedules home to celebrate Slaughter of Indigenous People's Day with close relatives," Mannix is drawing up a chart.
"Why do you have to remind us?" Edward moans, as he and I lay opposite the other, legs on top of each other, on the sofa. We're in the Dover day room, and the girls got a pass to come on the pretense of scheduling the holidays which apparently we are doing.
"You do realize we fly out tonight, right? You're aware of that? Gaveston, I thought you were preparing him," Clare says, sighing. It's Friday, technically we can stay but most parents fly us out on Friday night so that we are home for a full week, then we fly back next Saturday so we can get settled.
"I did, we chatted, then I had to prepare me, I packed his bags," I point out.
"I packed my bags," Edward says, indignant.
"With positive reinforcement," I say, kicking him a little. I had to kiss him for every single piece of clothing he put in. It was very ridiculous and he kept collapsing and claiming he couldn't do any more.
"Okay, schedules," Mannix taps a white board.
"What? I don't know," Edward moans.
"Edward and Kent and I fly out on a Red Eye at ten, we get into New York, because of the time change, at dawn," Clare says, checking Edward's ticket, "My mom booked all our tickets, so we're on the same flight but are on opposite ends of the plane."
"Why?" I ask, frowning. Currently, Clare is sitting on Edward's and my legs, for point of reference.
"Because apparently I'm a 'bad influence' on them and none of us 'make good decisions' 'especially not together'," Clare, clearly imitating her mother.
"Gaveston? Flight?" Mannix asks me.
"Oh um—seven, that reminds me, I've got to call a cab, does anyone have their number? I know one cab company and I took it here but I don't want to see that person again because it was embarrassing and I'd like, in her mind, her to think I've grown as a person by now and become more competent when I completely have not if anything I'm gonna be equally awkward so I'd sooner get someone else so does anyone know if there is someone other than Star Cab?" I ask.
"I'm driving you," Mannix says, flatly.
"No—you don't have to do that. My mother gave me twenty dollars for this ride back, I've saved it."
"Buy yourself clothes, or socks, or condoms, or eyeliner if you want to do the student body a favor. My car stays here, my grandpa flies up and drives with me it's not a big deal," Mannix says.
"It's—," I'm still surprised.
"I'm your friend, dumbass, friends give friends rides to airports, it's fine, what if your flight changed or something?" She says, writing it down on the board, "That's what we're doing here."
"Thank you," I say, quietly.
"So, Gaveston flies out at 7:00, you two and ewKent all leave at ten, anyone else?" She asks.
"No, we're it," Edward says.
"I'm literally right here," Isabella is sitting on the floor, repacking her backpack and rolling her clothes tightly.
"Isabella is also here," Edward says.
"I fly out at seven thirty," Isabella says, hitting him with a hairbrush. Not like, hard. Just enough to make him jump and nearly throw Clare to the floor so she lies completely on top of me.
"What seriously—?—-Father Thomas does not believe all of you act like cats when you do—," Coach comes in and glances around and is about to go find Father Thomas to tell him we're laying on each other like cats (again), but Mr. Ambrose stops him.
"We're going to focus—how many of you will be staying for the Thanksgiving Holiday?" Mr. Ambrose asks, looking at a list, "Each house will be having a dinner and decorating activities all week for the Christmas Holiday."
"Just me," Teddy looks up from his book, cheerfully.
"You're not going back with your parents?" Mannix asks, nicely. She means Edward and Isabella and me.
"No, my mother says no guests," Isabella says.
"No one wants to be around our family, Julia," Clare says.
"Not even us," Edward says.
"For one thing, my mother doesn't let people in her house, for another, my mother doesn't let people in her house, for another, you do not at all want to be in her house, Teddy knows this," I say.
"Right, you're sure he's the only one staying?" Coach Marlowe,  cheerfully, for all his talk about selling us to the highest bidder on the black market.
"Yeah," we all say, resignedly.
"I'll be here," Teddy says, nodding cheerfully because he and Mannix are the only ones with good families to spend the holidays with mostly because Teddy's family consists of our three radically different house fathers who will undoubtedly spoil him while we're all gone. "I'll help with all the decorating, even if I am an atheist—,"
"You're such a good kid—ow—," Coach obvious.
"Sorry, Father Thomas paid me to do that—," Mr. Ambrose, hitting him.
See what I mean?
"—I'll help with the decorating. Then, if time permits, can we make a trebuchet using mostly duct tape and try to siege the old riding barn?" Teddy asks, very hopefully, "And if no, can we do a really similar thing with a guillotine and melons?"
"If we get the decorating done, we can strive for both things," Mr. Ambrose says, smiling tolerantly. I know we usually talk about our other two house fathers, but it's pretty easy to corrupt this one too if it's to do with ancient warfare.
"Wait, are we really gonna do that?" Coach Marlowe, hopefully.
"So long as the individual who has custody of your single shared braincell doesn't prevent us on the grounds it's unsafe or something ridiculous like that," Mr. Ambrose scoffs.
"Oh, I can distract him," dismissively, writing on his list, "Right, Teddy, staying, rest of you—last chance—,"
"We've got plane tickets," Edward mumbles, miserable.
"Yeah, and tell me now if you plan on not using them it's fine if it's a surprise to the rest of the world, but if we're having paintball final death matches I need to know how many paintballs to procure," Coach says.
"A lot," Teddy says.
"Yeah, I know that but like—look, Teddy this would not be the first or second time one of those three—" pointing at Isabella, Edward, Clare "—came up with some weird stunt or other that involved not going home."
"I didn't know we were doing paintball," Mr. Ambrose says, looking at his list.
"If you're in, you have to swear your loyalty to the cause," Teddy says, very seriously.
"You've not got it on the list. I didn't know we were doing it," Mr. Ambrose, a bit hurt.
"Shh, if we're lucky neither does Father Thomas, nor will he till I hit him in the chest with a paintball and run," Coach says, without shame.
"We need more people to play, but he never agrees in advance," Teddy says.
"Yet history has proven he will seek revenge if drawn into the game unwarned, ergo creating a more interesting scenario where he just tries to smash paintballs in my face with his bare hands while the kids try to stop him," Coach says.
"Wow, you guys do have fun on school breaks," I say, a bit jealous.
"See why we cop out of major family holidays?" Edward asks, pathetically.
"We agreed as a pact we were being mature this year," Isabella says.
"Yeah, why did we do that again?" Clare asks, "I really want to know more about death paintball matches."
"Shh, first rule of to the death paintball is don't talk about to the death paintball," Coach says, finishing writing.
"You've been talking about it for ten minutes," Mr. Ambrose says, frowning.
"It's a reference, come on then," Coach sighs, "Let's see who else is staying."
"I think it's just me," Teddy says, cheerfully. We all glare at him.
"What?" He asks, innocently, "You guys have families."
"We don't like them!"
"And we will not have fun!"
"I actually like my family, though I really also want to chase you people around with paintball guns," Mannix says.
"I do too, even though I'm rotten at it—when the snow melts we have a school wide paint ball capture the flag," Edward says.
"Why do we only do it once a year? That sounds fun," I say.
"Because it takes Dean Alleyn a year to forget why he vowed never to let us near paintballs again," Clare says.
"Okay so, airport, looks like I'm taking Gaveston and Isabella first, then I'll come back for you guys," Mannix says. I wonder if all of them can fit in her car, then I decide not to question it.