Roses for Robin

Author's Note: Strongly discouraged for homophobic freaks.

Chapter One: Grades and Goals

"Chris, pass dammit!"

Those were the first words he heard when he began playing soccer eleven years ago when he was four. Back then they were spoken by his coach, who felt no qualm in swearing at four year olds. Now they were being repeated by one of his teammates, Quincy Witchburn, as he ran alongside one of the enemy pack. Chris however, ignored his enraged teammates and kept plundering down the field. The hot August sun beat down on his forehead, and black strands of hair clung to his skin, tanned by a summer of sport camps. His black and red uniform whipped angrily at his arms and legs as he dodged around the Bruntlake Bears, the opposing school who had come to Pencywood to fight their Knights.

Both Bruntlake and Pencywood were private schools with a grand tuition of easily five digits a year. It was considered high society to attend either of these schools, but Pencywood was especially an honor, being founded by a former president of the United States. Chris didn't remember who, but all he remembered he had privately funded the school. All alumni who graduated from Pencywood all nearly were the CEOs, the generals, and the leaders of society, and it carried on this tradition of excellence in all areas of the school, from the digital arts to the big-league football, soccer, and basketball team. And Christopher Rice, MVP of soccer and basketball, was not going to let this success down as he charged toward the goal.

It was a breeze for Chris as the majority of the enemy lines fell back after determining there was no catching up to this soccer star. However, when he looked beside him, he noticed there was a Bruntlake Bear, a thin blonde fellow that had streaks of his white from the summer sun, charging beside him. His turquoise eyes shone with determination, and the blue and white on his uniform only brought those eyes out.

"Hey assface, move!" Chris hissed as he sped up

"The name's Vincent." The blonde guy moved in closer so their arms brushed as they charged side by side.

"Well, Vincent, screw off." Chris was too close to success to let an idiot Bear stop him. And, judging by the cheerleader's screams of encouragement, they thought the same.

"Shit!" Chris couldn't determine if that was him or Vincent saying that, but he felt his legs give way under him as he stumbled, and his head hit the metal frame of the goal. All he heard was gasps as he fell into blackness.

The music room was abuzz while the students awaited for their teacher, a thirty-year professor of the musical arts, Mrs. Karen Westward. Robin had been fine-tuning his violin while an eruption of gasps shuddered throughout the spacious room. Ophelia Rice, a raven-haired sophomore two years younger then Robin, screamed louder then anybody. Such a scream caused Robin to look over his shoulder at the frantic schoolgirl as she hopped from one foot to the next at record speeds. Anna Parlington, her red-haired friend with unusually striking blue eyes, rushed to her side. A crowd gathered around Ophelia as she wept frantically.

"Shit, look at that." Harvey Ruthbridge commented, "Makes me glad I chose football over soccer." Brown-blonde haired, green eyed Harvey, MVP of the football league, had an avid belief that football was more manly then soccer, and with his musculature, no one dared to argue with him.

"Hey, Anna, isn't that your future husband? He's taken a pretty rough tumble hasn't he?" Harvey added, poking fun at the blue-eyed beauty's secret affections for soccer and basketball MVP Christopher Rice. Anna whined and hit Harvey playfully on the shoulder, and the football player probably didn't even feel it. Getting up out of curiosity, Robin squeezed his way through the crowd of students until he was standing next to the hysterical Ophelia.

"Look what happened to my brother!" Ophelia told Robin, pointing at the soccer field, her finger pressed against the Plexiglass window. Looking over to where the sophomore was pointing, he saw some people rushing over to a collapsed heap of a Bruntlake Bear and a Pencywood Knight. The raven-headed, handsome, godly soccer player Chris Rice, down for the count? It seemed unlikely to Robin, but to everyone else it was as if it was the apocalypse. But yet, there he was, slumped unconscious. Robin wondered if he was even alive.

But he didn't voice his opinions to Ophelia. Instead he watched through the window as the coach attempted to revive him and the vice captain of the team called an ambulance. It was fascinating but also sickening to watch.

"Alright, students! Showtime's over! Back to your seats!" Mrs. Westward snapped, hurriedly putting her things down on her desk, "And will someone please take Ophelia to the restroom? Her mascara is running dreadfully."

Over the course of the next two days the senior class was rocked with worry over the outcome of Chris Rice. Gossip queens, looking to capitalize on this event, spread rumors he had died from brain injury. Although Ophelia assured everyone that her brother was fine, rumors still raged on. So when Chris was allowed to return to school without any injuries, it was highly anticipated by all his classmates. Instead of facing the swarming masses, he chose to take a back entrance to the school and access his locker there.

"Traveling incognito aren't we Rice?" It was his coach, John Freeman, looming over him. Easily six feet five, the coach was colossal compared to Chris' five foot eleven frame.

"Yeah. I'm sorry what happened at the game." Chris apologized, standing up from his locker and looked at his coach in the eye.

"You should have passed to Witchburn." the coach agreed, "but I am even more sorry about this. Follow me son."

They entered into the cherry-wood, gold stenciled walls of the physical education office. Medals and trophies dating back to the fifties were present on the wall, and Chris could see his picture among the MVP award wall.

"I spoke with your teachers today, Rice. Rather, they spoke to me. What's with you and your English grade? Did you have a fightin' with it? Is that why its none too kind to you?" He turned and wrote on the personalized whiteboard that had PENCYWOOD stenciled in blue letters across the top. He wrote a giant forty-five.

"Forty-five, Chris. A forty five."

"I was just waiting for someone to bring that up." Chris responded, deadpan.

"Well, Chris, I struck a deal with your teacher. You don't play until that grade is a C. And that means Pencywood is going to lose to Bruntlake for the first time in three years. You're letting us all down."

"Sorry coach, but I am no good at English. I'm just not good."

"Look Chris, I know you're a good kid. It hurts me to kick you out, it really does. So what I did, I got you a tutor."

"I don't need no tutor Coach."

"Don't feed me that shit. Look, you're going to be meeting with him three times a week during English."

"Who is he?"

"Name's Robin Winchester. Heard of him?"

Author's Note: Reviews? Flames? Like 'em all.