Carter's Shadow - 5. Chapter 5

Monday, West was somewhat aware of his surroundings when he pushed his way through the gym doors that connected the school to the student parking lot. He walked along the hall, smiling and nodding to a few familiar faces that did the same back towards him; he was a bit early, but then most mornings were spent in the gym playing basketball, killing time till the first bell.

Brad was sitting on the scorekeeper's chair, Mel lounging on the table beside him. She looked bored, rolling a sucker around in her mouth suggestively as she played eyes with a couple of the boys out on the court, naturally causing as much of a distraction as she could.

West wandered over to lean on the wall beside Brad, giving a simple jerk of his head to indicate to a junior that he was in his way. The junior shrugged and moved aside to let West take his spot.

"Hey," West greeted, shifting a bit to get comfortable leaning on the porous brick wall.

Brad glanced back and grinned. "You missed one hell of a night, Saturday," he said simply. "Tried to call you at home, but your mom said you were out."

West nodded, "I hit the town."

"Big date?" Brad asked with a smirk.

"Nah," West replied. "Just felt like being out by myself, you know, lone wolf and the like."

Brad laughed, "You should have stopped by, we missed you."

"What, all the girls you have hanging off you weren't enough, you wanted me to look at as well?" West grinned shaking his head at the absurd thought.

"Hey, it's not my fault you're my bitch," Brad laughed. "Here, see this?" he nodded over to where Robbie and Jessie were going for a little one on one around the far basket. Robbie was mopping the floor with his teammate, like he had something to prove. It wasn't a friendly game, there were issues being resolved out there, where it counted, on the hardwood.

"What's that about?" West asked stepping forward.

"Lover's spat," Mel observed from her lounging.

Brad glanced at her, rolling his trademark golden brown eyes as he sniffed, "Yeah, but who's pitching and who's catching?" He chuckled, "Nah, it's got something to do with what Jessie was saying Friday night."

"Maybe we should just leave them be?" West suggested, looking down.

Brad set his square jaw as he looked up at West, "You serious?"

West shook his head, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it into Brad's lap as he walked out onto the floor, crossing to the pair that were battling, lost in their own duel. They didn't even see him coming till he was up with them, and had intercepted a shot.

"Two on one," he said. It wasn't a request; Storm didn't make requests to ball players.

Robbie drew up short, his face darkening, as he threw a glare over to Jessie. Jessie for his part looked relieved that someone had stepped in. That told West volumes about what was going on; he bounced the ball once on the hardwood and passed it to Robbie.

Robbie bounced it and thrust it back, indicating they had started.

West smirked, bouncing the ball and hopping up to take a perfect three-point shot; it swished through the net and Jessie caught it.

"Come on, then," he said, switching positions with the two basketball players. Jessie tossed him the ball, and he passed it back, and Jessie made to dribble in for a clear shot, hopping up to take a shot as West stepped in and tipped the ball away from the net.

Robbie glared as he intercepted the ball and came in for his shot, again West effortlessly intercepted the ball, bouncing out to the line and turning, shaking his head as he took another long shot, sinking it.

It wasn't that they were bad at basketball but West had been playing it since he had been old enough to dribble a ball. The only reason he wasn't on the basketball team was the (delete) status that came with wearing the crossed hockey sticks on his green jacket. Add that to the fact that Robbie and Jessie were supposed to be playing together as a team, and couldn't even look at each other.

West let his score climb a bit, before he caught the ball again, bouncing it a couple of times, looking at the pair of them and shaking his head. "Figures," he said after a bit, and tossed the ball back to Jessie, turning his back and walking back over to where Brad was sitting, obviously impressed.

"Didn't know you could shoot hoop," Brad commented.

"Gotta remind them who's on top and why," West said with a distinctive smirk as he took back his jacket and shrugged it on.

"Show off," Mel quipped, getting up herself. "Smells too much like testosterone in here, I'm going to go to class."

West rolled his eyes, "Yeah right, you're on your way downstairs to go smoke."

She shrugged at him. "Going to stop me?" she asked playfully.

"Nah," West replied, "I don't give a shit you want to pollute your lungs. I gotta jet anyway." He gestured to the doors, "I have to go get my shit and get to class."

"Keener," Brad accused with a grin.

West ignored him, heading out through the far doors, passing by coach's office. The door was open as usual, and West glanced just in time to catch Coach Highmore arguing with Coach Thorburn. The two men often fought; they had two very contrasting ways of doing things, but when they worked for the team nobody could stop them.

West paused, knowing it was wrong to eavesdrop, but when Highmore had said something about testing, that had stopped him cold.

"I'm not doing that to my boys!" Thorburn was saying.

"That's not our call," Highmore replied calmly. "There have been accusations flying, and the league wants them stopped."

"It's bullshit." Thorburn, always emotional, and very opinionated was getting annoyed, "It's the other teams, they know they can't beat us on the ice so they're trying to fuck us off it."

"So," Highmore said, keeping his tone even, pacing across the doorway, "we don't give them an excuse; if we stand up and show we're not afraid to do this, the accusations stop." Highmore stopped in the doorway, the young coach glancing across to where West was standing in the hallway; those blue eyes glittered under his glasses as he searched West's face to figure out how long the young centre had been standing there.

West couldn't meet those eyes; he flushed at being caught and Highmore shook his head with a smile as he closed the door calmly, cutting off the rest of the conversation.

Drug testing, that was something they did in the big leagues, not the Ontario High School League. West shook his head as he set off down the connecting corridor out into the main school, passing the guidance centre and the Phys. Ed classrooms. It had Coach Thorburn annoyed, which worried West. It was the kind of accusation that got parents involved. But Coach Highmore had a point, as he often did in that calm rational manner the assistant coach always brought to the table. The only way to stop the accusations was to prove they weren't valid.

West shook his head as he came through into the lobby, heading for the upper stairs and his locker, catching sight of Mister Greenwood as the English teacher was opening up the auditorium he always used as a classroom. Greenwood glanced at the young hockey player still on his way to get his books, as he looked meaningfully at his watch.

West grinned, the teacher had a point; if he kept his current pace he was going to be late for class. He started to run, ducking past a couple of surprised freshmen moving out of the way of the rushing senior.

He made it to Greenwood's class on the buzzer, taking his seat near the middle of the class next to Jenny-Lynn; she always saved him a seat next to her, and had her notes open for him to share with her.

He shifted to get comfortable, flipping open his Shakespeare and trying to find the appropriate chapter. Greenwood was standing at the front of the room, his suit jacket tossed aside, wearing simply his black waistcoat and rolled-up shirtsleeves that gave the old man a relaxed air, like he worked for a living and loved it.

"Good morning, class," he rumbled, a soft spoken voice with an edge of steel. No one suspected him of being a pushover; he was one of those men who held control of his class by sheer weight of personality, and it was that which made his class the most sought over in the school.

"The Merchant of Venice is considered one of Shakespeare's problem comedies, in part due to its anti-Semitism," Greenwood stated, resting an arm on his podium. "Now you've all read the play, we've discussed it at length, I want to know what you think."

West chewed his lip and stuck up his hand. "Hypocrisy," he said with a shrug. "All the way through the play Antonio and his friends are begging Shylock for mercy, yet right at the end when they have the upper hand, they show none."

"That's right," Greenwood stated. "If it is a play supposedly showing the benefits of Christian ethics over evil, why then is revenge so prevalent in the closing acts?"

"What about the fact that Shylock showed none, and so shouldn't be shown any in return?" Jenny-Lynn asked.

"That argument can be made," Greenwood said as the auditorium doors opened to let Brad in. "Nice of you to join us, Mister Lapointe," he said, giving the team captain a severe look.

"Sorry sir," Brad said turning his back on the teacher as he walked up towards the back, smirking his usual defiant smirk.

Greenwood gave a wolfish smile, "Well now, I have a perfect chance to demonstrate Shakespearian ethics. Mister Lapointe, according to the Merchant of Venice, what should I do with you?"

"Huh?" Brad asked, turning.

"Come now, Mister Lapointe, you read the play, how should I punish you?" Greenwood came down off the stage and began walking up the opposite aisle till he was level with where Brad was standing. Everyone turned to face the enigmatic English teacher.

"I..." Brad stammered.

""The quality of mercy is not strain'd," Greenwood quoted. "It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath." He gestured, "It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."

"R-right..." Brad said blankly. "So can I sit down, then?"

"Ah," Greenwood said with a smile, "Therein lies the lesson the play teaches, that though mercy and justice are juxtaposed with a divine quality..." He looked about, "Yes, that's God for all you out there wondering if I can actually get away with speaking about God in a classroom, and I am just pointing out that is what Shakespeare is saying." He turned back to Brad, "But in fact justice isn't synonymous with mercy; in fact, justice in its purest form is above such a thing as mercy. So to answer your question, Mister Lapointe, no you may not sit down, in fact you should remain standing until the end of class."

Brad blinked and shifted uneasily, "But sir..."

"No buts," Greenwood said coming back down to the front. "This is a lesson about justice as seen through the eyes of Shakespeare, who it appears believes mercy to be secondary to the letter of the law."

"Excuse me sir," West said putting his arm up again, "But if we are to follow the eye for an eye suggestion put forth in the text, shouldn't Brad have to only remain standing for an equal amount of time he was late?"

"The villany you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction," Greenwood fired back at West.

West knew he had been singled out, and he glanced back at Brad, knowing that he would have to fight for this one. He stood and tapped the play book in his hand, "My deeds upon my head! I crave the law."

"He is well paid that is well satisfied," Greenwood gestured to Brad.

"Ahh," West said as Jenny-Lynn turned pages. At a look from Greenwood she stopped, and West folded his arms, trying to remember how the passage went from memory, "The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with the concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted."

"That is an unusual counter, Mister Harding," Greenwood replied. "What made you choose that one?"

West shrugged, "I... it made sense to show you that trust is earned by deeds, and to have faith in you, we need to know you are fair."

Greenwood waggled his hand, "That is a weak interpretation, but I can see what you are saying, Mister Harding, that I am defined by my deeds. Very well then, Mister Lapointe, you may sit in," he glanced at his watch, "four minutes, and you owe Mister Harding for your defence."

"Thanks West," Brad replied with a grin.

West sat back down thankfully, as Jenny-Lynn nodded to him, "Nice."

*** Coach Highmore caught up with him at the start of lunch. West had just grabbed his packed lunch from his locker, when he caught sight of the assistant coach loping through the halls heading in his general direction.

Highmore was technically still at university; he was there helping Coach Thorburn keep his players in top form as part of his university program and taking the time to prepare for the play off-season that was in full swing. It counted towards Highmore's university credits, and West smirked knowing there were a lot of high school girls that were very thankful for the young, handsome coach patrolling the halls more regularly. There were a few that had his name drawn in hearts on the cover of their notebooks, and were even now staring at him wistfully as he ambled by.

"West," he called, catching West as he closed his locker.

"Coach," West replied, knowing full well what it had to do with, "I'm sorry about this morning."

"I know," Highmore replied gesturing for West to walk with him, "I just wanted to know if you told anyone what you overheard."

There were no questions about what he had heard; Highmore just assumed that West had heard it all, and approached it like that. It was something about the way Highmore dealt with everything, no word games, just straight up and out front where it all belonged.

"I haven't said anything," West replied truthfully.

Highmore was gauging his response, those piercing blue eyes studying West trying to figure out if he was being honest. After a moment he simply nodded, "Good, we haven't decided yet, and I'd rather rumours not get about before we do."

"Understood, coach," West nodded, and paused, curiosity getting the better of him, "Do you know Devon Ahnka?"

Highmore's head turned slowly, an eyebrow climbing as he ran a hand through the blond hair that always settled on either side of his forehead. It was a considering glance, one that said , yes he did know who it was, and what West's knowing the name meant.

West realized that he'd made a mistake and opened his mouth to say something, anything, to backpedal, but he didn't know what to say. A single name had given the game away.

Highmore glanced back up the stairwell they were walking down, knowing they were alone at this end of the school. "He's a friend," Highmore replied calmly, his tones even and his words chosen with deliberate care. "Do I want to know how you know Devon?"

West's jaw worked as he continued to try to think of something to say, take back what had just slipped out by accident. "I-."

Highmore stopped in the stairwell and leaned back against the banister, taking off his glasses and slipping them into his shirt pocket as the man surveyed one of his players carefully, reading every expression warring across the young man's face.

"My personal life is exactly that," Highmore said, "and I respect yours the same way. If you ever need to talk, my office door is open." He turned to go and stopped a few steps further down, looking back up at West, "But let's try to keep it that way, okay?"

West nodded, watching as Coach Highmore disappeared through the lower door, as he sat down on the step and stared thoughtfully at the step in front of him. What did that mean? Did Coach Highmore, the guy girls throughout the school viewed as a heartthrob, just admit to being gay? Either way, he certainly knew West was...

"Hey Peter," Coach Highmore's voice came from the hall by the stairwell.

"Hey Andy," Peter shot over his shoulder as the young Canadian wannabe surfer boy/artist pushed through the doors and blinked as he realized West was sitting on the stairs. "Oh, it's you."

West glanced up, and frowned at Peter, "You call Coach Highmore by his first name?"

Peter shrugged, "We're close."

West shut his eyes and tried to clear his head. "You and Coach Highmore?" he asked, opening them in surprise.

Peter gaped at him. "What?" the young artist choked.

West opened his eyes, confusion written all over his face, and Peter stared at him incredulously. "No!" Peter said shaking his head, "He's just a friend." He shook his head, "What is it with you? You just don't give up, do you?"

West sighed and looked levelly down at Peter below him, "I feel like my entire world has just turned upside down, okay? And I know you don't give a shit, but I'm not as experienced with all of this as you are."

Peter emitted a short, bitter laugh as he walked away. "You're just crazy," he fired over his shoulder as he shook his head.

West sat there a little while rubbing his head. He seemed remarkably adept at alienating every gay man he met-Devon seemed nice but he wasn't exactly comfortable talking to him yet, Peter hated him, and Coach Highmore had not so subtly told him not to pry.

"Great," he murmured to himself getting up at last, "just fucking great."