The Sun is In your Eyes

Chapter 2
Melissa vs. The Renaissance

---

Chapter Description: We find young Melissa struggling to survive in a horrifying medieval world, dodging foam arrows and wooden sword attacks. All this was trying to help her faltering volleyball team reach the level at which she's used to playing. Oh, and the whole, eternal quest to keep dark secret a secret. Which she failed. The first day.

---

If you are near to the dark,

I will tell you of the sun

You are here, no escape

From the visions of the world

You can cry all alone,

But it doesn’t mean a thing to me.

The sun is in your eyes

The sun is in your ears

I hope someday you see the sun

In the darkness

“ARROWS! SHIELDS UP, HEADS DOWN!”

As the shout echoed through the crisp evening air, Melissa shrieked and dove for the ground. Not three seconds later, half a dozen padded foam arrows descended on where she had been, rather cartoonishly hitting the ground with a rain of dull ?thuds’.

Scrabbling to her feet, her vision blurred and darkened by the dented fencing helmet she wore, she became aware of a dark clothed individual, extending his gloved hand down to her as though offering assistance. A small shield lay discarded on the ground at his feet, and a long, wooden sword stayed at the ready in his right hand.

“This your first time?” he asked, his words ringing hollow from behind his painted mask.

Melissa swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. “Yeah, can you tell?”

“Dude, that’s awesome! I...”

“DEATH FROM BEHIND!”

Melissa screamed again as another combatant ran up behind her savior and struck him viciously on the shoulder with his own wooden sword. The man groaned and sank to the ground as though mortally wounded, gasping his final breaths. His assailant, a diminutive fighter wearing a red and black tunic chuckled mercilessly, and looked down at the quaking girl. Pointing with his sword, he raised it high, fully planning on cutting the newcomer in half. It’d been a rough night; a failed exam, a dance proposition that went terribly wrong, mom hitting the bottle again, but here, here on the field, he could have a place to vent his frustrations out. And with Melissa paralyzed on the ground, he most likely would have, had a padded arrow not found the smallish space between his arm and his sword. The less then lethal missile nevertheless struck him quite solidly on the helmet, spinning it completely around. Fumbling for a bit, the man, cursing up a blue streak, finally toppled over backwards, tripping over the body of the knight he had slain moments prior. Mel, not one given to sentimentalism, found her legs and dashed off, hoping desperately beyond hope that this night would end soon.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the field, Pembrough Mosley gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes, searching for an opening in Sir Jett’s iron-clad defense. Luck had not been with her when the teams were decided and her best knight had ended up the captain of the opposing team. Though they might be the best of friends off the field, Jett was all business on it, and fighting his ?queen’ was no exception. Pem feinted a thrust at his exposed knees, hoping the motion would cause him to drop the huge tower shield that he was using to guard his face and torso. The move, which had been successful in the past on others, didn’t even phase the black-garbed teen, who continued his inexorable advance after sidestepping her attack. Lingering just a second too long, Pem let out a quiet yelp as Sir Jett’s wooden sword swung hard, slapping her sword arm with a dull ?thud’. Quickly switching her own weapon to her left hand, Pem weighed her options, looked around the field, turned tail, and ran for it. One-armed, she was absolutely no match for Jett, and her only chance was to find an unharmed teammate and form up with them. Unfortunately, in her haste, she did not notice a certain terrified individual streaking towards her, hell bent on escaping this field of madness.

Let’s just say it was lucky they were wearing helmets. The sizable dent Melissa was left with on hers might not have felt so good were it left on her face. Jett, who had been following Pembrough, calmly and decisively tapped both downed girls on their shoulders, killing them both and ending the fight. Victory was his.

“HOLD!”

The call rang out loud and clear through the night air, ending the battle. Chuckling and trying to recover her bearings, Pem wrenched her helmet off, pausing to admire the new dent Melissa’s head had made in it. Grinning, she looked over at her new guild mate, and saw with a swell of dread that Mel was still flat on the ground, prone and not moving. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed over the fallen girl, and started pulling at the straps on the loner helmet, trying to pry it from her head.

“Ow ow ow ow OW!” Mel snarled, shaking out the stars in her eyes as she slapped Pem’s hands away. “You’re gonna pull my head off!”

Pem sighed in relief. “Oh good, you’re alive. You had me worried there for a moment, Millicent!”

Mel waved her off, tugging at her elbow pads. “I agreed to the name, Mosley. I didn’t say you could call me by it.”

Pembrough winced. “Oh yeah, sorry about that...are you ok?”

The helmet that Mel tossed at her head was her only answer.

--->

“So explain it to me one more time.”

“For the last time, grams, there’s really nothing more to it!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just hung up on the part where you joined a medieval fight club right off the bat that seems like nothing you’ve ever been interested in before. I mean, if you’ve always been secretly a daughter of the renaissance, a fair and noble Lady Guinevere under that sour expression and wild hair, that’s more then your prerogative. Just curious, is all.”

Scowling into her cereal as her grandma’s laughter filled the dining room, Melissa grumbled and stabbed a spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“You mentioned something about that before. Why exactly didn’t you have a choice?”

“Well...um...apparently, yesterday was the last day they had to find a sixth member. If I didn’t join, the club would have been disbanded. I guess...well, everyone else said no, and I was the only one they could get.”

“Everyone else, Melissa? Surely they didn’t ask EVERYONE else,” Mel’s grandpa chimed in, lightly teasing as he sipped his coffee.

“You don’t know Pembrough,” Melissa thought, eying a marshmallow pot of gold that floated peacefully in her bowl, completely unaware of it’s impending digestion.

“And what exactly does this club do again? What was it called again? Ren Brigade or something like that?”

“Um, I’m not really sure what it is they do. I guess they’re all into dressing up and stuff and having meetings and stuff like that.”

Her grandfather quirked an eyebrow, regarding his granddaughter shrewdly. “And yet knowing so little about these guys, you signed a commitment to be a part of it? What about your volleyball? You remember how demanding your schedule back home was...”

“I didn’t sign a ?commitment’, Gramps. Like I said, I didn’t really have a choice. If I didn’t join, the principal would have shut down the club. And it shouldn’t interfere with the team or my classes...this won’t be like California. Things are different, y’know?”

“Well then here’s to you, Mel,” Grandma said, raising her own coffee mug. “That is a very nice thing you’ve done for these kids, helping them keep their club on campus. It all sounds rather interesting anyway, and besides the volleyball team, I can’t think of a better way to make friends so quickly. I’m sure they’re all rather grateful for your help.”

“Yeaaah...” Mel replied, feeling her cheeks redden. With her grandma’s uninformed words ringing in her ears, she felt a little guilty. She hadn’t helped Pembrough out of the goodness of her heart, after all. But now, watching her grandmother smile at her with those watery brown eyes, her words of initially refusal rang somewhat hollow now. What had been the big deal again? Could this possibly be THAT bad?

And it wasn’t like it was forever. Pembrough had made it clear that they would keep looking for more club members. If they could find even just one more, Melissa would be off the hook, and her secret would be forever safe again. Deep down, Mel didn’t think Pembrough would really reveal her shame to the rest of the student body, but then, what did she know? She didn’t know the other girl at all beyond their initial sparring, and they had barely spoken a word to each other since. Melissa was usually really good at tuning people out, and the fact that Pembrough wasn’t trying very hard any more to make conversation made things easier. For the most part, when Pem opened her mouth, a curt glare was all it took from Mel to get her to shut it again.

At least until Wednesday rolled around.

~

“Pem?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t think that just because you’re sixteen, you have any more right to be playing with your food then a five year old does. That’s a very nice Stonehenge you’ve got there, but I’d prefer you eat the French toast rather then sculpt with it.”

Biting her lip, Pembrough looked down at the syrupy monument she had erected on her plate. With a sigh, she poked at it, sending it toppling to the ground. Noticing this, Mrs. Mosley frowned and set her own fork down.

“Something bothering you? I thought you said you were able to save your club...this is hardly how I imagined you’d be after such fantastic news. Did something come up with Principal Edwards? I noticed I hadn’t received my weekly call from him about you and your friends,” Mrs. Mosley joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Is it something to do with the new kid?”

“Well...um...no...not really,” Pembrough said, continuing to chew on her lip. “It’s just...I might have been a little, um, overly insisting with Melissa. I mean, I know she agreed and all, but I...well, I don’t want her to feel like I didn’t give her a choice.”

“Well, that’s preposterous, Pem. From what you’ve told me about her, she seems like a really nice girl. Everyone has choices, I’m sure she just wanted to help you guys out..”

Looking miserable, Pem stabbed at her toast.

“Nevertheless, you do have a bit of a duty now to make this experience as awesome for her as you can. It’s not like you can just say, ok, we have our club again, business as usual. You have a girl who is brand new to the school, brand new to the state. If she’s going to invest some of her time with you guys, you need to invest some time into her. You guys have so many classes together, it’s up to you to make sure she’s doing ok. And as for your club, dazzle her! I know a lot of your club meetings are just the bunch of you getting together and playing with your Magic cards and drinking Dr. Pepper, but not anymore. Melissa joined the RenFORCE because she has an interest in the recreation aspect of things. Don’t alienate her just because you’ve got your club secure.”

Brightening a bit, Pembrough stopped poking at her breakfast and looked up at her mom, a trace of a smile on her freckled face. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Hmmm, well, you usually hold your meetings on Wednesdays before fighter practice, right? Why not hold off on the meeting, and just have it right there at the field? That way, she’d get a good look at how fun this whole thing can be, and it won’t be so up close and personal. You remember your first time down there, right?”

How could she forget? It was one of her first memories, being four and dashing onto the field, almost getting trampled by a phalanx of roman soldiers. Her father, much fitter at the time then he was now, had leapt before the advancing group and snatched the girl from the ground, tucking her under his arm as he dive-rolled to safety. Returning his daughter to the sidelines, Sir Onin (or Scott Mosley, as he was know around the house) whistled for his squire, and together, the two of them decimated the entire horde.

“That’s a great idea mom, thanks. What if she can’t come?”

“Well, cross that moat when you come to it, Queenie. I’m not gonna solve ALL your problems today.” Mrs. Mosley grinned and looked down at her daughter’s plate. “Now hurry up and finish eating, or you’re going braidless today.”

Dear Dev,

As you might well know, my life here at Shadow Hills is pretty much over. I couldn’t even finish out the week! Not only does a screwball role-playing nutcase find out about...that, she uses it to blackmail me! What is it that she forces me to do? Oh, you’re going to love this. Is it money she wants? No. Jewelry? Naaaa. Not even my notes from algebra! All she wants, she says, is for me to join her little group. What did the Principal call them? The merry men? Sheesh. Some kid in English told me that the Principal Edwards had been trying to get rid of the group for years...what could they possibly have done to piss him off that badly? Do I even want to know?

Anyway, I guess it’s not all bad. I’ve been getting along great with the team and practices have been really good. Michelle and La’neisha don’t really talk to me, but that’s alright. They still give me the ball when I can take a shot, and that says more about them then their conversational skills. We’ve both known ball hogs in our time, right Dev? Megan was terrible about that...Anyway, Amy’s fun to talk to, a little weird, but alright. She kind of treats me like I’m from some other world, rather then just a different state. I get the feeling that some of these ?Zonies’ have been baking in the desert heat for a little too long. I haven’t really talked to the Ramirez sisters all that much, the older one is always on the phone (when she’s not on the court) and the younger one is kind of on the shy side. I found out the hard way that Coach used to teach track before her hips started failing...most of the PT involves some form of running, but it could always be worse.

Oh wait, it is worse. The whole, ?life is over’ thing I was talking about.

Since I came in late to the semester, the district volleyball games have already started. Basically, we’ll play one team from another high school once a week, twice in a row, then take a break, then do two more games over two weeks, rinse, repeat. Games were generally Wednesday nights starting at seven thirty. That’d take some getting used to, since we just used to play Saturday mornings back in Cali. I also have to attend that stupid club on Wednesdays right after school, so, great. I swear to you though, Dev, that if this interferes with the team at all, I’ll quit on the spot and tell the principal the whole affair. I don’t care if she tells the school I suck on a pacifier during hall, nothing is going to get in the way of me and my games.

Nothing nothing nothing.

The air was hot and muggy in the little compartment class room as the members of the RenFORCE club regarded the new comer with a variety of feelings and emotions. The fact that she was here at all was extremely good news, but anyone who knew Pembrough at all knew something was up. The girl had a terrible poker face, and usually when the braid met her lips, there was something going on that might not go so well for the rest of them. It was a similar tell to Charles’...every time he dug out his laptop from his ultra slim messenger bag, the rest of the club worried which government agency would be knocking on their parent’s doors this time.

“We’re going where?” Melissa asked again, trying vainly to break the silence. It succeeded for a small bit, particularly during the actual question, but once her words died off the quiet arose from the dead like a zombie. Finding her voice (or wrestling it away from the undead literary device) Pembrough cleared her throat.

“Well, um...I figured we could hold off on introductions and stuff and just head down to Reid Park. It’s only about ten minutes from here, it’s that big park with the zoo and the skate park and stuff?”

“And what’s down there?”

Pem’s eyes hit the floor and began mentally tying the laces on her boots. Her friends in the room found their attention now riveted on their leader rather then the oddly dressed transplant. This was quite a departure from the usual wild and in your face personality that Queen Pem often demonstrated at these meetings.

“Well, like I said, we’re just an offshoot of a bigger group called the Empire of Chivalry and Steel. They have their big meetings down at Reid on Wednesday nights, that’s where we get together, and y’know, fight and stuff.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t go,” Melissa said, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. “I mean, I have a volleyball game here at seven thirty, and it’s three now...”

Now, I must interrupt for just a moment here and honor a friend of mine for the illuminating comment he provided while reading over the early roughs of this sad, sordid tale. He (name withheld for his protection, we can use the moniker ?Fluffy’ if needed.) pointed out that even though our interaction with Principal Edwards had been mostly brief so far, he had come off sounding rather like a comic book villain, snidely twirling his mustache while cursing our hero’s names. For clarification, Principal Edwards IS a comic book villain, prone to comic book villain habits, such as comic book villain lines and comic book villain timing. With that being said, it should come as no surprise to any, (save for the six teenagers ensconced in the small, stuffy compartment classroom) that hot on the heels of Melissa’s protest, he strode loudly through the door, almost crushing Brom, who had been leaning on the wall besides it.

“Hiya kids,” the diminutive man said, with a fierce twinkling in his dark eyes. “I ran into your club liaison on my way back to the office, and she asked me to pass along a message. She won’t be able to join you today, family matters, but that I should feel free to sit in and see this ?induction ceremony’ for Ms. D’Audrey here.” Chuckling, the man hopped up onto one of the desks left behind in the vacant room and sat, swinging his legs like an oversized child.

“We were actually just leaving, Mr. Edwards,” the red headed boy named Jett said, grabbing his backpack and nodding for the others to gather their stuff. “You’re more then welcome to join us down at Reid Park though,” he said archly, making it sound almost like a dare of sorts.

The principal reddened, but bit down his rather R-rated rebuttal. “You’re leaving campus? That’s not authorized as part of a school function, did you clear it with her parents first?”

“Permission slip signed and sealed, right Mel?” Pembrough said, looking down nervously at newcomer, who had frozen ramrod straight since the moment the principal had first made his appearance. In the few days since they had last come face to face, Melissa had really warred with herself if she should come public with her situation, but seeing as though she’s here in this room with the bunch of psychos, we can infer her decision on that. Trembling slightly, she dug around in her pocket and fished out a tightly crumpled wad of paper that had started its life as an official RenFORCE permission slip.

“I see,” Principal Edwards exclaimed waspishly, gazing at the permission slip as though silently willing it to catch fire. “Well, Melissa, folks, I guess all that’s left is to wish you a good night then. Ms. D’Audrey, I’d like you to come to the office at sometime tomorrow so we can go over a few things in your transcript. I also look forward to seeing you later tonight at the game. Go Nukes!” he cheered in a falsetto voice as he hastily stepped back outside, overcome with the strangest sensation to go find the nearest shower and remain under boiling water for an hour. Another deep silence loomed, as a faint, electronic beeping from a hidden watch told the group that it was now three o’clock.

“Sooo, shotgun?” Charles piped up, as Mac jingled his keys, already striding towards the door.

What followed could easily be called the most awkward car ride in the long and storied history of such things. The group’s preferred mode of transport was Mac’s enormous blue van, a relic of the venerable seventies. The behemoth easily seated the six teenagers and left plenty of room in the trunk space for the group’s fighting gear, and before that, it was more then enough room for Mac’s band gear. Although it was a pinnacle of automotive perfection under the hood, the numerous dents and rust stains that graced the exterior brought Melissa up short as she walked up to it, half expecting Scooby and Shaggy to be seated in the front seat. With a creaking groan, Jett wrenched the side door open, motioning for her to step inside. I’d like to tell you that the interior and seating area were any better, but you have to remember, this IS a teenage boy’s vehicle, and as such...well...Melissa did well for herself, finding a seat by the rear latched window, cracking it open so that the arid scent of the desert could filter out the ambient smell of stale pizza and spilled Dr. Pepper.

Mac’s van had an unusual set up to the seating arraignments which suited the gang just fine. There were the two seats up front, obviously, but in the back of the van there was the one long bench, and two bucket seats that swiveled around to face the back. NOT for the easily car-sickened, let me tell you, but these are resilient teenagers, and they seemed to deal with it just fine. With Mac driving and Charlie riding shotgun, the bucket seats were left to Tristan and Brom. Pem, slightly more then a little nervous at sitting next to her coerced companion, chose to shove Jet in front of her so that he would be sitting in the middle. If Melissa noticed or cared, it didn’t show, because as soon as the van door shut behind them all, she flipped the hood on her dark red Nukes sweater up and put her glasses down from her forehead. In one swift motion, her large, over the ear headphones were in place over the hood, and shortly thereafter the van was filled with the light, tinny sound of Broken Lizard’s second album. The roar of the van soon overpowered the walkman and with a jerking rattle, the van was mobile and heading out of the parking lot.

Tristan exchanged a look with Brom, who traded glances with Jet, who turned and looked down at Pembrough to complete the circle, but if Tristan was expecting a gaze in turn, he was to be sorely disappointed. Pembrough seemed rather interested in trading glances with her seat belt instead, her cheeks working as she chewed on the end of her hair quite furiously. Sensing the palpable tension in the back his van, Mac pulled out onto the road rather sharply and thumbed his own radio on, filling the vehicle with Tucson’s one and only Alternative Rock station, 92.1 KFMA.

While Mel and the gang enjoy what (as I’ve said) will go down as one of the most awkward rides in the course of history, let me tell you a bit about their destination, Reid Park. To simply call it an oversized day park would be doing the historic place a huge injustice; Reid was home to no less then three baseball fields, one of the top golf ranges in the city, three or four playgrounds and even had a small zoo located in the dead center of the park. I’m told it’s not the best example of such things, being a tad run down and under-funded, but the fact that Reid even has a zoo to speak of is saying something. Throughout the park, several artificial lakes dot the green, and the luscious water fountains are quite popular with visiting fowl. Despite being in the middle of a desert town, Reid was quite green, with tall hickory and mesquite trees popping up here and there, creating a lush landscape. All in all, quite a place, and we join our heroes as Mac’s van rumbles into the sparsely populated parking lot.

“Here we go,” Mel thought to herself as she finally opened her eyes and peered out of through her dark tinted glasses. Mac had parked across from what looked like a rather large soccer field, with a low hill rising towards the end of it by the furthest goal post. A couple of large trees rung in the field on another slope, and a large pair of flood lights stood ready to illuminate the area as twilight quickly approached. As the door swung open, she patiently waited for the rest of the club to file out before she unbuckled her seat belt and let herself down. She was inwardly very grateful that Pembrough had not been kidding when she had said it would be a short drive. The trip had taken all of about fifteen minutes, and that was WITH the notorious red lights of Oracle road. As she slid out, the small one, Charlie, came up to her, attempting to shake her hand.

“Hey, hey, sorry about the hurried intro back at school. I’m Charles L’Fleur, at your service, milady,” he said in an overly exaggerated French accent, extending his hand to her. Melissa took a long moment looking down at Charles (he was quite short) before opening her mouth to reply, when suddenly, she felt that fateful twinge.

“Bathroom,” she said, with a finality that could very well signal that that was indeed her name. “Is there one close?”

If the little freshman was offended, he didn’t show it. “Uh, yeah, right over that hill down there,” he said, dropping the accent for a brief moment, “just go up and over...you can’t miss it, it’s like a hut, near the water fountain.”

“Thanks,” said Melissa, spinning smartly on her heel as she began to stride across the parking lot to the aforementioned hill. As she moved briskly along, she passed Jet and Brom, who were busy pulling heavy-looking duffle bags out of the trunk space of the van. Noticing her go by, Jet turned back to Pembrough, jerking his head towards the departing girl in a questioning way. Shrugging, Pem started after Mel, pausing to call out. “Hey, do you want me to go with?”

“No thank you,” came the girl’s curt reply, and quite soon she was a small ant on the soccer field’s horizon. Pembrough cleared her throat nervously as she suddenly became aware of five pairs of eyes on her, all asking different questions.

As Mel carried on, she found she was further grateful that a strong breeze had kicked up, ruffling her hair and cooling her face. The arid desert wind was still hot and vaguely uncomfortable, but it was better then the stagnant and harsh vibe she got inside that skuzzy van. The sweater she wore was thin, but not overly so, and as she walked she struggled out of it, revealing a simple black tank-top beneath. She hoped the sun wasn’t going to be too unforgiving today. Because a lot of her fitness regiment involved outdoor activity, Melissa could hardly be called pale, and even without, her mom had imparted a slightly more permanent sand-like coloration, but she hadn’t brought any sunscreen with her, and the thought of burning was rather unpleasant.

A wolf whistle broke her from her silent musings. Turning to see who had made the sound, her heart sank when she found the owner of the lips that had conjured forth said whistle. Sitting in a lawn chair with it’s back to the hill, a younger adult, twenty, twenty two at the most twisted backwards in it, giving her an appreciative looking over. The gentleman, and the term is loosely applied, was dressed in the blue, green, and purple finery of a court jester, or at least his hat was. Under it, he wore a rather modern t-shirt and a rather modern pair of jeans. Beside the guy, two men, barely recognizable as such as they were both wearing what appeared to be medieval armor were engaged in a fierce, epic struggle, taking turns banging what looked like actual steel weapons on each other’s rectangular shields. Despite the growing tickle down below, Melissa stopped just long enough to take in the scene, and she felt her paradoxical heart tighten a bit. The two looked ridiculous, fighting in armor that looked unauthentic and silly, with leather pieces binding together plastic plates and steel hinges. Although the two were fighting with very tangible ferocity and the clanking noise of metal sword on metal shield was very loud, it was simple combat, each appearing to wait politely for the other to swing his sword. Certainly not the epic and grandiose battles that Pem had so eagerly hyped up. Closing her eyes and stifling a growl, Melissa hiked up the small hill, rewarded as she did so with a rather welcome and pleasant view of both a bathroom structure and a serene looking duck-filled lake. Hurrying forward, she made it into the ladies room just in time. Annoyed as she was already, the inconvenience of going about this in a soggy diaper wouldn’t have done anything to improve her disposition.

She knew that she shouldn’t be here...even though they weren’t mandatory, the gym was open to the volleyball teams before the games so that the girls could get some practice in and warm up. Coach Amberly had said that it wasn’t necessary to show this time, and that the few hours before the game started would be better spent relaxing and getting mentally prepared. Apparently, a lot of the girls ditched this practice time, and the only people left in the gym were the men’s team, their friends, and the large gaggle of adolescent hangers-on all trying to get a glimpse of the well endowed Amy Brand running around as she chased wayward volleyballs across the court.

Not exactly the shy little wallflower’s idea of a good time in and out of itself, but...better then this?

Finishing up, Melissa swung her backpack on and exited the stall, shaking her hips a bit to settle her underwear. As she started to push open the door, there was a sudden pressure against it, and surprised, Melissa let it push her back, the door closing on her fingers. It was the lightest of crunches, the shock of it more powerful then the pain, but it still elicited a yelp and an expletive as she snatched her hand back.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” came a voice from behind the door. “Are you ok?”

Cautiously pushing on the door again, her left hand firmly jammed into her mouth, Melissa peeked out, finding the way clear. Stepping out, she turned and came face to face with an older man, dressed lightly, holding a struggling toddler in his arms. From the baby’s annoyed expression, it was evident that she had just been whisked up into the man’s arms. He gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry...ever since she started walking, we’ve earned a reputation as a humanoid typhoon when we’re out and about.” He grinned, holding out his hand. “Are you ok?” he asked again.

Caught off guard, Melissa nodded quickly and smiled, holding up the affected hand. “Oh yeah, sure! It was just a little bump, sorry for the...er...language,” Mel stammered, reddening as she remember just what had been said. “Just a surprise, is all.” Her gaze fell down to the baby, who seemed to have resigned herself to the terrible fate of being carried. “She’s so cute...what’s her name?”

The man laughed and hoisted his daughter up onto his hip. “This little nightmare is Emily, and I’ll tell you, as bedtime creeps up she gets a whole lot less adorable. You sure about that hand?”

“Heh, yeah, totally. I think I’ve still got all of my fingers...”

“Well, luckier then I was, then,” the man said, holding up his own left hand. Melissa, not one to be called the squeamish type, felt her stomach turn just slightly as she realized the man was missing his pinkie and his ring finger.

“Oh my gosh, what happened?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Ah, nothing more dramatic then an ill-advised go with a band saw. It’s quite old, I was probably about your age when it happened. Make sure you pay attention in woodshop!”

“Wow.”

“You’re telling me. What brings you out here to Reid ? I’m here with Emily quite a bit, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before...”

Feeling at ease with the man (and perhaps mentally stalling herself before she went and rejoined the disappointing spectacle that awaited her on the other side of the hill) she shrugged and sighed. “Oh, I’m with a club, or something. I guess it meets here on Wednesdays...I just moved here, trying to make new friends, I guess.”

“That’s a good reason, I think.” His expression furrowed a bit as he looked down at her. Looking up at him, Melissa realized that he wasn’t all that old, even though his short, spiky hair and goatee were streaked through with white. “A club, huh? You wouldn’t have...anything to do with that bunch over this hill, would you?”

Feeling her face redden all over again, Melissa considered denying it, but there really was no point in lying to a stranger she’d never see again. “I...kinda. I don’t know. Just checking it out, I guess. I don’t know if medieval recreation is really my thing.”

The man continued to regard her with that odd expression. “Ah, I see. Well, they look like they have all kinds of fun down there. I mean, last week, there was some kind of dance thing going on, with gypsy hulas all boogieing down to rather pretty sitar music. Em here wanted in on the action, but I didn’t think they’d have one of those coin dresses in her size.”

They both laughed and Melissa poked at the baby, eliciting a squeal from the little blonde. “Trying to dance, huh? Well, that does sound fun...I should be getting back over there, the person that dragged me out here is probably setting up a search party as we speak.”

“That wouldn’t be Pembrough, would it?” the man asked softly, causing Melissa to jerk her head up in astonishment, but the man was already moving past her, trudging up the hill. Chasing after him, Melissa made it atop the hill but turned to look up at the man. “Hey wait, how do you know...”

Without a word, the man nodded forward, so that Melissa looked back down to the field she had so angrily stalked through not ten minutes prior.

A few seconds passed, and then slowly, Melissa turned around to make sure she could still see the lake and the bathroom hut, if only to reaffirm she had walked up the right hill, because the vision before her was completely different then the one she had left. Large pennants and flags were now anchored all about the soccer field, each brightly waving in the refreshing wind. Below each, several people gathered now, not just the original trio, all wearing period and medieval clothes that matched the color of their pageantry. While many of the people, and they numbered a good three dozen or so, reclined in lawn chairs or continued to help their mates bring out those heavy duffle bags, others still had began warming up themselves, waving around Japanese wooden swords and doing squats to limber up their legs. From her vantage point, Melissa could see Pembrough and the rest of the school group, all gathered around a large red flag, a golden phoenix emblazoned upon it. Mel could tell Pembrough was desperately eager to see her, for when their eyes made contact, she heaved a very obvious sigh of relief and turned to help Tristan and Charles lay out a rug.

“Quite a sight, I know. Frankly, I really couldn’t see spending my Wednesday evenings any other way,” the man said, grinning again at the aghast girl. “My name’s Michael Conrad, but around here, they call me King Reinhart Von Konrad. I didn’t catch your name?”

Jaw hanging around her ankles (this guy seemed so NORMAL...and he had a BABY) Melissa barely stammered “Meli, er, Melis...”

“Millicent? Now that’s a regal name. Have you worked out your heritage, where your persona’s from and all that?”

“Um, no...”

“Well, I’m sure Pembrough will help you with all that back at her camp. She seems rather interested in seeing you down there, well, from all that waving, and I won’t keep you. Suffice to say, well met, milady, and I hope you do have fun here. If you don’t, I mean, there wouldn’t be any point to all this, now wouldn’t it? If you have any questions, or just want to chat, I’m always available. Don’t mind the crown,” he laughed, pulling a thin golden diadem from out of the diaper bag he was shouldering. “And if not me, I’m sure Emily here would be happy to talk with you,” he said, bouncing the babbling toddler. “Say bye bye, Emmie?”

“Buh!” the child said, after considering the matter deeply. Waving back at her, King Reinhart walked down to the field, where two wooden thrones had just been erected. A plump woman dressed in blue and yellow met him there, exchanged a kiss, and took the baby from his arms.

Feeling as though her legs were on auto-pilot, Melissa started down the hill herself, having exhausted any excuse she might have in not rejoining her companions. As she stepped through the assorted people, she was hotly aware of everyone regarding her as she walked by, each with curious, open expressions. They did seem a happy go lucky bunch, made up of all ages. A few younger boys clothed in tunics and loose, drawstring pants were busy chasing each other around one of the larger trees near the field, laughing and wrestling, an older pair in matching tabards sat nearby, each regarding a different puzzle, the man had a crossword and the woman a sudoku, and of course, Pembrough and her band were there as well.

“We thought you’d gotten lost over there!” Charles exclaimed, pulling a long-sleeved red jacket over his head, trying vainly not to muss his gelled hair. “Did you fall in? I...HEY!”

“Manners, boy!” the red-haired guy growled, pulling the freshman into a headlock. “What’d I tell you about that?”

“Damn it, Jet, my hair...” the boy whined, smoothing it down.

Maintaining a blank expression, Tristan sidled close to Pembrough and not so gently elbowed her in the ribs. Fighting down the urge to squeak, Pembrough nodded and cleared her throat.

“Well, Melissa, welcome to the Kingdom of Galandor in the Empire of Chivalry and Steel,” she exclaimed, beaming. She hadn’t missed the expression on Mel’s face, and had been slightly cheered that it wasn’t the open disgust she often wore around Pembrough. “You know me, of course, heh, aheh,” the expression had returned, ever so warningly, “but lets get on with proper introductions, shall we? At attention, Wildfire! Brom! You too, damnit!”

“Melissa, this is my house, Wildfire. That’s Jet, our best fighter and one of the top knights in the order of combat,” she said, indicating the red-haired boy, who was pulling leather gauntlets on over a heavy-looking jacket. “Mac and Tristan, our artisans, Mac makes most of the steel armor we use in the tournaments, and Tristan can make some really cool jewelry. He’s also keeper of the house mascot, Reva,” she mentioned as an aside, as Melissa’s gaze had traveled upward to the chain mailed stuffed animal that lounged on the dark-skinned boy’s head. You’ve met Charles, our newest member...er...besides you, he’s in charge of rolls and paperwork, and that’s Brom. He’s totally weird, but he’s our weirdo, and you won’t find a better archer out there on the field. Just pray you don’t go up against him!”

“You guys shoot arrows at each other?”

“Ahem,” Pembrough hurriedly cleared her throat again. “Folks, this is Melissa D’Audrey, new to Shadow Hills and Tucson by way of...er...” Blinking, Pembrough looked slightly aghast. She realized quite quickly and with a start that besides...

1. Melissa was from out of town

2. She made her own clothing

3. She was on the volleyball team

4. She was good at math and science and

5. she wore diapers

...she didn’t know ANYTHING about the blue eyed brunette beyond all that. She was sure they’d be able to talk more once...er...Melissa stopped hating her forever, but it did put her in a bit of bind...Pembrough had been describing Melissa as her new best friend.

Arching an eyebrow, Melissa leaned forward, shaking any hands that were offered. “I just moved her from California with my grandparents. Nice to meet ya,” she said to all in general, and like that, the spell was broken and Pembrough could breathe again. Nodding, Jet, Mac and Brom all headed for the center of the field, where several other people were beginning to gather. Like the assorted ren goers, Melissa could see the boys carrying steel fencing helmets, each painted up with different heraldry. In addition to swords, Jet sported a long, crimson colored shield that looked like a angular kite, Mac a huge, spear-like thing, and Brom his bow. Watching them go, Mel suddenly realized that Charles had attempted once more to start up a conversation.

“So have you picked out a persona yet?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your persona! Like, who you are playing, where you’re from, whatddya do?”

“Can I be a 21st century Californian volleyball player?”

Charlie blinked. “Um, no, they didn’t have those back then. Volleyball was invented in 1895.”

The dark haired boy interceded, “You don’t really need a persona right away, Melissa. Do you have a name or something you want to be called while you’re out here?” He held up his hands. “It’s just a little more immersion in the game. We’re not strict about it like some of the other reenactment groups.” His voice began trailing off as he noticed Pembrough frantically shaking her head behind the newcomer.

“Millicent,” Melissa said clearly, with a quelling look at the braided queen. “I don’t know about a last name, but if I need a name, you can call me that, I guess. I really prefer Melissa, though.”

“Fair enough,” Tristan said, scribbling something down in his leather book. He looked out onto the field. “Aw man, Shmendrick ended up on the other side...I better get out there with ol’ Treasure Hunter. Nice to meet you, Melissa, hope to see you out there soon.” And with that, the boy put down his book and began pulling a white coat over his hooded sweater, picking up a shorter spear looking thing before charging off to the field. Melissa, taking advantage of the departure, took a seat in one of the unoccupied lawn chairs. Across from her, Charles sat digging through his backpack, finally coming across a stray sheet of apparent importance. “I have to turn this into Reinhart like...last week!” he exclaimed, dashing off, leaving Melissa finally alone with her blonde haired nemesis.

Open mouth, insert braid.

Pembrough set down some of the gear and grabbed a seat next to Melissa, nervously following her gaze out onto the field. Unlike the two people in the metal armor, the fighters out on the soccer field now seemed more...real, formed up into lines with people on the sides discouraging flankers. Large tower shields dominated the front of the line, with the spear things rising up and over the heads of those in front. On the sidelines, Brom and another archer dueled, sending what looked like foam padded arrows zinging back and forth at each other, occasionally taking a moment to fire into the crowd.

“Sooo...what do you think, Mill...” Pembrough started, but was immediately cut off.

“First, you’re not allowed to call me that. Ever. Second, I’m only here because you are blackmailing me, Mosley. I might play nice with your friends because I don’t want to seem like a bitch, but honestly, I’d be quite fine with you leaving me here while you run off and play. Just remember that I NEED to be home by seven, so I can go change, get my stuff ready, and go back to school for the game tonight. Just...leave me alone or something, the principal isn’t going to magically show up here, your club is safe.” She looked around. “Though I’m a little surprised you even need the school club...this place seems like it’s got everything you could want.”

“Well, it’s not that, it’s...”

“Not even slightly interested,” Mel said, reclining back. “I’m good.”

Biting down a sharp retort, Pembrough puffed out her cheeks, flustered. She was rather used to the other students and their attitudes around her (though she never thought for a second it was personal) but she was completely undone by it. She genuinely wanted Melissa to have a good time, but no amount of black mail / well wishing could force that. So rather then continue to make an issue of it, Pem contented herself with the knowledge that she was in fact here, her club was in fact safe, and there was in fact some room on the left flank of the line for a dimunitive, dual sword wielding fighter to fill in. Pulling on her helmet, emblazoned with a golden phoenix wrapping around a rose, she headed towards the field, shaking her head.

Luck was not with her, however, for as soon as she stepped up to join her team, a well placed spear thrust pierced the shield wall, tagging her rather un-gently in the chest just below her bosom. The wind knocked out of her, she quickly put her sword on her head, signaling her defeat, and wheezed off the field to await the next match. Turning to wave at their highnesses, she was a bit surprised when King Reinhart waved her over, a broad smile on his face.

Melissa couldn’t help but wince when she saw Pem get hit, but she wouldn’t deny herself a small twinge of pleasure as the girl limped towards the thrones. Immediately following that twinge, however, came yet another level of self kicking. She didn’t HAVE to be that mean to Mosley, but the barbed words just came so easily and flowed so freely. A part of her actually thought this place and these strange, odd people were kind of neat, but it’s going to have to wait a few chapters before she’d admit that aloud.

With a start, she realized that her grandma still thought she was picking Mel up from school at five, when most of the school clubs let out. Digging her cell phone out of her satchel, she quickly dialed up her grandparent’s phone.

“Yellah?” Came the boisterous rejoinder.

“Grandpa, you’re not a red neck, you don’t have to answer the phone like one!”

“Hey ma! It’s that right purdy gurl you call yer grand-daw!”

“Boy howdy!” Grandma’s voice could be heard in the far distance.

“Whatever! Hey listen you guys, I think I might have a ride home, so...”

“What’s his name?”

“It’s not a boy, gramps, well, it kind of is, but it’s not that...the group I’m out with has a van and...”

“Out with? I thought you were going to that school club?”

“That’s who I’m with...apparently, they meet down at Reid Park every so often. That’s where I am now.”

“Nothing shady?” Grandpa asked, his voice suddenly taking on an air of slight concern. He knew the area a lot better then his granddaughter did, and despite how good an area Reid was situated, downtown Tucson could be dangerous at twilight.

“Nope, I’m with a good bunch of people, I think. You know I’ll call you if anything sketchy happens.”

“Why would I be concerned if you acted on your natural, artistic impulses?”

“Lame, grandpa.”

“I love you too, hedgehog. Safe and smart, ok?”

“Always.”

“Make friends! Cute friends!” he called as Melissa closed the phone, chuckling. Despite all the self loathing and morosity, the one truly bright spot in her life were her grandparents. She loved the fact that her grandpa never quite...switched off, that no matter what kind of day he’d had, how he was feeling, or how late or early it was, he was always laughing, always jovial, and always ready with a bad joke that’d redden her cheeks. Her grandma was the same way but more pointedly, balancing the humor and sarcastic barbs with old person wisdom and teachings. She also liked to be particularly vicious on any subject regarding Melissa’s mom, regaling Mel with hundreds of stories about the hardships of raising a daughter such as she.

“Yo.”

Melissa blinked and looked up into the shadow that had just cast itself upon her, standing between her eyes and the receding sun. Jet had returned to his group’s area and stood loosely next to her chair, regarding her with an intense stare. He was dressed as the other members of his group / clan / whatever thing were, wearing a white medieval coat under a red and yellow checkered tabard. The colors were bright, but just muted enough that he did not resemble ketchup and mustard. A reddish-brown belt cinched it all in, the belt itself covered in pouches, favors, and hand sewn awards from tournaments past. For pants, he wore the same, loose, draw string affair that the children were wearing, but the ends of them were tucked into rather nice looking heavy boots. The kite-like shield hung on his back, and a silver chain dangled from around his neck. His helmet, held in his left hand, had a mean looking red wolf painted on the front of it.

“Um...hi.”

“Everything alright?”

“Um, yeah, ah, yeah!”

He turned and nodded at the fighter’s pit. “Then why aren’t you out there?”

Melissa looked past him and shuddered. That was the last place she wanted to be. “Are you kidding? I’d be eaten alive out there. I’ve never even swung a sword before.”

Jet grunted something unintelligible, then walked past her to dig through the duffle bags they had brought. The sun, released, shone brightly into Mel’s unexpecting eyes and temporarily blinded her. When her optical nerves had healed, Jet was once more in front of her, holding a reddish bundle and a dark colored, battered fencing helmet. “C’mon then.”

Quickly grasping the nature of Jet’s offer, Melissa hurriedly threw up her hands. “Oh, no, no, that’s ok. I think for this first day I’d be fine watching, y’know, really see if it’s right for me.”

“C’mon,” he said again, and there was no arguing with that tone. “You won’t know if you like something like this unless you try it. You WILL get eaten alive if you go out there now, so I’m going to show you a few things to get you ready.”

“Please, I really...”

“Put this on...I don’t want you to mess up your clothes...and put your sweater back on. We don’t hit all that hard, but sometimes people get a little over zealous. No, put it...put it over, that’s right. Sorry about the smell...we don’t get a lot of new comers anymore, so the loner gear doesn’t get aired out as much as it should. I like it...kind of reminds me of corn chips.”

Fighting the urge to gag, Melissa nevertheless obediently put the musky, mildew-smelling dark colored dress-like jacket over her head, pulling it down over her sweater. The heat was immediately oppressive, but not terribly so. As she was pulling her arms through the sleeves, Jet reached around her, pulling a belt across her back. Surprised, Melissa jumped, surging forward into his outstretched arms. Working quickly, he brought the belt around and tied it in the medieval style, as it was one of those tail and ring varieties. Nodding curtly, he stepped back, completely missing the fact that Melissa’s face was about the same scarlet as the tunic she now wore. “These will do for gloves,” he said, handing her a pair of dingy old gardener’s gloves. “If you like this, if you decide to stick with it, that’s the first thing you get for yourself, a pair of gloves.” He held his up, and Melissa was a bit surprised to see that they were simply a pair of hockey gloves that had been covered in leather. “These are your best bet right here...your fingers are safe, and your wrist is free for wrap shots, but I’ll get into those later. Go pick up a sword and meet me over there, under the tree.”

“What am I doing?!” Mel screamed inwardly, looking down at herself. With her gardener’s gloves and the granny robe, she knew she must look ridiculous, and now she was actually going to fight? What about all that she had just told Pembrough? The whole, ?I’m just going to sit here while you make idiots out of yourself” line? Shaking her head in shuddering revulsion, the bemused girl made her way to the pile of wooden swords that lay out on display near Wildfire’s flag. All of them were old, dirty and tattered, but as she selected one of the smaller ones, Melissa slowly waved it through the air, testing the weight.

Testing the weight. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the wooden handle tightly and turned back to the field, firmly prepared to tell Jet off. However, when she saw him under the mesquite tree, beckoning with one oversized glove finger, she felt her resolve drain right out of her and so Melissa meekly strode over to him, sword in hand.

“Put your hood up first, then put your helmet on. That way, it keeps your hair from getting pulled, and acts as an extra shock absorber if you get hit there,” Jet said, his voice muffled and deeper as it issued out of his own helm, and Melissa scrambled to put her spiky hair into the oversized hood. As she slid the helmet down over her face, she was rewarded again with the scent of mildew and sweat, but it wasn’t horrible, conjuring up a rather vivid picture of unwashed boy. She peered through the mesh face plate and saw that everything was dimmer and slightly unfocused as she walked up to Jet, but other then that, her vision was clear.

“Ok, good, not too tight, huh? Good. Now, the first thing you need is a stance. You look out there,” he said, pointing out to the warring field, “a lot of people have different stances, and you can figure one out for yourself as time goes on. However, a lot of newcomers stick with this little number, and it’s a good one to start with. Stand like this,” he said as he sank down on his knees, his right foot in front of the other. He held his sword, which was longer and newer looking then hers, in his right hand up by his eyes, and kept his left hand at the level of this chest, his hand open. “This,” he said, shaking the sword, “protects your head, and your left hand protects your chest.” Nodding in satisfaction as Melissa wobbly emulated the stance, he asked, “has Queen Pem gone over any of the rules of combat with you?”

“No...”

Frowning beneath his helmet, Jet shrugged. “Ok, it’s quite simple. All fights are watched over by a marshal. He’s the one...there, with the striped pole. They watch for rule breakage and keep people from getting hurt. You don’t start fighting until they call ?Lay on’, and you stop immediately when the yell ?hold’. Got it?”

Melissa bobbed her head.

“You never want to use full power. I mean, we’re here to have fun, not break each other’s bones. I’m going to hit you now, tell me if it hurts or not, ok?”

Wincing, Melissa tensed up as Jet stepped forward, swinging his sword at her arm, where it made a resounding ?THUMP’. Despite the pressure, Melissa had felt no real pain, the combination of the jacket and her sweater muting the dull force of Jet’s attack. He stepped back and cocked his head.

“Didn’t hurt,” she murmured in response.

“Ok. Now hit me just as hard. Anywhere.”

Tightening her grip, Mel hesitated for a second, then swung her sword at his arm. He nodded again.

“There are three ways to kill your opponent. You can either hit them on the head, hit them in the chest, or get them from behind. You don’t want to hit someone whose back it turned towards you, it’s bad manners, but some do it. If you can sneak up on someone, you say, ?death from behind’ and lightly tap them on the shoulder with your hand. That way, if they’re honorable, they won’t turn and nail you. If you get hit on the arm, you lose the arm, placing it behind your back. Since spears and glaives need two hands to work, if you lose an arm, you can’t use them. If you get hit on the same arm, you die, since it’s technically a chest hit. If you get hit above the knee on your legs, you go to your knees. Anything below that, or below your wrist, doesn’t count. Got it?”

Another head bob.

“So, the main thing you want to do is protect your head. It’s the biggest target, and most people will go for it. Some can be quite fast,” he said as his arm whipped out, rapping her on the top of her helmet, “so always keep your arm up. If you’re going to attack, make it quick, and bring your sword back to that position when you’re done. Are you ready?”

“Huh? Ready for what?”

“Lay on! Try to kill me. I won’t fight back...at first.”

The chilling words ?at first’ ran like ice across Mel’s spine, but she could feel some of her reluctance melting away. She was already buried so deep, so immersed in the clothes, the helmet, the gloves, (the smell) there wasn’t really any excuse at this point to continue digging her heels in. And as was said before, Zorro had been her most favorite of movies, and watching Jet begin to bob and weave began to rekindle that fire within in. Settling into her stance, she took a measured step forward and swung at his face, where the red wolf snarled menacingly. In one fluid movement, his arm flicked, both blocking her attack and making a swipe at her own helmet. Jerking back, she watched the sword’s leather-covered tip whistle in slow motion in front of her eyes, barely missing her.

"Hey! I thought you said you weren’t-!"

"I lied. Hit me."

Scrambling, Melissa brought her sword up just in time as she watched Jet aim another quick shot at her face, and the feeling of sword upon sword jolted her arm and sent shudders up to her shoulder. The satisfying clang of the weapons drowned out all reason, and narrowed her focus. Suddenly, she was in competition mode, unwillingly so, but in it nonetheless. As all athletes might say (I wouldn’t know, I haven’t asked) there is a switch inside of them, that once pulled, Everything is different. She stopped back-stepping, watched for Jet to lean back to strike and cast out her arm like a fisherman’s lure. He blocked it again, almost lazily.

"You’re going to want to get used to holding the sword a bit lower. It’s called flag-poling, and won’t give you as much control as if you were using two hands, but it’s a skill you NEED in this game if you want to beat some of the older players." He demonstrated the position on his sword. "Holding it like this lets you get a quick wrist flick in...also makes it harder to figure out where you’re aiming for. Right now, you’re telegraphing everything you’re about to do...that fades in time." He swung his sword up, surprised, as Melissa’s attack had whipped quicker then he had thought it would. He just barely blocked the shot. "Whoa! Very good!"

Grinning beneath her mask, Melissa nodded, backing up and holding her sword up, ready.

"We’re done here. There isn’t much that single combat can teach you, though if you fight with a number of people, you’ll get different lessons just by paying attention. There’s different things you have to know about going up again the other weapons, but you’ll pick that up on your own. You seem like you get things really fast, and there’s no better teacher then the pit. Go form up on Pembrough’s side."

Reddening a bit at the unexpected compliment, Melissa’s eyes dropped to her tennis shoes and she mumbled a muted thanks into the guard of her helmet. Without a word, Jet swung out and rapped her on the head again, making her jump.

"Go!"

Melissa had a very real urge to shout "yes sir!"

Walking onto the field, the girl did her best to make sense of the situation. Her blood was fired up, yes, but she still thought that this all was...um...ridiculous! Yeah! Ridiculous and...dumb. Stupid even! I mean, seriously? Didn’t these people have anything better to do, then to dress up and play dungeons and dragons out in the public? What about...

"Hey! Oh my god, you came out!"

Suddenly reminded of...well...everything, she of the bi-colored hair glared through the visor, taking a spot in the line next to Pembrough, who, despite having her face covered up by the phoenix mask, was very obviously smiling from ear to ear.

"I didn’t have much of a choice, damn it! You ever try and say no to that jerk?"

"Hey, Jet was probably just trying to help, y’know, he’s not a jerk!"

Surprised by the sudden defensiveness, Mel scoffed and let it drop, looking across the field at the other ’line’. Composed of about ten people, she could see Jet take his place in the very front, holding his kite shield out to join the two others that made up a wall at the front. Their own line had much the same thing, though as she had moved to the outskirts, she wasn’t about to get much protection from them. Two or three people on each side had the long pole-arms waving about in the sky, and the rest seemed to be armed in an assortment of swords of various lengths.

"That archer is pointing at me."

Pembrough peered across the field. "Yeah, that’s Sir Siebold. He’s not as good as Brom is, but he’s still pretty wicked with that bow. Watch out for that."

"So...how do I block arrows? Do they...hurt? This seems a bit dangerous."

"Padded arrows, and no, they feel like when you get hit by a sword, more or less. Nothing too bad."

"Can I chop them out of the air?"

"No, because you might break the arrows. They aren’t all that cheap to make, so we have to go easy on them."

"I don’t want to get hit!"

"Well," Pembrough began, with that fateful shout rang out across the field of battle.

"LAY ON!"

And as the words left the marshal’s mouth, time seemed to slow down for Melissa. She watched as the green and black robed enemy archer put arrow to string and began to nock it back, clearly aiming for our hapless heroine. Whole years passed as his fingers slackened up, sending the foam covered arrow streaking out at her at a million slow motion miles an hour. Feeling her body tense from her toes to the tips of her ears, Melissa, more out of knee jerk reaction then any purposeful action, pivoted on her back foot, turning inward. The arrow, intended for her midsection, slid across her stomach and continued, unfettered, to land with a definitive ’PLOP’, buried in Pembrough’s (who had, out of her own innate reflexes, stepped behind Mel) exposed chest.

"Ahhh damnit!" She cursed, holding her sword over her head as she turned to walk off the field. "I’ll be out for two minutes, Millicent! Try to survive til then, ok!"

And as she watched her nemesis walk off the field, Melissa barely had enough time to register a grin when a loud shout went up..."

"ARROWS! SHIELDS UP, HEADS DOWN!"

***

And here’s where I pull up on the narrating reigns to give a slightly broader interpretation of the afternoon’s events. While I’m sure you want to be right down there with her, dodging every thrust, ducking every arrow, cowering along behind the shield line, sadly, we need to keep the story rolling, don’t we? I’m sure the movie will appropriately expand out these rather action packed scenes, so...there’s that.

Suffice to say, after the world stopped twirling, her ears stopped jingle-jangling, and the stars had stopped marching time around her head, Melissa was rather ready to call it quits, at least temporarily. I say temporarily for a reason, but I’ll get back into that in a bit. For now, we can watch from our aerial view as the poor girl crawls off the battle field, making her way slowly to the feet of Lord and Lady Reinhart. The baby Reinhart, now garbed in a blue and yellow dress with a matching coronet, perhaps recognized her victim from earlier and gleefully hopped off her mother’s lap and pounced on the teenager. Looking up at their lordships for assistance, all she got in return were reassuring hand gestures and broad smiles which were altogether not all that reassuring. Resigning herself (and realizing the escape from madness for what it was) Melissa rolled, sending Emily tumbling off, causing the child to yelp and squeal. That begat a game of tag, which turned into a patty cake session, which de-evolved into peek-a-boo. Mel never really was much for children (despite the condition that would always tie her to the youngest of them) but their majesty’s daughter was rather cute, even by cute baby standards, and this way, she didn’t have to go back into the fighter’s pit. Her heart, still pumping adrenaline and what have you through her system, probably couldn’t take a return visit. Despite all the volleyball training, despite her love for competition, that was a different beast, a new world entirely, and Mel was quite content to merely sit back and watch, bouncing the baby now on her knee.

Well, content until Jet noticed that his new prot?g?e had fled the field of combat.

Lord Reinhart hid a smile with his well manicured, frost white goatee as he gratefully accepted his daughter back into his arms. The child, held by the scruff of her dress by Jet as he removed her from Melissa’s care, expressed her displeasure at losing her playmate, but otherwise was ambivalent to the rough treatment. Taking almost the same grip on the teenage newcomer, the Knight Combatant unceremoniously dragged her back onto the field. Reinhart got the most fleeting impression that were Melissa a cat, long claw marks would stretch from the ground near his throne back out to the pit.

He was rather overjoyed that his departed squire’s sister had found another member for their group; he genuinely liked Pembrough and her House; Wildfire had always proved a unique dynamic in what at times, despite all evidence to the contrary, could be a tedious and repetitive affair. Pem faired best when she was happy, focused, and excited, and the pall over her that he had noticed as of the past few weeks had been a rain cloud over everyone assembled. He hoped that this new girl wouldn’t be scared off...his daughter was an excellent judge of character, and didn’t run up to just anyone. Besides, his court magician, Charles, had told him some rather interesting things about this new girl, and with her so recently transplanted to this barren wasteland of a desert state, she could not have found a better place to come and let loose every now and again. Handing Emily off to her majesty, his wife, the King set about pulling his ceremonial blue and white tabard off in favor of his fighting cloak, which predominately displayed his personal totem and coat of arms, a blood red scorpion. The beast, likewise showing up on his own kite-shaped shield, was as terrible a sight to behold on the battlefield as was Jet’s raging wolf. Raising his handicapped hand to his daughter before anchoring it into the bindings of his shield, she gave what could be considered an infantile version of a ?fist bump’. Emboldened, Lord Reinhart, or Sir Reinhart von Conrad, Knight Combatant, third degree, Knight Minister second degree, further known as Mr. Conrad, teacher of twelve grade math at Lemon Peak High, took the field, eliciting shrieks of fear and alarm from those assembled.

And so it went. Melissa, firmly convinced that if she tried to bow out again, she’d be drug back by Jet’s inescapable, iron grip, decided to put slightly more thought into staying alive and not getting hit rather then escaping. It wasn’t easy at first; the moment she actually TRIED to dodge or parry an opponent, she found herself too slow, or using the wrong kind of block to keep herself safe from a follow up attack. Many of those that faced her seemed to recognize a newcomer in their midst, giving her small salutes before pressing an attack. As polite as they were, though, she couldn’t kill a single one. Her worst experience came against a brightly colored fighter with a tower shield as big as a door...the man had simply stood in front of her, letting her ineffectually bash away at his shield for a while, before surging it forward, sending the sword flying from her hands. A light tap to her unprotected head and Mel was out on the sidelines, dead. The pace of the games was very quick, and the line battles rarely lasted long enough for the downed fighters to return to combat.

It was during these moments of downtime that she finally got around to meeting the rest of her new entourage, the members of Wildfire and of Shadow Hills’ Ren FORCE. When defeated, they all made their way to where she stood on the edge of the field, suggesting different playing styles and offering tips and one on one combat. Melissa listened half-heartedly but politely; she really didn’t expect to put any of this to use in a more prolonged setting. As soon as they found another member, she’d be free of this obligation, so, really, it was no use trying to learn new skills. All she should do, she reasoned, was to try and enjoy this silly game while waiting for volle..y...

OMFG WTF HFS

And while the electric thought did NOT manifest in Melissa’s brain as text speak, I find it quite adequately sums up the general gist of it. Volleyball. First game. TODAY.

“Watch!” She cried, turning to the assemblage. “Does anyone know what time it is?!”

Everyone shrugged. Didn’t this girl know there weren’t watches back in the 1600s?

Dashing over to Charles, who apparently was also ignorant of the fact that laptops were a long ways off in the renaissance, she grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. “TIME! WHAT IS THE TIME?!” she nearly shouted, shaking him violently.

“Q.q.q.q.q.ua...rter to s-s-s-sev-ev-ev-n! Stoooop s-s-s-s-shaking me!”

Eyes widening, Melissa stepped back in horror. There was just about an hour until the game, and she wasn’t even packed or ready to go yet, Never mind the fact that somewhere she had to get a shower in there, but she probably had to change and...and as her hands flew conspicuously to her midsection, the squish she felt beneath her fingers told her instinctively that her undergarment was soaked and soaked through. She had completely missed the telltale signs and sensations. Growling in near-blind frustration, Melissa dashed onto the field, where Pembrough was busy in a fight to the death with another dual-sword wielder, garbed in the same black and green that many on the field were.

“MOSLEY!” she bellowed in a deep voice, suddenly realizing she was still wearing the stupid dented helmet. “TIME TO GO!”

“WHAT?” Pem cried back, unable to make out words in Melissa’s unintelligible shouting. “LITTLE BUSY, GIVE ME A MOMENT TO...”

Stepping between the two combatants, Mel swung her sword up, catching the man’s right sword on her blade, and in one fluid motion she spun, swinging her arm and the sword attached to it over his other one, connecting quite solidly with the space just below his throat. Gargling a raspy death knell, the man fell to his knees, dead, but Melissa barely noticed. She was too busy shaking Pembrough in a much rougher fashion then she had shaken young Charles.

“If I miss my first volleyball game because of you, you damn goomba I swear I will...I will...do unspeakably horrible things to you! Do you UNDERSTAND!”

“Y-y-y-y-y-e-es s-s-s-stop-oop-op s-s-s-s-hak-hak-ing m-m-me!”

Reluctantly, Melissa ceased her gentle ministrations, but remained poised in an angry leer before Pembrough, who leaned to the side, looking at the fallen knight behind her, then back at Melissa. “Um...”

“Let’s go!”

“Ok ok!” Taking a deep breath, Pembrough doffed her helmet and cupped her mouth with her hands. “ALTE DE VERONAE, WILDFIRE!” She yelled, her littling voice nevertheless piercing the din of the fighters and the conversations of the on-lookers. As if almost by magic, the shout brought the rest of Wildfire scrambling back to their common area, voicing protest and indignity, but with one quelling look, their lord silenced their grumblings. “We need to get Melissa home NOW...there’s a volleyball game to get to!”

“What about our stuff? It’s going to take a bit to break it all down,” Brom pointed out, and Melissa’s guts churned, they had cut it close, far too close...damnit damnit damnit...

“You can leave it all here, guys,” a friendly voice called out from behind the group, causing a rare but interesting group whirl about. Mel, who technically wasn’t part of the group yet was a few seconds behind. “I’m assuming you’ll be back after depositing the young lady, right?” asked the King. Pem nodded. “You know you can trust everyone here, and I’ll personally keep an eye on your gear.”

“All well and good, but I’m still taking my laptop!”

“Of course, Charles!”

“Alright, that settled, lets go!”

In the end, only Mac, Tristan, Pembrough and Melissa made the journey to the beleaguered athlete’s house, the three other boys electing to stay, despite the king’s assurance that their stuff would be looked after. It wasn’t readily understandable, but if you think about it, these kids only got this...release from normality once a week. Any time lost on something as trivial as shuttle service was time wasted. The only reason Tristan made the trip (Mac didn’t let ANYONE drive his van) was so that he could get some food on the way back. Pembrough, as dear a childhood friend that she was, simply could NOT be counted on to remember his order. The boy was a notoriously picky eater, so that was more of an issue then it might sound.

Caught up in the rush of getting home, Melissa had completely forgotten her ritual; as she lay huddled in the back seat, the whole bench to herself, her headphones sat unused, folded up in her bag. Her hood and glasses, one drenched in sweat and the other laying rather innocently on one of the duffle bags back at the field, wouldn’t be making their customary appearances over her head / on her face. To add to ALL this, the sodden pull-up between her legs was now itching in a horribly uncomfortable manner, and as she shifted and danced in her seat, she held Pembrough’s rapt attention. You could just TELL that Pem wanted to ask her what she thought, how much fun she had had, and if it really was all as bad as all that, but let’s just say that while unbelievably hard headed, stubborn, and a bit...er...out of touch with reality, Pembrough wasn’t

A) an idiot

B) suicidal

So she let the manner sit silent between them, content to simply take in the sight she never expected to see...A new member of their guild, dressed and garbed in the colors of their house. She had found it odd that Mel had fled off the field still wearing it, but after almost getting bitten for inquiring, let that go too.

Soon enough, following Mel’s excellent, (if slightly hysterical) instructions, the lumbering relic of a van was turning on Pole Star Place, bypassing a rather imposing wrought iron security gate that was just closing as they scuttled on through. Pembrough, with a start, realized that she was quite familiar with where they were, even though she lived several streets and a freeway away.

“Jet lives around here,” she said, mainly to herself. It had been a long time since she had last come down this way...but those had been some good times.

Melissa, hearing this, allowed herself a shudder as she realized one of these people lived CLOSE to her. And it had to be THAT one. With her luck (and she definitely wanted a word with the author of her life now, ha!) he’d break into her room in the night, dragging her out into the desert to fight coyotes and gila monsters. She blinked. “There, that one!” she cried, stabbing a finger at the only pinkish adobe house on the block. The rest of the houses WERE adobe styled, but only this particular was colored in that pinkish hue.

Rumbling up to the curb, Melissa didn’t even wait for Pembrough to open the door for her; pushing past, she wrenched the door open herself and hopped outside. Dashing up to her grandparent’s nicely carved wooden doors, she waved back at the van, the three occupants a little surprised at just how fast the girl had dived out of the vehicle. “Thanks for the ride, Mac!” she yelled, manners forcing their way past her general...Melissa-ness. She looked down, as though suddenly aware of what she was wearing again. “I’ll...uh...get this to you tomorrow! Bye!”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving only an open door, and the overwhelming (when mixed with the ambient aroma of the van that were already there) smell of mildew, sweat, and something else, a sharp scent, hints of ammonia...

Tristan waved his hand in front of his face. “We really need to wash that loaner gear, Pem.”

Mac, in silent agreement, rolled down his windows, taking the time to even hand crank the little triangular one in the corner.

***

“Child, what on earth are you wearing?”

Without answering, Melissa wrenched the heavy leather belt off of her waist slithering out of the dress-like jerkin. Leaving it, the belt, and two well worn gardener’s gloves in a pile at the foot of the stairs, the girl went dashing by her grandfather, who stood agape at the banister.

“Don’t-wanna-talk-about-it-are-you-ready-to-go?!” she cried, in what could be described as more of a...super word, then a sentence. Grandpa, quite used to interpreting Melissa-speak, nodded and called out after her, as all he found himself talking to was the sound of her footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“I sure am, but you don’t seem to be! Do you want me to drive your grandma down in your place? The old chicken still has some moves left in her, I’m sure they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference!”

“GROSS GRANDPA!”

“What do you want me to do with this...er...stuff?!”

“BURN IT!”

Melissa’s grandma came to stand besides her husband. Looking down quizzically at the reddish pile on the ground, she kicked at it with her foot, then looked back up at Grandpa.

“Get me a stick. And a bag. And the Geiger counter...”

As the hot water hissed and rained down on her, Mel closed her eyes, reveling in the blissful sensations. That was one thing she had always loved...the shower after a game. With your muscles finally beginning to relax, the thin layer of sweat and grime left over, and your hair flat and in your eyes, that first shower afterwards was like heaven. Her brows furrowed into a frown as she suddenly realized she had equated that whole medieval debacle with one of her few beloved sensations. There was no denying it, however. Her arms, which should have been in peak and rested condition for the game, ached and pinched as she ran her strawberry scented loofah over her shoulders, down her sides and along her legs. Her knees, unused to the stance Jet had forced her in, complained and creaked as she shook them out. The whole thing had been quite a work out, and that was not including the several hits she had taken through the night, some of which felt rather like bruises waiting to show themselves. A cursory examination revealed that she remained pristine, at least for now.

Sighing, Mel pulled her hair down in front of her face, letting the shampoo rinse from her bangs. They had grown rather long in the last few weeks, but she was loathe to cut them. Her hair, which had once been completely blue, and once been completely red at some point, had all but faded back to the auburn-brown hair her father had passed along to her. Only the tips were still dyed in the myriad of colors, and when she cut those, the highlights would be gone. Shaking herself, Mel kicked the water off with her foot, fumbling for the yellow towel that hung just within arm’s length outside the shower.

Glad that she had laid out her equipment the night before, Melissa stood over it for a second, feeling as though a thousand little ice cubes had pressed up against her bare skin. Another life flashed before her eyes in that second, blanketing her room in the foggy haze of memory. The uniform on the ground before her wasn’t red and black with subtle gray touches, nor did it have a bio-hazard symbol predominately displayed on the front of the shirt. It was white, bright white, with green sleeves and matching shorts. It didn’t have a mascot or a symbol on it, rather, the words ?Carlsbad High’ lay written in bubble letters across the chest. Her number, lucky number twenty-nine, lay embroidered on the right leg of the shorts. Rubbing at her eyes and windmilling her arms, Mel banished the haze and stooped down to pick her top up. A fresh diaper already sat in place in lieu of normal panties; normal implying the likes of which a normal, or slightly less disabled teenager might be wearing in a similar situation. These ones were neither cute nor all that comfortable, but they hugged her hips tightly and were quiet. Over the course of the past few days, she had modeled the various diapers available to her under her uniform, making note of which ones were noticeable and which may simply serve to flatteringly increase her derri?re. Volleyball shorts tended to be cut rather short to allow for full range of movement, but Mel had gotten all kinds of lucky with Shadow Hill’s; the shorts were loose and baggy, but still short enough to move. There would be no accidental flashes of what no one should see...ever.

Her mind continuing to wander, the softly colored walls of her bedroom began to glow, transforming in a shower of soft illumination into something else, something older, from another time. The yellow and white hues that predominately made up her living space darkened and faded, turning harsh and vibrant. The bed, pressed up against the back corner of the room, pulled forward, lowering itself as it converted into a thick futon style. Christmas lights hung from the ceiling in lieu of a ceiling fan, and several indie rock posters that currently lay in her closet now covered her walls like a second coat of paint. Pembrough and the ECS seemed...impossible. That what had happened not twenty minutes prior could never have happened at all. Not to this person. Standing alone in the room, the girl looked up out the window as a red SUV drove up, the adult driver impatiently leaning on the horn. The vehicle was spacious, though not as much so as Mac’s van, and Mel could see four other girls already in the back seat, all shouting and waving for her. Smiling wide, a much (by teenage standards) younger Melissa D’Audrey grabbed her duffle bag and ran out the door, pausing on the way out to admire her long, green streaked hair. It almost matched the hue of the sweater she wore and the jersey she wore underneath that. Bolting out the door, she didn’t call out a farewell to anyone who might still be in the little house, because Mel knew quite well that there was no one there.

“Hey! Are you ready or what? This is your big debut, kiddo!”

The voice jolted through Mel’s reverie, breaking down the world of her memories around her like cheap cardboard. Suddenly, Melissa was sixteen again, not fourteen, and the jersey she wore was red and black, not green and white. A vibrantly orange number ?3’ sat tattooed between her shoulder blades. She turned to face Grandma, who leaned with upraised brow in the doorway.

“Yeah, grams, all set, let’s go!” she replied, happily enough, a ghost of that wide and cheery smile still on her face.

“Mel...”

“What? C’mon, grandma, lets go!”

“Does the rest of your squad wear Pampers instead of bottoms when they play out here? Do they switch to Huggies on away games?”

Blushing scarlet crimson (not unlike the color of the garments that Grandpa was shoveling, at arm’s full length, into the washing machine) Mel turned, snatching the boy’s style briefs and the black shorts off the ground and hurriedly stepped into both, cinching the rope on the shorts tight. She pointedly ignored the old woman’s ear to ear grin. She lifted her arms, the motion causing the long cut jersey to expose her stomach.

“Does it show?”

Grams shook her head. “Nope, but good call with the panties, these shorts fit kind of low. Hurry and grow out these scrawny hips of yours...you’re naught but bone, child!”

“Maybe if you fed me better...”

“Maybe if you ate faster!”

“And weren’t so picky!” her grandfather’s voice chimed in helpfully from downstairs.

“Are we done? Let’s go!”

***

“And so you absolutely refuse to say anything about where you went after school, the things you did, and that nightmarishly smelly robe you barged through the door in?”

Melissa nodded. “Absolutely. My mind must be a focused scalpel. Nothing but volleyball going on up here,” she said, tapping her head.

“It’s true,” Grandma agreed sadly. “She walked out of her room sans pants at first.”

“Wow,” her grandfather said, turning in his seat to look impressed. “That’s dedication.”

“It is. And for that reason, I can’t discuss any of my activities with you at this time. Or ever.”

“Fair enough. Well then, on the subject of volleyball, who are you playing tonight? Do you know?”

“It’s a private school on the east side, South Point, I think. They have blue uniforms, that’s all I know. We beat them last week...coach didn’t really have too much to say about them.”

“And the rest of your team? Can they keep up with you?”

Mel nodded, though her eyes started to wander to her grandfather’s hand as he placed the key into the ignition. Feeling the chill that she had forgotten to experience earlier on the ride home, she stopped talking and flipped her hood up again, fumbling for her headphones. The hood that now swallowed her face was the lime green of her dream world, the red team sweater still tangled up in the filthy pile of loaner gear spinning in the washer. Her grandparents, a bit surprised she had lasted THIS long, exchanged a look between themselves and turned to keep their eyes on the road. This was Arizona, after all, and god forbid they accidentally hit a gila monster or something. You go to jail for that sort of thing ?round here.

***

Climbing out of the car, Mel couldn’t help but feel a mote of disappointment as she looked around the parking lot. The scarcity of the vehicles in the lot dredged up the same feeling of let down she had known when she first saw the two knights fighting in their dumb looking plastic armor. Back in California, half of Carlsbad would show up to the Saturday games. It’s just what you did. Didn’t hurt that the beach was all of three minutes from where they played. But the main reason people showed up was because the Lady Pirates were a division one, top tier team. Melissa had been an elite player on an elite team. People came out to see winners; it wasn’t exciting if your team was the district heel.

And Melissa knew at this point that that was exactly how Shadow Hills was regarded. Despite the talent (La’neisha had a monster serve, and Amy could pretty much just reach up and spike the ball) they were a losing team. Not that it showed in practice; for all intents and purposes, Mel could have done a lot worse for teammates. But when you play the game, and you love it like Mel loved it, you can look at a player and know their whole life story (this may be an exaggeration) in the way they played the game, and she knew a dysfunctional team when she played for one.

“I hafta go in through the locker rooms, you guys,” Melissa said, pointing over yonder. “I’ll see you in there, ok? General admission is over there by the auditorium doors...I put you both on the guest list, so just show your ID or whatever and they should let you in for free.”

Grandpa held up a hand. “First, ?hafta’ isn’t a word, young lady, and it’s shameful to hear you speak so. Second, if the money goes to the Athletics Department, it’s going back to you, so we don’t mind paying!”

“Despite the fact that uniform cost us an arm and leg already....” Grams mumbled, but Mel was too far away to hear at this point.

“Fine, whatever! See ya in a bit!”

Watching their granddaughter disappear into one of the many side rooms of SHH’s (that’s Shadow Hills High, in case you weren’t paying attention) auditorium / gymnasium, Mr. and Mrs. Kent exchanged another one of their Significant Glances. The weather, warm and stifling even as the sun began to set over the mountains, didn’t stop Grams from leaning into her husband. Raising six other kids between them really gives one a sense of ’seen it all before’, but Melissa was teaching the duo that that really wasn’t the case. Even without...everything else, none of the Kent’s other children showed much interest in school sports so this was a new experience, a joyful one, all things considered, and both grandparents were looking forward to seeing their recently re-acquired granddaughter shine out there on the court.

“She seems...peppy,” Grandma said, digging through her purse for an ID. Despite what her husband had said, there was no way they were paying to get in if they could avoid it. She wasn’t cheap by any measure of standard, but she knew her sweet-loving companion would spend the entry fee and more at the snack bar. Mr. Kent had a weakness for nachos and Skittles. And yes, I mean both at the same time, in the same dish. “You think everything’s going ok?”

The large man grinned, no doubt thinking about his forbidden passions. It had been a long time since he had had cheese covered confections. “I’m sure it is, ma’petite. However, just to be sure, I have a photocopied print of her diary, current as of yesterday. I figured it’d get us through the slow parts of the match.”

Rather then admonishing him for what some might call the ultimate breech of a teenager’s trust, the old woman shared a laugh and clapped Mr. Kent on the back. “You are the devil himself, dear. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

As soon as Melissa stepped through the concrete corridor leading into the women’s locker room, she was suddenly beset with a chorus of cheers and shouts. Without warning, she was roughly embraced from behind in what could simply be described (by a man) as what could have been the most comfortable bear hug...ever. And by comfortable, I mean there was a lot of cushion...back of the head...er...Nevermind.

“You made it!” Amy exclaimed, even as Melissa fought and wheezed to extricate herself from the tall, fair-haired girl’s iron grip. “We were really starting to worry.”

“Tell me about it,” Coach Amberly said, breathing her own sigh of relief as she rounded the row of lockers to stand before her. As usual, the short elderly coach was garbed as a funeral director, black Nikes, black track pants, all complimenting a rather well worn black wind-breaker. The coach’s gleaming whistle seemed all the more brighter against the darkness. “When I said you didn’t have to come to warm-ups, I didn’t mean you could skip the whole game!”

“Sorry for cutting it close, guys,” Mel said, looking at the assorted faces all turned her way. Reddening under the attention, she quickly dashed up to her locker, tossing her duffle-bag inside after pulling her pads and shoes out of it. With only a week between initial purchase and actual game-night use, the cushiony pieces of elbow and knee protection were still fresh and unmarred, looking as brand new as they were. Not quite broken in yet, they were stiff and unyielding as Mel pulled them over her forearms and legs, but experience with such things told her that they’d loosen up as the games wore on. As she slid them down, her fingers found a tender spot on the inside of her left bicep, and she winced, suddenly remembering the wooden sword strike that was most likely responsible for that. Gritting her teeth, she knew it was going to suck tonight to dig with her arm already sore, but she wasn’t too worried about it. If anything, worry transmuted into annoyance, and that annoyance went off and began writing at a desk, outlining all the ways she hated Pembrough Mosley.

She could see that unlike Amy and herself, most of the other girls on the team had decided to go with the short sleeve version of the Nuke’s uniform. Mel had always preferred the long sleeves, not necessarily to protect her forearms, as some girls did, but because the loose fitting cloth just made her feel a little secure. It wasn’t really something she could explain, and if she did, we probably wouldn’t understand. After playing for so long and so often, the girl’s forearms could be described as supple steel, which probably attributed to the relatively few amount of bruises she was probably going to end up with following her night on the combat field. Snorting to herself and shaking the thought from her head, she slammed her locker and resumed her earlier train of thought. She wouldn’t be so dramatic as to put it this way, but playing in short sleeves always felt a bit like playing naked. None of the other Nukes seemed to have that problem, though, with La’neisha and Michelle, the team captain rolling up even the short sleeves to convert the jersey into a tank-top looking affair that no doubt caught the entirely honest and innocent attention of most of the teenage boys in the gymnasium. They also chose to forgo the elbow pads, but that made sense. Michelle was the setter, always finding the middle of the court. Her job was to keep the ball afloat for the power strikers, Amy and La’neisha, who rotated sides throughout the match. None of those positions really made it likely that those players would go to ground, necessitating the pads. Never hurt to be overly cautious, though, as Mel had seen a girl crack her forearm tripping over her shoelaces before the game had even started. Then again, that particular girl was also famous (infamous?) for breaking her nose on the first day of her senior year for walking into the glass door leading into the library.

“Ok, we’re good, we’re good,” Melissa breathed to herself, double-checking everything in her locker’s thin mini-mirror. Shoelaces, tied. Hair, scrunchied. Elbow pads, yes. Knee pads, check. At long last, after much build-up, it was time.

To wait about fifteen or so more minutes for the boys to vacate the court. The large clock that ruled the southern wall of the auditorium (some might call it gigantic) said it was currently 7:45. Because the nights here in the Tucson summer were short and warm, games this late really weren’t a surprise, moreover, they tended to be more practical with the seasonal climate. Though the gym was adequately air-conditioned for her practices and classes, it was a lot of space to cool down, and not every day were the school’s well funded air conditioning systems up to the task.

Noticing that a few of her teammates had ventured out of the locker room to watch the games from the sidelines, Mel closed her locker and followed suit, blinking as the low neon lights of the dressing area gave way to the spotlights illuminating the court. As she looked around, she smiled as she easily picked out her grandparents, her papa already knee deep in a plate of nachos. The joy of seeing them here, about to witness her at her very best was again tempered with the realization that she had found them so easily because the seats were pretty vacant. Even with the men’s team playing, only a few dozen people lined the stands, inhabiting the bleachers in a way gaps fill an adolescent kid’s mouth. But that was ok. It was totally ok.

The men’s team here at Shadow Hills enjoyed a slightly better reputation for themselves then did their female counterparts, but not by much. Strictly a middle of the field team, the Hit Men had managed a perfect, 50% win-loss record in each of their last seven seasons. And I’m not talking 50%ish. Straight down the middle, 50-50. Such a feat would be worth noting and perhaps warrant a novella all it’s own, but there was simply nothing remarkable about the team in and out of itself...they were a simply a mediocre team of mediocre fellows who were perfectly content to play the game at a mediocre level. Not Melissa, though. Shy and retiring, bitter and snarky, this was truly her world, not a silly make-believe fantasy of knights and princesses. This was home, and feeling something not unlike elation beginning to well up within her, she nudged Amy Brand, who stood towering over her. Grinning up at her teammate, she was met with more of the same, albeit slightly more rainbow colored. That cheered her further. No matter what the others played for, it was obvious from that colorful smile that Amy loved the game just as much as she did. But Melissa loved something else just as much; she loved to win.

As though overly mindful of the game clock, the visiting team upped it’s dismantling of the Hit Men to coincide with the eight o’clock hour, scoring the last goal just as the hour turned over. Defeated, though perfectly aware that they would be (they had of course, won their last game) the men’s team sauntered off the field to the opposite side, away from the girls and their locker room. Whistles were blown and the announcer sounded off on the victory of the other team, the news being met with only a handful of boos and assorted noise from the mild crowd. A pop song began pumping out of the crackling speakers, announcing the gender change of the combatants. This particular pop song also served as the ?official’ theme song of the Nukes, written that way because the author doubts highly that the original performer of the song was even aware of the Shadow Hills Volleyball program. A rather peppy blend of Spanish and English (best to serve, perhaps, the ethnic diversity of the state and the team itself, which was 2/6ths Hispanic) “El Rey Es En Tu Oros” was fun and catchy, doing the rounds in Tucson’s nightclubs. It was also the type of music Melissa rather philosophically imagined would be playing in Hell’s elevators.

Sounded by the clarion call of bad musak to the court, Melissa and her team trotted out to the hardwood, waving to the assorted friends and family they had brought with them. Some of the little crowd had departed when the men’s team did, but Melissa cast that out of her mind. Her grandparents were here, watching her, ready to see her shine. This would be the first time in a long while in which someone she wanted to be there WAS there, and with that mental adjustment, there might has well have been a thousand people in that gym. Nevermind the fact that the little notebook that Grandma seemed entranced by was in fact a photocopied version of her diary. She was the star here, and damnit, she was going to shine.

Now, I know by this point I might have a bit of a reputation for being kind of a jerk in regards to the flow of this story. I mean, as narrator, what I say pretty much goes. There’s a lot of responsibility that goes along with omnipotence, and suffice to say, I let a little of the rush go to my head from time to time. I’m going to say that I’m more then leaning towards telling this night as a disaster, as these stories sometimes go. All the pressure, plus everything that had happened earlier, combined with the general...Melissa-ness of the whole situation, well, any narrator worth his salt knows that adversity moves the story along. The Nukes would lose, terribly, but would rebuild, forging new friendships and discovering more about themselves along the way. Melissa would attack the set back like a safety tackles a wide receiver, and come out roaring, at the top of her game. Firmly, she’d reassess her commitment to her team, and bow out of the Medieval Club, never looking back. This team needed her full attention, her all, and she couldn’t give her all to two different groups. Maybe there’d be a last minute revelation that one of the players was actually a spy for the other team. Or a space alien. That’s how it could have gone.

I flipped a coin.

It is eight thirty. The game is over. High School volleyball sets are generally a best of three affair, with each game going to twenty-five points. They used to only go to fifteen back in the day, but since the rules changed and allowed teams to score a point no matter which side serves, these things can go pretty quick. It is eight thirty, but the Nukes have already shook hands with the opposing team, who graciously but mutely accepted the show of friendship.

Because there was none shown on the court.

The Nukes didn’t have to carry it out to best of three. Two matches, 25-8, 25-10. It was a beat down. Each game, the Nukes completely dominated the South Point gals. For her part, this wasn’t completely Mel’s victory. It wasn’t like she scored every single point, she just scored the...majority of them. Plus, when her team began to falter, exhausted by the sudden surge from their teammate that they were slow to acclimate to, she was there, supporting. Yelling, cheering, encouraging, bringing a life to the team that I highly doubt the team even knew it had. Every position played all the better for her involvement. Michelle, the team captain, was all over the ball, setting and calling plays. Berna, the newly designated defensive specialist, played as though born to the position, her diminutive height allowing her to flit between the taller girls to dig and keep the ball in play. One of La’neisha’s opening serves almost knocked out the opposing captain. Even Coach Amberly was right there in the midst of it, looking far more animated then her sixty seven years of life would lead you to believe she was capable of. Given that the volleyball games typically didn’t feature cheerleaders, she played the part all by herself, yelling at both the team and crowd respectively when there was hustle to be bustled and pep to be stepped up. All in all, it was glorious. To a crowd that numbered just slightly more then the amount of money in my bank account, it was something they weren’t quite used to seeing. It was...strangely entertaining. There would be online blog posting about this game, for sure.

Laughing and cheering, the triumphant Nukes began heading for the showers, each looking forward to ending the night on a wonderful note. The coach, clearly moved by her team’s performance, wanted nothing more then to gather the lot of them up and head down to the nearest late night eatery for a late night celebration courtesy of the Shadow Hills Athletic department. However, Coach Amberly was a suspicious old woman, and one amazing game did not and would not convince her that they were just going to go and win the season. To celebrate so soon would be just asking for a jinx, and having seen it happen just too many times, with THIS team, the coach merely contented herself with lots of congratulatory pat on the back as she headed into the locker room for a post-game encouragement speech to her girls.

Putting the narrative spotlight back on our triumphant teenager, observe for a moment her joy and ecstasy falter ever so slightly as she noticed the shadowy figure lurking near the entrance to the girl’s locker room, hands folded over his slightly protruding belly in a classic comic book villain pose. Principal Edwards smiled a squinty grin and peeled himself from the wall, opening his mouth and raising his hands as though he were about to pour lavish praise upon his school’s volleyball team, but the Nukes never gave him the chance to do so. As he approached, penetrating Mel’s exuberance with his very presence, a different sensation forced her to reassess her priorities regarding things that demanded notice as she was suddenly hoisted skyward by five different pairs of hands.

“Here’s to Daudry!” Michelle shouted, mimicking her mom’s incorrect pronouncement of Mel’s last name, though there was no mistaking the teasing, happy tone she used. This was a team leader who right now and in this moment, was perfectly happy to be so. “Wooo!”

The assorted Nukes whooped and hollered in answer, doing everything they could to keep from dropping the shocked and surprised girl to the floor. One of the hands hoisting her got a somewhat unexpected surprise as it moved to support her derriere, but most likely, the odd sensation that hand registered was probably totally lost in the midst of things. Probably. Poor Principal Edwards had no chance to get out of the way as he was all but crushed underfoot by the train of mostly adolescent females. Were this actually a comic book, or something of that nature, you’d probably be treated to a scene in which Edwards ends up peeling himself off the floor of the gym, several foot prints marring his body. As it is, he was able to skip away at the last second, glaring as the group made it’s way back into their showers, definitely no man’s land.

“Don’t forget to see me tomorrow, Melissa!” he called shrilly, cupping his hands to his mouth in an ultimately futile attempt to be heard over the din. Frowning, the round little man kicked at a discarded plastic cup in annoyance, but felt his spirit lighten considerably as he noticed Mel’s grandparents on the bleachers, heading for the exits. Rubbing his hands together, he took one last look at the girl’s locker room, than moved to intercept the grand-parental units. They had much to discuss.

The exact details of the discussion will remain their little secret for now, because it’s late and my editor is telling me that if I want sweet cuddles, I’m to finish this scene in the next few minutes or so. Due to that fact, I’m unfortunately forced to leave out graphic details of the ladies as they hit the showers, playfully splashing each other and whipping one another with sodden towels. Of special note is the fact that our dear Melissa managed, against all belief, to sneak out on this joyous festival of the female form to rendezvous with grandma and grandpa, who were having a bemused conversation about the content of their secret talk with the villainous principal. Which will remain a secret. Indefinitely.

Upon spotting her grand-family, Melissa dashed across the parking lot, which due to some abnormally bright street lamps, was as well lit as it would have been at noon. Hi-fiving her grandpa’s outstretched hand will all the force of a caffeinated five year old, she turned and gave her grandma a rib-shattering hug. Seeing Melissa like this was a pleasant surprise, as the teenager, while mostly friendly to all things not related to the medieval times, hadn’t really been considered overly affectionate for several years. This was a wonderful return to the young girl they had known before the move, and despite the odd update from the Principal, they were filled with the general feeling of, ?it was going to be alright’. Even on the car ride home, one in which Melissa was a non-stop chatter box, extolling the virtues of her new team in comparison with all those ?lames’ back on her former team, neither headphones nor hood made an appearance. As was said before, a seasoned player like Mel could get the measure of her teammates through practice alone. But games? Games made the most impact on how a player was received by others. She KNEW she had wowed her team, and they had responded ferociously.

As the car rolled up onto the driveway, Mel stepped out into the muggy heat of the night, feeling both the weight of her duffle-bag and the exhaustion finally beginning to set in. She stared up into the starry night, the Tucson sky filled with more astronomical phenomena then the bright, city-muted San Diego skies had been. The moon, split into a wide smile dominated the air, and crossing her eyes, Melissa made two of them appear above her. Squinting her left eye, the double image moon faded, giving the impression that the night’s face was winking at her. Maybe it was going to be alright.

Having kissed her grandparents good night, Mel now stood in front of her bathroom mirror for the third time today. The first time, she had been filled with anxiety and annoyance, fully aware that between that gaze and the game, a rather annoying and potentially horrible experience lay. The second time, she was exhausted and sore, dreading what was most likely going to be utter disaster. How could she possibly play good volleyball without a workout before hand? With all the bruises she was sure to have? This third time, though, well, not it wasn’t all so clear. Her team had won the game. It had nothing to do with the skill of the other team, either, they were simply outmatched on all fronts. But the ECS hadn’t really been all that horrible, had it? Maybe...well...maybe it did her some good? The inner musing manifested as a small conference being held in her head, differing opinions being represented by Melissas at various ages in different costumes.

A fifteen year old Melissa in a green volleyball uniform argued that the game came first. That distractions were not allowed. Friends, especially weird friends, were just distractions. Things were still so screwed up, why let anything get in the way of this being a quiet, easy going year of school? Hadn’t we gone down this route before?

A prepubescent Melissa dressed in a bandit mask and a sombrero protested loudly while waving a plastic rapier around that sword fighting was ?wicked-cool’ and that all that dashing and hopping around might actually be good for pre-game calisthenics. Sure, it was weird, and she really didn’t want to be known for that at the school, but heck. Her team just kicked the pants of the opposing team tonight. It was going to be in the school’s newspaper by Friday. Let her be known for that! And did she mention that sword fighting was ?wicked-cool’?

A twelve year old Mel wearing a long, pastel colored t-shirt and pajama bottoms with blue frogs on them said nothing, staring into the miasma of this dream conference place, listening to a CD walkman.

And finally, a completely nude sixteen and a half year old Mel, representing the current Mel who was luxuriating in her third shower of the day, sighed deeply and concurred with all of the very good points from each of her inner selves. If anything, that nut Pembrough had bought herself a guild member for at least another week. She mentally set her earlier edict in stone, however, that if anything interfered with ball, she’d quit it on the spot. Tonight, she proved to herself that she could juggle both. Time would tell if she keep it up.

A scholarly Mel wearing coke-bottle glasses and a lab coat tried to interject something about homework, but the pre-teen version in the Zorro mask let out a shout of challenge and chased that one around the others, thoroughly peeving the one in the green uniform and almost tripping on the one laying on the ground. Chuckling to herself, Melissa willed herself out of her little psychosis, and grabbed at a towel. Drying off, she walked to her dresser, pulling out the bottom drawer, where assorted under garments of the padded kind were stored. Lingering over the cloth-like pull-ups she customarily wore, her hand instead grabbed at one that was considerably less...discrete. Rustling loudly as she backed up against her door, she pulled the front part of the diaper up between her legs, taping each side tightly. She knew that she’d have no trouble going to sleep tonight regardless, but sleeping in these ones always seemed to help just a bit more. Pulling a pastel colored night shirt from her closet, she pulled it over head, letting it fall, the hem of which ended just above her knees. With a dreamy smile, she bent down, rustling loudly, and tugged a plastic bin out of her closet. She was too tired to do anything tonight with the contents of this mysterious bin, but first thing tomorrow...oh heck, just one. Popping the lid, her hand slid inside, pulling out a tightly wrapped poster, sealed by a number of rubber bands. Looking around her room, which despite being colorful by virtue of her bed sheets alone was quite barren and...white, she pulled a couple of tacks out of her corkboard / planner (that would never, ever be used for such) and fixed the poster directly across from her bed. It’d be the first thing she see upon waking up, and that’s just how she wanted it. She knew her grandma would probably tease her, but she didn’t care. It also wasn’t like she was ever going to have anyone up here in her room. Grinning to herself as she surveyed her work, she tossed herself backwards on her bed, half asleep before landing. The thick night-time diaper was like a second pillow under her waist, but she enjoyed the sensation. Turning, she pulled one of her pillows into her arms, drifting fully away.

“It’s going to be ok,” she mused inwardly, her last conscious thought before the Sand Man, who lived quite nearby in the desert wash out back, finally claimed her.

I flipped a coin.

Poor girl.

END PART 2

 

---