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I toed the line, was calm and kind;
Still they betrayed me,
So I must teach them to hate me.
The price I pay to get my way–
Wish you’d have known me
When only kindness controlled me.
October 2005
“Be reasonable.”
Natalie has no way of knowing, when she first hears them, how long these two words will ring in her ears. Years, to be sure. Decades, even. In the moment, though, they almost make her laugh.
“Reasonable,” she echoes. Across the table, two men–boys, really–watch her with vastly different countenances. The one who addressed her is the smaller of the two. His hairstyle is immaculate, his black shirt and slacks crisply ironed and expensive-looking, like nothing that belongs at the Wayne County Criminal Justice Center. Everything from his posture to the curve of his lips reeks of the smug certainty that he will get exactly what he wants from her. If not for the plexiglass barrier between them, she would carve it out with her nails. Or better yet, as long as she’s indulging in hypotheticals, with her knives. There’s never any reasoning with men who look at her like that. “This is a farce.”
His face doesn’t change, but a small wrinkle appears in the second man’s brow, like he knows this too but was hoping she’d be polite enough not to mention it. It’s a funny expression. She’s tempted to ask for his name.
“You played Exy in high school,” the first man reminds her before she can.
She gives him a blank stare. “I dropped out of high school.”
“You’re reasonably intelligent,” he returns without missing a beat. “Get your GED.”
“Why?” She means, Why do you want this? She has nothing to offer that he couldn’t get elsewhere with far less hassle, and the only connection between them is both tenuous and indirect. Not enough to foster a personal interest. But, of course, he misunderstands, chomping at the bit to lay down his leverage.
“Because if you agree, I can have you out of here tonight. If you refuse…” He grins like a shark. His companion flinches, distracting her from the threat. This man is taller–obvious even when he’s sitting down and slumped over as though he means to disappear beneath the table. Thinner, too. Dark bruises underline rain-grey eyes that are turned in her direction but too glazed over to really see her. He is lovely, in a time-worn sort of way. Like an antique.
She sets the thought aside. “If I refuse?”
“In that case,” says the first man, “you will spend the rest of your worthless life rotting in that prison cell.”
Her sentence is only twenty-five years, for the drug sales and gang affiliation. An eternity to her, maybe, but not a literal life sentence. Looking into the devil’s black eyes, she doesn’t doubt he could dig up the rest of her sins, or fabricate them, or simply have her killed before the clock runs out.
This is Riko Moriyama, after all.
August 2006
The Ravens’ home court isn’t as grimly imposing as the dormitories beneath it, but there’s still a gravity to it that Natalie wishes she could say didn’t affect her. The sheer scale of it makes her old dingy high school court look like a neglected toy set. The walls are pitch black, the floor paneled with red oak. The only other color comes from the corporate logos lining the stands, and even some of these are unaccountably morbid. Are many collegiate sports teams sponsored by meatpacking plants and notoriously sketchy pharmaceutical corporations?
The incoming freshmen–a group of eight, including Natalie herself–are lined up on one end of the court, facing down a phalanx of their seniors. Front and center stands Riko, flanked on his right by the second Son of Exy, Kevin Day. To his left are an unfamiliar auburn-haired woman and the other man from the prison. She notes how the two subtly lean against one another. Is it physical support? A show of intimacy?
“I’m sure you all know who I am,” begins Riko, and his words ring out in the cavernous space. “You are here because you wish to be Ravens and believe you know what that means. I am telling you now that you do not.” His voice is frank and solemn, as though it belongs to a man one might look up to instead of the bastard she met a year ago. “Some of the players on this team have been training since infancy to be the best in the game. Kevin, who I’m sure you know. And our star backliners…” The pair to his left straighten the moment attention is turned on them. “Number Three, Nat Wesninski, and Four, Jean Moreau. You should all have likewise received your numbers.”
Doubtless following some routine established in years past, Kevin takes over. “Count off in descending order,” he barks, “And identify yourself!”
The new Ravens hasten to obey:
“Thirty four, Tobias Roth!”
“Thirty three, Lyle Holden!”
“Thirty two, Angel Lopez!” and so on.
All the numbers are in sequence until they reach the last two.
“Six, Natalie Shields.” She speaks with careful diction but doesn’t make an effort to project her voice. Shouting the words out with the same enthusiasm as her peers would both be dishonest and possibly come off as a brag. She isn’t looking for the kind of conflict that would invite. Not that she manages to avert the outbreak of indignant muttering when the others hear her number.
The young woman to her left seems unaffected, even bored, as she finishes off the role call: “Five, Drew Minyard.”
Not only the freshmen but several upperclassmen shoot them both dirty looks. Apparently, they weren’t given advance notice of how badly their ranks were going to be shaken up. That might be a problem later, but it’s unlikely someone will risk offending Riko by openly questioning his decision, so Natalie ignores it and turns to Number Five.
She doesn’t bother to conceal her curiosity as she inspects her new partner. Minyard is a stout, muscular woman with close-cropped blonde hair and black gauges. The sort of person who can handle herself in a fight, Natalie thinks. Only question is whether she’s the type to start one. She studies Natalie in turn, slowly scanning her from head to toe. Then she looks away in pointed dismissal. Natalie follows her gaze to Moreau and Wesninski, who now have their heads ducked together in private conference, but she isn’t fooled; she knows their mutual interrogation isn’t over yet. Still, if Minyard wants to put it off—maybe until they’re in the privacy of their shared dorm room?—then she’s willing to play along for now.
It’s not like there’s any shortage of threats to focus on.