R3 (History Plays, Book 7)

6: go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return

Richard

What have you been up to all day? I've hardly seen you. No matter. Things are going mostly according to plan. Though now I do remember why I despise this place.
The crowded halls are near impossible to navigate my chair in, however based off the number of people who get their feet run over trying to stop my wheels, I remember it's a good thing I didn't use crutches today. I'd have been flat on my face within the hour. Three people call me a cripple, and I hear the word 'hunchback' more than twice which is two times too many.
The Bard's new goalie thinks he's something special, I think he's been properly put in his place though. Lizzie hissed to me that she'd take care of him. She'd better. I am not of the humor to deal with insolence today.
"Ignore them," Buckingham puts a hand on my head to physically stop me from looking at a couple of freshman who were looking at me and giggling.
"They called me—" hunchback.
"And we are going to ignore them. They'll learn soon enough," he says, messing up my hair. I swat at his hand, something like a smile on my face. He's been at this since well, since I can remember. For whatever reason, he was the only child who wanted to sit with the boy who couldn't walk or run, who would rather stay inside and read than go out and play with all the others. And he's stayed by me ever since. When perhaps no one else does. Not without manipulation anyway. Not him, though. He doesn't need my words or even threats. He's just here. I don't know why, perhaps its something I won't truly understand until he does tire of me leave. But he hasn't yet.

Richmond

The rest of the day passes in a blur of classes and assignments. Lizzie is in about half of my classes and I identify Bards members in the rest. True to her prediction, most of them wear leather jackets similar to Richard's. I grow increasingly apprehensive as the day goes on. I just want to go and skate and clear my head. I've got no enemies here.
Lizzie shows up to escort me to the locker room. I would be offended, but in truth I'm utterly lost. Globe Prep has a nonsensical hall and numbering system and I've mostly found my way around by avoiding people who I don't want to talk to.
Buckingham is already in the locker room when I get there, as usual talking with Richard. Why is he ah---here? He can't, um, skate. Oh well, I'm not about to ask.
There's a main room, then two separate showers, one for the males one for the females. Lizzie shoves me toward the proper changing room. My gear is already there, and my skates. I dropped them off last week at orientation. Well, these are my good skates. I have an old pair at home that I practice with.
My jersey is hung up and waiting for me. Deep blue with gold lettering, and our symbol, a quill crossed with a sword. I smile, tracing my name on the back. Number 7. Lucky? This day doesn't feel lucky though I can hope my luck is about to change? You never know.
I get dressed, as a few of the other players come in. Most are already changed it seems. I stuff my wallet and clothes in my backpack, but there's no lock on my locker? I didn't think to bring one.
When I get back out into the main locker room, the coach isn't here yet, though a cluster of players are. Richard has moved himself from his chair to the sofa. Anne and Lizzie are our only female players, and they hang back. Buckingham is perched on the back of the sofa, eying all of us but I think mostly me through hooded eyes.
"Homework," Richard says, unemotionally, eyes on his slim iPhone while he holds out a hand. The players mumble, shuffling to line up to give him stacks of assignments.
"Go on," Buckingham says to me.
"I---" was planning on doing my own homework? It's clearly an arrangement. "I haven't started it yet." I go with. Maybe he's just checking their work.
"I know," Richard says, not looking up from his phone.
"I don't have any money—I can't pay you," I stutter, still holding my backpack a bit possessively.
"I know," he says, voice thick with condescension, actually glancing up at me, with piercing steel blue eyes, "Hand it over."
Don't start trouble, Henry. I unzip my bag, debating doing it. Is it a trap to get me in trouble? Revenge over the fight this morning?
"It's fine," Lizzie just takes my notebooks from me and hands them to Richard.
"Lizzo, I thought you were house training him?" Richard says, taking them to put with his stack.
"I am," she says, dragging me away before I can make a retort. "Go with it."
"I can do my own work," I hiss to her, "I don't---" want to be indebted to him. Nor do I trust him.
"Your grades slip, you're off the team. Period. We can't afford to lose another goalie," she says, hand still on my wrist, "Just play along."
"Okay," I say, swallowing my pride. I can look over the work and redo it. It's not really like cheating if I redo it? So what if he thinks he did it? This is fine, maybe they are trying to be nice.
The rest of the players shuffle in, and Richard mostly ignores them, getting out a sleek MacBook and starting work I assume on half the team's assignments. Buckingham stays mostly by him though he high fives a few of the incoming players. I feel sick to my stomach. I'm already lost with names and faces, I can so far only recognize the girls and my enemies. Norfolk takes one look at me and laughs which I take to be a bad sign.
"All right, I see our new goalie is here," Coach Bill strolls in, not questioning Richard's presence so I assume he's our unofficial mascot. "Everybody say hi to Richmond. While he's getting used to you, I'm asking that you behave like normal nice people, not the people you usually are? Got it?"
They mumble hellos.
"Buckingham, you show the newbie around?" Coach Bill asks, staring at a notepad. He's nice, if rough around the edges. He was nice when he recruited me to his hellions anyway. Now I'm beginning to wonder if he picked me because I could play or he thought I would be able to avoid getting murdered by these people.
"Yes, coach," Buckingham, who has not said two words to me, says.
"He delegated it, to me," Lizzie mutters, to me, probably guessing my thoughts.
"Huh," I say, glancing coolly at him. Thanks a lot, Captain.
"We need to get Richmond up to speed, but I'm asking that you all fight your natural instincts and behave like sane respectful people, we're just going to skirmish today so go nice and easy on him. He's got plenty of time to get used to the rink and you," he says. I resist saying I don't need going easy on. Just shut up and deal with it.
"Richmond, tell me if these heathens bother you------Richard York, are you here to help or flirt with my Captain?" he addresses Richard who is leaned against Buckingham. I wince, expecting retaliation for such a remark, but Richard just laughs.
"I can do two things at once, coach," he purrs, tossing him a notepad. I assume it's plays?
"Richard is kind of assistant coach, cause he's always here, he used to play when we were in the junior leagues, but his doctor won't clear him anymore," Lizzie says, to me.
"Neville, you skating?" Coach asks, addressing the painfully thin girl who is hanging back near the lockers.
"Yeah—I have a note," she says, holding up a piece of paper.
"I am not interested in a forged doctor's note York printed in second period. If I see you so much as trip, you're off the ice for a week, got it?" he asks, folding his arms.
"Yes, coach," she says.
"You good?" he looks at Lizzie.
"I want to skate," Lizzie says, flatly.
"Fine, we'll skirmish, again, take it easy on the new goalie, all right? He doesn't know and love you horrible people yet," Coach Bill says, then he starts calling off lines. I confess I get lost after hearing that Lizzie is on the opposite side as me, she's a forward. Anne is a center, Buckingham is a defenseman which is rare for a coach. He's on my side for the skirmish, so I take that to be a good thing.
It is not.
Buckingham and the others on my side do absolutely nothing at all to defend goal. And when Coach said 'take it easy' apparently everyone heard 'make it your personal goal to shoot the puck into the goalie's body as painfully as possible'. By the end they aren't even aiming for the net. They're trying to get it past my helmet or hit the weakest spots in my padding. In the end I bleed eleven goals, more than I've let in since I was the junior leagues. I'm sore, and I can barely skate straight to get back to the tunnel.
I take off my helmet, spitting out my mouth guard. The others are laughing, clearly amused by their sport. Coach says nothing, nor do I talk to him. They made me look like a fool. It was obvious Buckingham told them to beat me up as badly as possible.
"It's just your first day," Lizzie says, wincing when she sees the bruises on my arms. I ignore her, snatching up my bag before going to change. I change in a stall to preserve the remains of my pride. Horrible yellow and blue bruises are forming all over my chest, arms, and legs. As I painfully get dressed I realize that if I'd let them score on me, then at least I personally would be in better shape. And that was my lesson, wasn't it? Let us do what we want, or we'll turn you into hamburger meat. Well, fuck this.
Thankfully none of them try to talk to me. I put back on my uniform and gather my things, at some point during the game Richard put back my notebooks. For a moment I'm actually grateful the work is done. I'm too exhausted and angry to think of anything else. Which is probably exactly how they wanted it.