Second (History Plays, Book 1)

1: and share a kingdom with thy dearest friend

Gaveston

The stormy outline of Rose and Swan Academy leans against the pillaring dark clouds. Rain is threatened, but doesn't dare come. Not on move-in day.
Dozens of fancy cars line the gravel drive as students linger, finding their friends, and avoiding being associated with their parents in general. Name brand sweat suits, and brightly colored shoes. The children of the rich and elite are comparing tans, trust funds, and class schedules. What do you do with your child if you're rich, famous, and travel the world but want said child to get a world class education nowhere near where you are? Send them to the Rose and Swan, where they'll be groomed for prestigious colleges and sports teams, and hopefully be engaged to another trust fund socialite destined for mediocrity in the public eye.
Technically, students are allowed to move in all week. Technically, boarders can stay summer and holidays if they so choose. I can't imagine what would feel as bad as not being wanted so much your parents pay to board you like you're an unruly dog sent back for extra training.
But it's probably something like as embarrassing as getting dropped off among Porches and Bentleys, by a yellow taxi cab that you don't know how to pay properly because you've never taken a cab before.
"I'm sure you'll do fine," my cab driver says, amused by my trembling hands.
"Is it that obvious?" I ask, laughing a little, as I fumble to give her the proper fair.
"First time away from home?" She asks, nicely.
"And on a scholarship, I'm sure that's also obvious," I say, finally sorting it.
"Well, I'm sure you'll do very well."
"Thanks! I'm not! Have a good day!" I say, as she hands me the receipt and I am forced to step away.
I turn around and stare up at the turrets of the Rose and Swan, taking a deep breath. I tug the instructions for check in out of my pocket. Check in should have ended at noon, but my flight wasn't until two. So my mother called ahead and made sure it was quite all right that I come late. It was, apparently.
"Here goes nothing," I say, paper clutched in my hand. And, bravely as I can manage, I step up the stone steps and into the massive foyer of the main hall. I got a map in the welcome packet, and I've memorized it, for anxiety reasons. There's the main hall, sports complex, riding stables, and then the individual dorms. I've not got a dorm assignment yet. With about five hundred students total, Rose and Swan is bustling, but not massive. But that's comfortable enough people, one should think, that if, say, as a perfectly random exapmle, that if, their mortal enemy they made out with that once, is going there, then one would be able to avoid said mortal enemy with ease.
"And who might you be?" A nun catches me nearly as soon as I step in the doors.
"Piers Gaveston, ma'am," I say, holding out the admissions papers.
"French," she says it with obvious disdain.
"Yeah, my parents are," I say, frowning, obviously I don't have a French accent. I don't even speak it that well.
"Right this way," she says, dismissively, showing me down a corridor. The faculty offices are housed here. I take a deep breath. This is fine. I'm doing this. I've walked in; that's big.
She raps on one of the doors and then opens it without an answer, very quickly, "Are you smoking?" She says it with such authority I deny it, but it wasn't meant for me.
"Of course not, Sister," My coach was sitting with his feet up on his desk, clearly smoking a cigarette. Coach Marlowe, a tall, at most thirty something, dashingly handsome excuse for a fencing coach. He recruited me out of Junior Olympics this summer and he made more sense in that environment, messy haired with a pack of cigarettes usually in one hand, than he does here in the I'm sure regulation abiding suit, dark hair slicked back, several cups of coffee on his desk in varying states of consumption.
"Coach, your scholarship child, the French one," she says, pushing me in since I was not going to go in of my own accord.
"Piers Gaveston," I say since I figured she couldn't pronounce that (it isn't hard, but most people can't).
"Hello—thank you Sister—get the door, would you? Good lad," he says, withdrawing his cigarette and hand from a drawer and appearing to put out a small fire inside said drawer, the moment the door is closed.
I stand there, quietly holding my paperwork.
"Anyone with you? She didn't kidnap you did she?" He asks, still finishing putting out the fire.
"No, sir," I say, quickly, "I flew here myself." My mother and step-father didn't have the funds for two tickets for just a day. I'll be lucky if they come to parent's weekend. As in, I'm sure they won't come to parents weekend.
"Right, here, orientation booklet for you to lose, and your class listing and room assignment," he says, finding a folder on his desk, looks like I'm the last one. "You're in Dover house, most of the athletes—well my athletes, are there, so you'll be with your teammates. I'm one of three house masters, for the Dover boys, the other is the priest—deacon—priest—we'll go with he wears the black suit and white collar and talks to you for an hour on Sundays, the other is one of your teachers I think math? His name's on there anyway." He says all this waving the cigarette to exaggerate upon his explanation.
"Sir," I nod.
"That all your bags?" He asks, nodding at me.
"Yes," I've got my fencing bag over one shoulder and my backpack and a rolling bag. That's it. My backpack has all my personal items like books and any few trinkets that I like to have about, and then my rolling bag has my uniforms which I'll wear all the time, along with a couple of sets of regular clothes and sleep things. Of course, my fencing bag is jammed with my favorite swords and my work out stuff and uniforms. "I've got my uniforms, my mother did show me how to iron them."
"Good, you can normally leave your fencing things at the studio which is in the sports complex but I'm not unlocking all that now just bring it tomorrow when you show up for practice," he says, putting a hand through his too long hair which does not have the desired effect of neatening it. "Your schedule is there, I'll just round up an Admiral to show you around," he says, picking up the phone and looking at it. "Drop your things here, you can come back and get them later."
I look down at the folder he handed me. A class schedule, but much more interestingly, my room assignment 524, and my roommate's names.
My stomach drops out of me.
Two names are written there: Edward Caernarfon, Edward Windsor, and then of course mine, Piers Gaveston.
"This—these are my roommates?" Please be reading this wrong. Please.
"Yeah, it's three to a room here, something about preventing you people from practicing unauthorized study of human anatomy, nobody wanted my opinions on why that wouldn't strictly work, but they got them anyway—IZZY," he leans out the door and shouts, only just remembering to hide his cigarette inside the office.
"Um—is there—anyway, I could switch rooms? With literally anyone?" I ask.
"No, why?" He asks, cocking his head at me, "You don't know Windsor, he's on scholarship like you, and he's going to fence with you so you're going to have to get to know each other."
"No, um, I know—"
"You played hockey with Caernarfon didn't you?" He asks, almost —smiling? No, the look is gone.
"In summer training, a few years ago—we didn't get on," I say, quickly.
"Well, looks like you'll learn to," he says, smiling unhelpfully, "I'm not redoing the arrangement. Work it out. Edward is the hockey team captain here, which I coach, so if you have a problem with him let me know."
"It's just—-" he hates me? And wants to ruin my life? And has done a great job of doing that so far?
"This isn't going to be a problem, is it?" He asks, cocking his head.
"No, sir, it'll be fine," I say, "I'm sure he's forgotten me anyway." It was years ago. But I'm sure he has not. I'm going to be expelled. What are the odds of this? All I had to do was ignore him and now I have to live with him? He'll go through the roof, when he finds out. He's not going to want to be anywhere near me.
"Unlikely—-IZZY—oh there you are," he said the last bit leaning out the door. "Meet the best fencer I have, Isabella Louve, Louve, meet our newest recruit, Piers Gaveston." He actually says my name right.
"You're the new fencer?" The girl stops in the doorway. She's shorter than me, and looks perhaps younger? She's got either deeply tanned, or naturally brown skin (do not look at me like that, this is a rich person school, rich people tan themselves, like, a lot), and black hair that's intricately braided back. She has just the wisp of an accent though I can't tell from where. Her eyes are big and brown. She's wearing a low (cataclysmically) v-neck yellow t-shirt and tight jeans, along with platform heels with which she's still shorter than me. Her wrists have thick gold bracelets and she has a chunky gold necklace around her neck.
"Yes, hi, you can call me Piers," I say, extending a hand. She doesn't shake it.
"Why do I have to show him around? Make Edward," she says.
"No, god, please," I say, though neither of them listen to me.
"He's hockey, this is fencing," Coach says, shrugging, "And I don't know where he is and you were within shouting distance."
"I can't show him in the dorms," she sighs.
"So find one of the boys, you're going to be better at that than I am anyway," he says, "He's rooming with your Edwards surely you can find one of them?"
"Fine," she rolls her eyes at him, then nods at me, "Is that what you're wearing to dinner?"
"Um—yes?" I'm clearly wearing it? I look down, my Junior Olympic t-shirt and faded jeans. That's all. It's only move in day; the pamphlet said casual.
"Not anymore, ugh, come on," she says, nodding for me to follow her.
"Um—why?" I ask, hurrying to catch up.
"You're an Admiral now. We have a standard to maintain, we get enough shit as it is for being fencers or whatever, and you're going to get enough shit for being on scholarship, you'll thank me later," she says, leading me out of the building, "Do you have anything better than that in the bag or do I have improvise?"
"Um—I've got a Sunday dress shirt, I read we have to go to mass," I say, quickly, "That and a couple of t-shirts—,"
"We do go to mass, and don't worry, we'll get you something better," she says, staring around. "Ugh. Those boys."
"Who?" I ask, stopping as well.
"Teddy—Teddy's your roommate he's my actual child so if you mess with him I will cut you," she says, clearly looking for people and failing to find them, "He's littler than you though, I think, and he's probably meaner. Okay, here, give me your schedule, I'll explain it."
"Um— okay," I hand her the paper tentatively, hoping I'll get it back. She snatches it from my hands with manicured bright yellow fingernails. She looks it over then hands it back, to my relief. "Come on, we're going to get you a shirt." Pointing, "Canterbury house, Dover house, the two boys' dorms, the girls is over there, Thames, that's where I live, duh. Boys aren't allowed in girls dorms and girls aren't allowed in boys dorms without permission."
"Right," I say, hurrying to keep up with her as she guides me through the lush green grass with little heed for side walks.
"So, schedule, main thing to take from that, seven am wake up doesn't apply to us, we work out at six am, we do it in the hockey rink though, we usually run around the bleachers, because Coach Marlow coaches us and and hockey team. It's fun because it's cool in there. We take turns leading the exercises, then we have fencing right after lunch at one pm, and on Saturday afternoons, Saturday morning the hockey team skates so some of us go and run then too, that's optional, Coach will make you if you screw up," she says.
"Right, okay," I say, not sure what to say as she leads me towards one of the dorms, which is it again?
"Food here isn't bad—have you boarded before?"
"No, um, it's my first time," I admit.
"Food here is terrible. If we get a pass we can walk or drive into town on the weekends start bothering your parents for passes now, it's a nightmare," she says, leading me up to the double glass doors, which are propped open with bricks as students move in and out with boxes and suitcases.
"Like I said, this is the other boy's dorm, Canterbury, so normally neither of our student ID cards would open it, but as you see it's move in day so nobody cares too much, we can't hang out though, the nuns will see us and tell us off," she leads me inside a busy hallway. I feel eyes on us, but try to ignore them, it's not as though everyone is staring at me.
Isabella stops a few doors in, rapping on a half open door with her manicured nails, "Mortimer, I need to steal your clothes."
"Happy new semester, Izzy," a boy is sorting wrinkled clothes on a bed. He's probably her age, with ink black hair that's tied back behind his head. He has thin lips, a thinner smile, and a roguish charm about his pale eyes. He's wearing sweats and a name brand sweatshirt despite the warm day.
"This is our newest Admiral, Piers?" She frowns saying my name mostly right.
"Hi," I don't try to shake his hand this time.
"Roger Mortimer," he says, smirking as he looks me up and down.
"Do you have anything that won't get him murdered in the dining hall tonight?" She asks, tugging at a shirt in the pile of clothes.
"Trying to avoid mass ridicule the first day? I thought we weren't chasing our dreams anymore," he says, dryly, tugging something out of the pile.
"Come on, you're about his size, please?" Izzy sighs.
"Anything for you," he says, actually smiling at her.
"I'll return it," I say, quickly, when I get a shirt thrown at my head.
"Please do not, you look like you could use it —is that your nicest outfit?" He asks, smirking at me again.
"Yes," I say, feeling anger burn in my chest.
He throws another shirt at me, "What was Coach thinking? Doesn't 88 days of special duties last year mean anything?"
"It's not his fault, thanks," she says, tugging me out by the arm.
"Special duties?" I ask, as I follow her out of the dorm.
"If we get in trouble we have to do additional chores. Like, you know, raking leaves or shoveling snow or washing dishes. Well, the fencing team got bullied a lot last year, we kept getting in fights, Mortimer tends to solve his problems with his fists, though not at all successfully," she sighs, "He's cool though, don't let that bother you, seriously. He's not always that bad."
"Right," I'd tend not to believe it. But I am carrying two of his shirts awkwardly as she marches us across the lawn.
"So, you're Dover house, right?" She asks, checking my papers again, "Oh, duh, you're with Edward and Teddy, I'll tell them to go be nice if I find them."
"You—know my roommates?" I ask, mostly meaning my Edward.
"Yeah, like I said Teddy fences with us; he's chill. And Edward is my boyfriend, our families are best friends, we started going out last year," she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder like it's a pain.
"Ah," okay. He's dating her. Right. Will he actually just murder me since I've spent the afternoon with his now girlfriend or will he settle for exiling me? Again? Am I going to get thrown off the Admirals for unsportsmanlike conduct before even starting?
"What?" She asks, frowning, and pausing.
"Um—" should I say? "I knew Edward, a long time ago, that's all. We were in a couple of hockey camps, together."
"Oh, yeah, he always does that shit during the summer—oh so are you a double dipper?"
"What?" I frown.
"Mortimer, he fences and he plays hockey, not a lot but he subs if they need someone— you should have said, he might have warmed up to you-"
"Um, no, I don't play hockey anymore," because of Edward. "I just fence."
"Good, don't run yourself too thin—where are those guys?" She sighs, looking around as if expecting to spot someone.
"Um—if you're walking me to my dorm to drop me off I need my stuff—we left it in Coach's office," I say.
"Oh yeah, well, we might as well go and get that, they're not anywhere anyway, well, theoretically the boys will show you down for dinner," she says, annoyed, "Wear one of those shirts—and you know what? For now you're not going to leave the dorm in civvies without my approval. Don't worry. We'll get you through the school year alive. Probably."
I laugh like it's a joke, but it's not funny. I'm already rooming with my archnemesis who has tried to ruin my life once. Will he settle for banishing me this time?