A&A&A Boarding School
Author's Note: This has taken us long enough, indeed.
But we're very touched, nevertheless, that all of you are still reading, despite the long breaks between updates. It's nice of you.
Of late people keep telling us that we focus too much on the Company of Heroines. Which is, we must unfortunately admit, all too true. For this chapter, we're still in that phase, but later we shall try to steer away. We also got one or two people asking for more Achilles, which is justifiable. He gets his time in writer's limelight soon, come Friday morning.
Lastly, we promise not to abandon this. Although sometimes it grows tedious, it is still too dear to us to simply stop halfway, and we swear to see it through.
23. Netball and Nastiness
Elizabeth awoke from the terrible clutches of chloroformed nightmares. She opened her mouth to scream, but something clapped itself over it.
She struggled, until someone whispered urgently, "Elizabeth! It's me."
The hand released her. Elizabeth turned her head – she had found it was the only part of her body that she could turn, because she had been tied up by bandages. "Will?"
Will put a finger to his lips. "Quiet. They're having their lunch break now, but if they hear anything they'll come right back. Are you carrying a knife?"
What sort of odd question was that? "No," said Elizabeth.
Will looked worried. "I need something to cut the bandages. They tied dead knots." He got down on hands and knees. Elizabeth could hear him scrabbling under the bed. Eventually he surfaced holding a disused syringe. She felt the fearful twang of her heartstrings again, at the mere sight of the needle tip.
Will gritted his teeth, and alternately stabbed, slashed and sawed his way through the bandages. When her limbs were released, Elizabeth sat up. The ripped ribbons of bandages fluttered disconsolately about her wrists and ankles.
Will was already working on Legolas. Judging from the amount of bandages on the elf (how many escape attempts had Legolas made? Knowing his temperament, definitely more than one) it would be some time before he managed to entirely free him. Elizabeth set herself to tying bedsheets together, in the most traditional method of high-rise escape.
When Legolas was free, Will joined her at the window. They were about three storeys up. The bedsheet rope was just touching the ground.
Legolas was trying to work some feeling back into his wrists. "Should we trust your knots?"
"Why not?" snapped Elizabeth. "It's our only chance."
"I'd have no problem whatsoever," said Legolas airily. "I'm an elf. It's you two humans I'm worried about. Mortals are so weighty…"
Elizabeth gave him a hard shove towards the window. "Get down it, then, if you're so weightless."
Legolas flicked his hair. "Child's play, Miss Swann." He straddled the windowsill, tugged at the rope, and then in a few light, graceful moves, shimmied down it into the garden below.
"Damn him," snapped Elizabeth, and ignoring Will's shocked look, scrambled with considerably less agility onto the windowsill and followed suit.
The rope finally gave when Will was halfway down. Fortunately he landed in a clump of turf, without much disturbance. Legolas was already vaulting over the low wall that separated the hospital garden from the rest of the school.
In the distance, the clock tower struck half past ten.
"Physical Ed," recalled Elizabeth from her mental timetable. "They'll be at the courts. Come on, let's join them."
She took the wall at a run, and just managed to flop over. They waited for Will to scale it, and then fled the ominous façade of the hospital for the freedom of the grounds.
While Will was trusting his life to Elizabeth's bedsheets, the class was doing their fourth round round the track, under orders of Vinyáya. The more proficient runners had finished, and were cooling down on the green-painted ground of the courts – or, if they were elves or Aragorn, pretending they had just gone for a breezy stroll.
Vinyáya waited till they were all flopped out on the courts before her, in various degrees of exhaustion, before giving them the briefing.
"Get back into your teams of last time, people, you're playing netball today."
Achilles' mouth dropped open. "What? Netball? But that's a girls' game!"
Vinyáya glared at him. "Well, it was going to have been basketball, but one of your seniors got into the P.E. storeroom yesterday and smashed the whole set of basketball equipment. It'll take another week to get new ones."
"Smashed it?" said Aragorn, surprised. "All of it? How on earth did he do that?"
"He was pretty mad." Vinyáya walked off towards the ball-tubs and extracted two netballs. "Someone insulted his girlfriend, he lost his temper, things led to more things. When I say lost his temper, I mean really lost it. You know the guy? Fourth-year. Name's Bruce Banner."
"I've seen him around," remarked Achilles to Hector, who was stretched out next to him. "He don't look strong enough to trash up a whole set of basketball equipment."
"I've seen him around too," said Hector quietly, "and you never know."
He looked up as Vinyáya tossed a netball to him, and caught it. She gave him an appraising look. "First match, Green Team versus Orange Team. I'll see you on the court in two minutes."
The teams gathered respectively to confer. "Seven players," explained Harry. "So, who's sitting out?"
They had a short argument, which ended in Frodo and Pippin being reserves this round. They appointed Harry as Team Captain, and began dishing out roles. Mulch, for some odd reason, demanded to be Goal Shooter, and since no one else seemed keen to take it up, Harry let him. Naturally, he pressed Ron into being Goalkeeper. He himself was Goal Attack.
"Captains!" summoned Vinyáya. "Toss for court side."
The captain of the Green was Aragorn. He bet Heads. Well, Tails Never Fails, thought Harry, and sure enough, the coin came up Tails. Harry selected the side of the court the sun was shining on, so they wouldn't get sun in their eyes. In a daze, he walked back to his team.
"We're going to get mowed," moaned Merry.
"Don't say stuff like that," growled Gimli.
"It's true," retorted Merry. "Do the math. How many short players on their team? Zero. How many short people on our team? Four. That's more than half."
"Shut up, Merry," said Harry. He felt light-headed.
They stood in position. Mentally Harry paired the positions up. He was Goal Attack, which meant that facing him was Goal Defence Van Helsing. Bad. He rather pitied Ron, whom Hector was towering over like a sort of maned Everest, and Gimli, whom Achilles was eyeing in a way that simply could not be described with the word 'congenial'.
Hermione stepped into the circle, clutchingthe ballwith a determined expression on her face.
"Here!" yelled Harry. He ducked under Van Helsing's arm, grabbed the ball as it came, and looked around for Mulch. He was being overshadowed by Arwen. Harry gritted his teeth, but decided to risk it.
It turned out to be a rather bad plan. Arwen in one fluid motion fielded the ball and lobbed it to Aragorn. He got it and pivoted, Sam chasing round him desperately. Achilles came running by, and the ball passed between them like lightning that the onlookers saw a mere red flash zip by. The ball went flying to Hector, who spun and faced the net, weighing the odds.
Ron could have described as terrified, except constipated was nearer the mark. He was entirely tense, crouched, waiting for the release of the ball, ready to spring.
Hector raised the ball, aimed, and threw.
Ron leapt.
It was a brave attempt. Gimli later swore that Ron's fingertips did brush the ball. However, it did nothing to alter the ball's flight, and the net swished as the ball fell through it.
Malfoy smirked with triumph. Beside him, Harry mentally thought very bad things.
It went on like that for three more goals. It was one of those irritating games where one team seems to be annoyingly getting the ball all the bloody time, which could be their fault, or your team's fault, or your own fault, but is most likely their fault because it's the best way out for blaming someone. It was one of those dreadful games where the moment one of your opponents so much as touch the ball, and immediately you know that oh heck, they're going to throw it back, and it'll go all the way to their side, and there is no way we're getting it back again till it goes through the net, crap.
Those games are rather hateful, if you're on the losing side.
When time was up, Orange had only scored one goal. This was because Malfoy, in his excitement, stepped out of his designated territory and earned them a chance to get at the ball. In that incident, Andromache mysteriously tripped over Merry, who managed to get the ball to Harry before a Green grabbed it.
Unfortunately, it only happened once.
The game ended seven to one. Vinyáya sent them off to get a water break and ordered the Blue Team and the Gold Team to get ready to play against each other.
The Gold Team were very alarmed, to say the least. Jack went to complain to Vinyáya that they were missing two members, not to mention two of their best players.
"Deal with it," said Vinyáya, rather heartlessly. "You've still got seven members, haven't you? Play without reserves."
"Why did Will have to fall off the stage?" sniffed Haldir.
"You know he couldn't help it," snapped Jack, and tried to think straight.
Playing without reserves meant putting everybody into the game. 'Everybody' included some of the worst players he had ever seen. This contained Cosette Fauchelevent, who fainted if balls flew in her direction, Helen of Sparta, who hadn't yet figured out that catching a ball involved putting at least one hand up in front of you, and Lili Frond, who was known to stop in the middle of a game to check her mascara.
Jack sighed. They had no choice.
"Ah, well," he began. "Lili, much as I am loath to say it, you're playing Centre. As to Goal Shooter……"
"Forgetting me already?"
Everyone turned. There was no mistaking that tone.
Legolas stood before them like some unearthly being come down from heaven to bless them. The wind lifted his locks and rippled them magnificently, and the sun lit them from behind, till they shone like molten gold. His team members stared in awe.
Damn, thought Paris, the fellow really knows how to make entrances.
Will, who was standing off to one side like a last-minute-addition, spoilt the overall effect by coughing. "I'd like to play Goalkeeper, if it's all right with you."
"Good! Bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Jack, extremely relieved. "Legolas, be Goal Shooter, that's a good fellow. Now everything's fine and dandy and we can get this over with, aye?"
The Blue Team was having difficulty making Gavroche a reserve. Artemis was only too happy to sit in the shade and make notes.
"I want to play!" screamed Gavroche. "You know wot, guvnor? This is discriminy-ation against short people!"
"It's for the greater good," said Enjolras sternly.
He and Courfeyrac ferried a struggling Gavroche to the bench and left him there with Artemis.
"Relax," said Artemis calmly, "and just enjoy the shade."
Gavroche glared with all the ferocity of a small angered animal. "Go stuff yer face."
Boromir took his place as Wing Attack, watching Faramir, who was playing Centre, take the ball from Vinyáya and walk towards the Centre's circle. It was odd, but his brother was still strangely lucid, and seemed to be hellbent on maintaining that lucidity at least for the rest of the day, if not forever.
Faramir stepped into the circle, and the game began.
Boromir rushed forward at once, elbowing Haldir out of the way. The ball flew with a whoomph into his chest, but he managed to brace himself in time. Haldir leapt at him, but Faramir was running past the corner of his vision, and he yelled his brother's name and threw, and was rewarded with the sight of the ball in Faramir's hands for a split second, before it went hurtling a long distance, passing over Lili's head and eluding Jack's desperate leap for it, shot into the scoring semicircle and into Enjolras' waiting grasp.
Jack swore colourfully, scrambling from his undignified position sprawled on the court and rushing back just in time to whack the ball as Enjolras threw it at the net. It bounced out. Vinyáya trotted over and gave it to Courfeyrac.
There followed a rather tedious interval, in which Enjolras and Courfeyrac took turns shooting, and the ball either bounced off the hoop, passed over it, or was knocked out by Will or Jack. Eventually, it was ended when Will managed to wrest the ball back and pass it to Lili, who miraculously caught it, and it made its way back to the other end of the court.
Legolas and Paris fought valiantly for the right to score, especially since Helen was watching admiringly from the bench. Eventually Legolas won, and with a fluid grace, threw the ball in.
An admiring sigh rose from Helen's throat. Cosette watched her narrowly.
Triumphantly, Lili (newly restrained from returning to cheerleader antics in her ecstasy) took the ball, stepped into the circle, and pondered where to throw it.
"Here!" yelled Chix despairingly.
"Where?" called Lili. "I can't see you!"
"That's because Faramir is standing in front of you, bloody airhead! Throw! Just throw!"
Lili just threw.
The ball bounced off to the side. Faramir chased after it, followed by Chix, Grantaire, Paris, Joly, and eventually Lili herself. Chix, in the struggle, smacked Joly in the eye with his wing. Joly toppled in shock and landed heavily on Grantaire, who fell. The ball, like some vindictive avenging angel, returned and smashed into Grantaire's face. Paris, without any feelings for the opposing and injured party, snatched it, yelled "Lili!" and hurled it wildly. Lili glanced up, her mouth a perfect glossy 'O'. The ball came out of the sky at her, a large black circle steadily eclipsing the sun of her world.
"Ow," muttered Artemis. "That looks painful."
Confusion reigned on the court. Chix was attempting to give Lili CPR, despite Jack trying to point out that mouth-to-mouth resucitation really wasn't helping the head wound. The French Revolution was crowded around Grantaire.
"Is he all right?" asked Enjolras with a touch of anxiety."
Grantaire opened his eyes blearily. "Oh, Enjy, capital fellow, lovely to see you, where's the brandy?"
"He is," sniffed Enjolras disdainfully.
"He is not!" exclaimed Joly. "Mon dieu, his nose is smashed. It's a wonder he can still breathe to talk. And I myself feel that my eye is becoming infected. That wingtip was likely……"
"You have no excuse, Joly, not to play," snapped Enjolras, and added in an undertone, "if only because we don't want Fowl in the game. You know what he's like, man!" Raising his voice, he proclaimed, "Very well, Grantaire's sitting – pardon, lying – out of this game. Gavroche, you're in!"
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Gavroche, bouncing in.
Artemis kept quiet. On the whole, he thought, a body was much better company than the guttersnipe. Same silence, but sans ugly scowl and teethpicking.
The game commenced. Lili was replaced with Cosette, who was looking particularly nervous. Blue scored two goals, if only because Legolas and Paris were constantly fighting to be the one to score, and because their opponent's Centre was equally pathetic as the previous one. Cosette treated the ball like a hand grenade, and had a tendency to not so much throw it at someone as to hurl it away from herself indiscriminately, like a filthy handkerchief, often accompanying the action with a small shriek. This gave Faramir countless chances to pick it up as it rolled by and pass it to his team.
The next casualty occurred when Courfeyrac, off the top of his head, threw the ball straight at the iron pole on which the net was hoisted. Jack and Will both dove for it simultaneously. Jack hit Will and stumbled. Will hit the pole, unfortunately with his head, and crumpled with a terrible crunching sound.
The ball, with no obstruction in its path, merely bounced off the pole and rebounded back into a mystified Courfeyrac's hands.
Jack crawled on his elbows towards Will, who was once more out cold.
Oh no, he thought, and cursed mentally. Helen.
Things went very badly after that.
Despite the fact that Gold had in Legolas a very skilled shooter, most of the time the ball barely made it past Centre. Cosette could barely keep up with Faramir. Helen, as Goalkeeper, had no idea how to mark someone. Nor could she run. Jack, as he tried to keep an eye on both Courfeyrac and Enjolras at once, thought Oh hell, I can only mark one person at a time, and he's got the bleedin' ball again and it's going to go in and oh BLAST……
Blue Team won eventually, five to three. Jack cursed out loud at them, and was rewarded with a stream of very vulgar argot from Gavroche. Eventually Vinyáya had to threaten to slap them if they didn't shut up.
Blue, however, was unable to get any rest. Vinyáya demanded that they play Red after a break of a few minutes.
"How does she expect us to handle them?" gasped Joly. "Feuilly, is my eye swelling? Vein burst? Anything?"
"Fear not, comrades," said Enjolras gravely, "we shall conquer."
Boromir snorted. He was, if slightly egocentric, at least more practical.
They made a few strategic changes: ie. Gavroche was too short to be a good wing defender, so they moved him to Centre, since then he would be against Holly, who was around his eye level at least. Gavroche went along with this, since he liked being the one to start the whole game.
"I'd like to be Goalkeeper this round," said Faramir quietly.
"Why?" inquired Boromir. He glanced over to the Red team, and saw Éowyn putting on the goal shooter's bib. "Oh."
Éowyn shot Faramir a dirty look, and edged off to the other side of her semicircle, ignoring him completely. Faramir said nothing, and kept his eyes on the middle of the court, where Holly was about to step into the circle. Gavroche was dancing up and down in front of her, making hideous faces.
Holly gave him a look of pure flame, stepped into the circle and hurled the ball over his head.
Elizabeth, who had returned to Red as Wing Attack, leapt up and caught it despite Feuilly flailing at her. The Red played very fast; it was almost as if they knew what each other was thinking. Elizabeth threw into an empty space on the court, and just as everyone was expecting the ball to bounce out, Anna dived in and grabbed it just before it hit the ground. With one arm she lobbed it to Éowyn, who caught it and pivoted to take aim at the net. This was all in the space of four seconds.
Faramir blocked her, fixed her eyes with his own, hoping desperately for some sort of distraction to her aim.
She looked back, looked through his eyes and through his head, raised her chin. He saw the clenched jaw, and the coldness. Then she took her gaze away, directed it at the net, drew her arms back and let fly.
It was a perfect shot. The ball arced through the air and fell directly above the net, plunging in and through. Elizabeth, in the background, let out a scream of delight.
Boromir thought Faramir was looking almost too crestfallen for a first missed goal, but busied himself with marking Trouble and watching the ball.
Play continued. Gavroche bounced the ball to Boromir, who turned to bounce it to Courfeyrac. However, Holly tackled the ball as it was about to rebound off the ground and rolled away from the pursuing Gavroche. She leapt onto her feet and tossed the ball to Anna.
The ball travelled back and forth about the court. Faramir succeeded in intercepting the pass between Anna and Éowyn, and threw it back to his side, but it had barely been in their possession for a couple of seconds before Elizabeth wrested it from Gavroche and passed it to Holly.
Eventually it ended up with Enjolras, who shot. It rebounded off the hoop and Marius tried to get it, but Enjolras retrieved it and shot again. This time it went in.
Artemis looked up from his notebook to watch the game for a while, decided that there was no chance of his joining in any time soon, breathed a sigh of relief and went back to whatever he was working on.
The Reds looked disappointed, but brightened up when the ball was handed back to Holly. Holly took it and stood outside the circle.
Gavroche, who was dancing up and down between her and Trouble, called out something vulgar to her in argot.
It might have been that he had thought she wouldn't understand it, since very few people spoke true French gutter argot. He had forgotten the natural linguistic gift of fairies. Holly got it perfectly.
On the whole, it looked like an accident. It looked like she had been aiming for Trouble, and that Gavroche had just leapt into the way.
Whatever it was, the ball concussed Gavroche so hard that he was laid out unconscious beside Grantaire, an ice-pack on his forehead. Artemis eyed Holly skeptically. She was being hysterical. Which was not normal. And so he was quite aware of the true facts of the incident, but since Vinyáya had decided that it had been purely an accident, he did not feel like arguing with her. He was more concerned about the fact that Boromir had now hauled him up, pushed him out into the middle of the court, shoved the ball into his hand and with a certain lack of friendly encouragement, told him gruffly to step into the circle and throw the ball.
Oh, dear me, thought Artemis, as he stared at Holly from across the circle, her tears and hysterics gone, the wicked, daring grin back in place. This isn't very good.
Holly cracked that grin at him. "C'mon, Mud Boy. Don't keep us waiting."
Artemis threw. Even before it had landed he knew it was a bad throw. Parabola and missile trajectory and all that. The ball arced neatly into Holly's trap of an outstretched arm.
Boromir clapped a hand over his eyes in misery.
Blue lost quite badly after that, since despite its strong attacking side, it started to fall apart from a holed defence. Every time Artemis stepped into the circle he was resolutely concentrating on parabola trajectory, but every time he looked into the derisive hazel eyes of his opponent he was unspeakably unnerved. Elizabeth, with a whole day and a half of anger cooped up inside her from her hospital imprisonment, played so furiously that countless times she forced Feuilly to back off.
Boromir was musing over whether it was better to have a deranged but functional Faramir, or a rational but lovesick Faramir. The latter could not goal-keep for nuts. And if he was actually letting her shoot past him on purpose, then Boromir fully intended to give him hell later. Right now, though, Boromir decided to focus on hating Artemis for being inept.
The Red team won, seven to four. "Good game," said Éowyn tersely, shook Faramir's hand by the fingers and then stalked off to rejoin her team.
Boromir saw the exchange, and came up. "Faramir, exactly why are you – "
"Shut up," said Faramir abruptly, left his brother staring and went around the court to where the water coolers were, so he could pour water over his head.
And so they reached the final match between Red and Green. It promised to be, if not spectacular, then at least violent. This was no longer about the chocolate. This was about team honour and a vehement urge to feel superior. There went all notions of 'friendly match'.
Both teams sized each other up. Éowyn cautioned her team not to be too violent, in the event of overstepping the rules. Aragorn cautioned his team, especially Achilles, not to underestimate their opponents, even if more than half of them were female, because he had seen them in action and they were painful.
"I back that," muttered Van Helsing, flicking a dust mote off the hat brim.
"He's playing Goal Defense," observed Éowyn in an aside to Anna. "If you don't want to play him, it's okay…"
"No," said Anna. She flicked her black wavy tresses and took the Goal Attack bib from the pile. "I want to play Van Helsing."
She strode over the green court and took up position next to her archenemy. "I see you got your hat back," she remarked casually.
Casual remarks often lead to casualties. "No thanks to you," replied Van Helsing impassively. "Nice hair. How do you get that style, use the microwave?"
Vinyáya blew her whistle, dashing over frantically. "No fighting on court! No fighting on court! If you do that again I swear I will send both of you off, and the game hasn't even started, damnit!"
Éowyn sighed. All this was going against her better judgment.
In the middle of the court, Holly faced down – or faced up – Draco Malfoy. She remembered Éowyn's advice. He's larger than you – but then, so's his ego.
Malfoy smirked at her. An opposing Centre half his height wouldn't pose much of a challenge. He stepped into the circle and threw a lazy bounce-pass.
He hadn't expected Holly to have a hitherto undiscovered talent for jumping up, catching the ball in mid-air, curling into a ball around it so that when she hit the ground she rolled away back into the attack territory of her own team, out of reach of the Green attackers.
Vinyáya was suitably impressed, and decided not to count that as 'travelling'.
"He forgot what I said!" yelled Aragorn, pelting angrily after Trouble. "He forgot what I said, and look what happened!"
"Fine, fine, it's not like I forgot," muttered Achilles, trailing after them.
The ball was in Red's possession, and moving quite happily across the court to the net. Elizabeth, keeping well ahead of Andromache, leapt up and caught the ball, and then passed it in a long-distance throw to Éowyn, who spun and faced the net. She's got it, thought Holly, cheering inwardly, it's a definite goal……
Éowyn shot. Yes! thought Holly, it's going to go in……
……when suddenly the ball was plucked from mid-air, clasped by a pair of delicate, long-fingered hands. Arwen flicked her hair out of her eyes, pivoted, and smiled graciously at Éowyn.
Underestimation could work for both sides. The shadows flashed against the sun. Éowyn daughter of Éomund, the most talented goal shooter the Reds had ever seen, had found her match in goalkeepers.
Arwen turned abruptly and tossed the ball to Andromache, who had been hovering on the borders of the circle, and the game was back on.
The ball practically flew back across the court, till it was back in the Green's semicircle. Hector aimed at the net, considered angle and windspeed velocity, and turned away. "I can't hit it! You try!" he exclaimed, and threw to Achilles.
"What?" said Achilles.
Éomer grabbed desperately at the last chance to intercept the ball. He lunged perhaps a second before Achilles did, and so managed to seize it, even though it resulted in him tripping, with Achilles landing on him a moment later, very painfully. The ball rolled out of his grasp and trundled amiably out of the semicircle.
Trouble walked over and picked it up.
From there, the ball went the other way. It travelled back through the Reds, until through an uncertain throw by Elizabeth, it flew towards both Anna and Van Helsing. Both of them saw it coming, and grabbed the ball.
Anna experienced a moment of déja vu, of grappling with Van Helsing over something neither of them would give up.
She braced her feet and pulled hard. Van Helsing's fingers barely loosened, and he yanked back. She was nearly yanked off her feet, and this time chose to fall over backwards, trusting in her body weight. He saw that coming, and fell too, throwing himself sideways. His shoulder screamed as it crashed against the hard court, but he was heavier than her and the ball fell with him. Nevertheless, she refused to let go, and they rolled about on the court, knuckles white and fingers gripping vise-like, until by degrees they were back on their feet. Anna stepped on his foot. Van Helsing bit back a groan, and stepped on hers. Anna could not resist a small gasp of pain, but she valiantly clung on. They struggled, swore, struggled some more, and the ball remained in equilibrium.
Vinyáya let this go on until nearly half a minute had passed. Then she blew her whistle, forcibly removed the ball from both their clutches, and returned it to Centre. She said this was a special case.
Holly threw the ball under Malfoy's outstretched arm, where Anna, skidding, caught it, and hurled it to Elizabeth, who hurled it to Holly, who hurled it to Elizabeth, who hurled it to Anna, who shot at the net and was again rebuffed by Arwen, who threw the ball to Van Helsing, who threw it to Aragorn, who threw it to Achilles, who shot and missed.
The ball landed out, was declared Red's possession, and it all started again.
Vinyáya checked her watch. They had only half a minute left for play, and yet neither of the teams had so much as scored. Not even one goal.
Holly wiped sweat from one eye. Perspiration dripped from every auburn spike on her head. The frustration was building inside her, the tension stretching her like bubblegum on a rack, a hard hot angry ball inside her chest, churning, screaming to be let out.
She intercepted a throw meant for Malfoy and directed it at Elizabeth, who missed and let Andromache catch it. Andromache threw it to Van Helsing. Van Helsing turned to look for a fellow Green, but by now Elizabeth had caught up with Andromache, and she and Anna were jostling her out of sight. Holly was hovering determinedly on the edges of his sightline, but Malfoy didn't seem to be paying attention. Too risky. Aragorn was too far off.
Van Helsing sighed, turned and threw the ball to Arwen.
She hadn't been expecting that. He saw her mouth open in perfect shock as it arced towards her, saw Éowyn's hands reach out and snatch it from its path. The Red goal shooter turned, golden hair flying out in a swathe of light, took aim and let fly.
The ball scythed between Arwen's outreached arms, continued upwards, and just barely touched the hoop.
It sat there, balanced on the hoop, in perfect equilibrium, not falling in, not falling out. Everyone on the court and off it watched with bated breath.
Slowly the ball began to circle. Painstakingly slowly, it made the round of the hoop without showing any sign of inclining to either side. It paused, and then rolled round the hoop ponderously one more time. And one more time. And one more time.
Arwen and Éowyn were frozen. Only their eyes moved, round and round as the ball navigated carefully the narrow tightrope of the net hoop. Neither of them dared so much as touch the pole, in the event of disturbing the perfect balance of this miracle of physics.
Across the court, people prayed. Fervently, inwardly, muttering out loud, praying for the ball to go in/ for the ball to go out/ for the whole thing to be over and done with.
The ball trundled to a stop in the exact same spot where it had first landed, balancing on the metal rim with a terrifying ease.
Then it fell.
There was only a small whoosh and the lightest swish of the net, to signify the direction in which it had fallen.
"Time's up," announced Vinyáya.
The Red team exploded with victory. Holly left off marking a crestfallen Malfoy, grabbed Trouble by the wrists and danced around, until Elizabeth came running up and screamed at them in ectsasy. Marius got a shock when Éomer came up and clapped him on the back, and then got even more of a shock after that when Eponine, flagrantly defying Cosette's death-glare, rushed over, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Anna was having the time of her life not saying anything to Van Helsing, just smirking.
Éowyn shook hands with Arwen. "Good game," she said. "You're the best I've played against so far."
"And vice versa," replied Arwen. She smiled graciously.
Éowyn watched her walk off the court, saw Aragorn come up by her side and put an arm around her shoulders, saw him bow his head to ask a question, saw her shake her head assuringly and smile up at him, one of those dazzlingly beautiful smiles.
She heard herself sigh out loud, shrugged off the feeling and went to join her team in the celebrations.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…Sorcery and Spellcheck