Fence: Disarmed

by Sarah Rees Brennan

  “Ah,” said his father. “Making friends?”

  “More friends?” Seiji returned in horror.

  “Never mind,” his dad replied. “How’s Nicholas?”

  His father always asked. Seiji would tell him about Nicholas’s fencing progress, which was dismal, every time his father called. At least that was a pleasant part of the conversation. He’d known his father would become more interested in fencing one day.

  He understood his father would rather have a social butterfly for a son, but Seiji had enough trouble with the one friend he’d accidentally acquired without heaping more disasters on himself. Still, those weekly awkward talks with his dad meant Seiji felt he could call him, when the next trouble regarding Nicholas arose.

  So he walked out onto the grounds at Kings Row as the sun set, dialed his father’s number, and caught him playing golf.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll call you back later,” Seiji said at once. “Focus on winning.”

  Seiji hadn’t wanted to come to Kings Row. He’d always expected to accompany Jesse Coste and attend Exton: a far larger school than this one, with an elite fencing team and high gray walls surmounted by tall gray towers. But Seiji was getting used to it here in this small school, where everything was old-fashioned in a way that was classic and cozy at once and where he hardly ever sat by himself in the dining hall. His father’s voice was steady and reassuring in his ear.

  “Don’t worry about that. It’s just a game, Seiji. Winning’s not the most important thing in the world.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Seiji.

  “I know you don’t,” his father returned. “Someday you might. For now, let’s talk. Did you just want to, uh, chat?”

  His father was attempting a more casual way of talking to him lately. He was trying to be “down with the kids,” Seiji thought, and it was horrible. Seiji himself had never been “down with the kids.”

  “Why would I bother you if all I wanted was to exchange pleasantries?” asked Seiji. “We can do that during winter break. No, I’m calling about something important. This is about Nicholas.”

  “Okay, wow, it’s happening,” said his father. “Right, Seiji, let me just move away from the others, give us some privacy. Listen, guys, save me something from the drinks cart—”

  “You don’t need to leave your friends.”

  Seiji was starting to feel unnerved.

  “They’re not my friends, they’re business associates. I barely like them,” his father said, then speaking away from the phone, “Sorry, Jock, didn’t mean for you to hear that.” He transferred his attention back to Seiji. “Doesn’t matter! What matters is you, Seiji. I think I know what you’re going to tell me. I’m so glad you feel able to share this with me! Thank you. I, ah—love you.”

  Seiji cast a hunted look around the courtyard. He had the irrational wish to climb up a chestnut tree and escape this emotional conversation.

  “And I’m sure I will love Nicholas,” his father continued.

  “Why would you do that?!” asked Seiji. “He’s annoying, and he’s bad at fencing!”

  There was a long pause on his father’s end of the line.

  “I’m sure he has… qualities,” his father said at last. “The point is, I hope you know that you can always tell me… whatever it is you have to tell me. I’m accepting. I accept you. I just found it difficult to swallow the idea of Jesse.”

  “Why are you bringing up Jesse?”

  Seiji’s throat narrowed a small but crucial amount when he was forced to discuss Jesse Coste, his former fencing partner and the reason he was attending Kings Row. The mysterious obstruction in his throat made it difficult to speak clearly and show that Seiji was perfectly all right.

  “No reason,” said his dad. “I’m sorry. Let’s never talk about Jesse again. That would make me very happy. Tell me about Nicholas!”

  “Do you remember me saying that he was socioeconomically disadvantaged?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” his father assured him.

  Seiji lifted his eyes to the sky. He knew his father was intelligent. He wasn’t sure why sometimes he said foolish things.

  “Obviously, it does matter. That’s why I’m calling you. To tell you about Nicholas.” Seiji paused. “And Eugene.”

  “Eugene!” his father exclaimed. “Who is Eugene?”

  “He’s also on the fencing team,” said Seiji. “He lifts weights. He has…” Seiji considered. Nicholas said Eugene had “an army of brothers and sisters” but Eugene had rolled his eyes when Nicholas said that. Seiji didn’t know the truth. “Potentially twelve siblings. He says bro frequently and makes excellent protein shakes. I don’t know anything else about him.”

  A silence followed, the wind dropping leaves one by one onto the grass. Perhaps he’d praised Eugene in overly glowing terms, but Eugene was a teammate and always friendly.

  “He sounds nice.” His father’s tone was doubtful. “Well, I’m an open-minded and modern man. Tell me whatever you have to tell me about Nicholas… and Eugene.…”

  “It’s really the whole team,” said Seiji.

  On the other end of the line, his father made a strangled noise. Seiji heard him cover the phone and yell out muffled apologies to other golfers.

  “Go on,” his father encouraged him after this eventful break in the conversation.

  “I want you to sponsor the Kings Row team to go to a prestigious training camp in France,” Seiji said. “Nicholas wishes to go, but he can’t afford it.”

  He didn’t like it when Nicholas wasn’t able to have things Nicholas should have. It was as though someone had cheated in a match to gain an unfair advantage, except it seemed as though someone had rigged life to make it easier for them and harder for other people. Seiji disapproved of unfair matches.

  “Right,” his father responded cautiously after another and less eventful pause. “Uh, Seiji, why not have me pay for just you and Nicholas to go?”

  “Eugene’s poor as well,” Seiji answered. “Not as poor as Nicholas, but his family can’t send him to France.”

  “I suppose he has all those brothers and sisters…,” his father murmured.

  Seiji had no more to say about Eugene’s family. “More importantly, if you sponsor the whole team, it’s a gesture of support to the school and doesn’t single out Nicholas. He might feel awkward or as though he owed me something if he perceived himself as an object of charity. He has to think this is something that would happen whether he was at Kings Row or not.”

  “You’re learning a lot at this school,” said his father.

  “I don’t know about that,” said Seiji. “It’s vital for me to have fencers of my own caliber to have practice bouts with, and there isn’t anyone like that at Kings Row. That’s why we must go to Camp Menton.”

  And there was the silver lining, gleaming like an épée in the light of their salle. In France, there would be plenty of elite fencers to face. He’d had many excellent matches in France in the past. The only time he’d been so evenly matched in the US had been with…

  But Seiji didn’t want to think about Jesse.

  His father offered, in a careful manner, “If this fencing camp is so prestigious, will the Exton team be attending as well?”

  The fact his father was worrying about that was awful. It made Seiji feel as though he’d left a gap in his defense, so obvious it could be spotted by anyone, and now he was sure to lose.

  “Yes,” Seiji said in a clipped voice.

  “Jesse’s going to be there.”

  That stupid obstruction was back in his throat. Seiji refused to let it interfere with his speech. He kept his voice stern and convincing as he said, “I can handle Jesse.”

  That had to be true.

  “But you don’t have to ‘handle him.’ You shouldn’t do anything that will hurt you. Winning’s not that important. It’s just—”

  “Just a game?” Thinking of Jesse made Seiji’s voice sharper than he’d intended. “You alread
y said that. Why do you enjoy sealing a deal or opening a new factory? It’s not about money. We have enough of that. It’s about winning. You keep score, the same way I do.”

  He expected his father to be insulted by the comparison. Instead, he sounded oddly pleased.

  “Never thought about it that way,” his father admitted. “Ah well, the child of a hawk is a hawk. I take your point, Seiji. I don’t like losing, either. I only wish… I never want you to feel trapped. You should decide when the victory is important. Don’t let anyone choose your fight for you.”

  When his father talked about feeling trapped, Seiji remembered the humiliation of losing against Jesse in that one match where he’d let his feelings get the best of him. Never again.

  “I think the Olympic selection committee might choose my match for me,” said Seiji.

  Seiji didn’t know why everyone else was always missing the obvious. There were times in life when you had no choice but to fight.

  “I’ll let you win this conversation,” his father told him, laughing. “I imagine you win most of them.”

  “No, I don’t,” Seiji said gloomily. “Nicholas never listens. He just keeps talking, and he does whatever he wants!”

  “I must meet Nicholas someday soon,” Seiji’s dad added.

  “Why would you want to do that?” Seiji was baffled. “I really don’t think you’d have much in common.”

  “We have you in common,” said his father.

  Seiji stared fixedly up at the fall-gold leaves. “About what you were saying earlier.”

  His father coughed. “Ah. Yes, some crossed wires there. I can see how a lot of the things I was saying probably didn’t make sense to you.”

  At least he knew!

  “I just wanted to say I… hold you in high regard as well,” said Seiji. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”

  His father’s voice went soft. “All right. Then we won’t. Consider your request granted. I’ll sponsor the team. Enjoy France. I must get back to winning my golf game.”

  “I thought it was just a game and it didn’t matter?”

  “It is just a game,” said his father. “That I am going to win.”

  Seiji found himself giving the phone a small smile after he’d hung up. It was bizarre but oddly nice to think he and his father were alike in some ways. And it was good Nicholas would be pleased about going to France.

  Then he did some mental arithmetic about how the travel time to France was going to cut in on his fencing schedule, and it became clear that going to France was a terrible idea. Seiji rushed Nicholas back to the salle and tried to do as many drills as possible.

  That night, Seiji lay in his bed on the properly ordered side of the room and frowned over at the yellow ducks on the curtain he’d hung up to keep Nicholas’s chaos away from him. The ducks fluttered in the night, taunting him.

  Chaos awaited in France. He would be forced to think about how it had been when he lost his match to Jesse and fled to France because he felt as though he were in exile. He would have to see Jesse at camp as the new captain of the Exton team. Seiji and Jesse had once planned to lead the Exton team to victory together.

  Why had he done this? Just because Nicholas wanted to go to Camp Menton. Just because Nicholas hadn’t been trained the way he deserved. Why was it up to Seiji to make that right?

  What had Seiji been thinking? He must have lost his mind.

  5 NICHOLAS

  Coach Williams summoned them to her office again the next morning. This time it was before breakfast, when the rolling green lawn outside the windows was still silver-sheeted with dew. Seiji had only just dragged Nicholas out of bed, and Nicholas was still yawning and tugging his tie into a non-crumpled-leaf shape. He didn’t feel mentally prepared to be in trouble.

  When they arrived at Coach’s office, Harvard was already there. His shoulders were slumped, and Nicholas thought he seemed tired, but then Harvard looked up and gave Nicholas a smile. Nicholas beamed back. The captain mustn’t like mornings, either. Nobody with sense liked mornings.

  Eugene came into the office next. He fist-bumped Nicholas, but Nicholas was so tired he missed the fist bump and ended up punching Seiji in the arm instead. Seiji glared.

  Then Coach dragged in Aiden and closed the door behind them. Harvard’s back went sword straight. Aiden’s hair and clothes looked even more wrecked than they had yesterday. Nicholas wasn’t the fussy kind like Seiji, but he had to wonder if Aiden had forgotten what hairbrushes were.

  Was the whole team in trouble? Nicholas guessed they were. They didn’t have a match on the schedule yet, so he didn’t know what else it could be. He supposed Aiden had been in detention a lot lately. Nicholas had seen him there, sleeping on a desk with his head cradled in his arms.

  Granted, Nicholas saw him there because he, too, had been in detention, but he only had it the regular amount. In fact, he was in detention less lately than ever before! Seiji’s rigorous training program meant Nicholas didn’t have much time to break the rules.

  But this time he must have broken some rule by accident. That was easy to imagine. What was difficult to imagine was the captain breaking rules. Maybe Seiji and Harvard had been summoned so they could be disappointed in Nicholas together? Nicholas waited in dread.

  But when Coach finally sat down at her desk, she was smiling. Her goodwill seemed to suffuse the whole room, like light glancing off a blade.

  “Good news, team! Thanks to a very generous donation from Mr. Katayama, the whole fencing team will be attending Camp Menton. Pack your bags, kids. We’re on our way to France.”

  Eugene leaped to his feet and gave a cheer. “Bro! I mean, Coach… Coach bro. Wow!”

  On his feet, he scanned the room for an outlet for his enthusiasm and settled for giving Nicholas a double high five. This time, Nicholas didn’t miss.

  “Right, that camp in France,” Aiden said carelessly. “Is that this weekend?”

  He was leaning back in his chair. It was weird how Aiden, even with his clothes and hair a mess, made something like leaning back in a chair look cool. Maybe that was why he had a circle of fans who followed him wherever he went.

  “Lost track of time?” Harvard asked, his voice strained.

  “I was playing around,” drawled Aiden, stretching. “All work and no play makes… someone a dull boy.”

  Nicholas shot Aiden a shocked look. Aiden made mean jokes frequently, but never to the captain! Harvard shrugged and glanced away, though, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Harvard must be used to Aiden’s jokes.

  Nicholas’s train of thought was derailed by the sheer pressure of Seiji’s gaze. Seiji’s stares were often unnerving, but this particular one felt as if there were holes being bored through Nicholas’s face.

  “Nicholas!” Seiji snapped, as though he were a highwayman demanding Nicholas’s money or his life. “Are you pleased?”

  “Oh my God,” said Nicholas, totally forgetting Aiden’s weirdness as the revelation sank in. “Yeah! I can’t believe it! Are we actually going to France? Not to brag, but I have a passport.”

  “They don’t give poor people passports?” demanded Seiji, who’d led a sheltered life.

  “Only forty-two percent of Americans have a passport,” Coach informed him.

  Most of the team seemed startled to hear this. Nicholas rolled his eyes. Rich kids. Who cared, though, he was going to France!

  “Coach,” Nicholas blurted out, “may I be excused?”

  “I suppose you can, Cox.” Coach was glowing. “Pack light; get ready to train hard.”

  “Totally, Coach,” Nicholas assured her. Then he jumped up, grabbed Seiji’s sleeve, and dragged his roommate out of the office.

  Nicholas and Seiji careened down hallways, which were all walnut paneling and white plaster, adorned with portraits of gray-haired dudes, as Nicholas searched for the shortest person in Kings Row. Other students scattered out of their way, terrified by Seiji’s baleful stare. Seiji had strong opinions about his pers
onal space. Another student had once patted Seiji’s arm in class. Five minutes later the poor guy’d asked to go to the infirmary because he’d developed a headache in the ensuing icy, outraged silence.

  “Nicholas, it’s ridiculous to drag me around the place,” Seiji complained. “Nicholas, I’ve pointed out frequently that—”

  That was when Nicholas spotted his quarry. He let go of Seiji’s sleeve and pounced on Bobby Rodriguez.

  “Bobby!” he yelled. “Guess who’s going to France!”

  He grabbed Bobby in a hug. Bobby hugged him back enthusiastically. Then the pair jumped up and down together. Bobby was wearing a turquoise ribbon in his hair today, and several sparkly turquoise earrings. He looked cool; that was nothing new for Bobby.

  Bobby beat Nicholas’s chest enthusiastically with his small fists. “You’re going to Camp Menton? Nicholas, that’s amazing! You’re going to have so much fun. A foreign country, all those fencers…” Bobby paused to consider. “You know what? I’ll go, too!”

  Nicholas blinked. “What? How? I mean, you’re not on the team and it’s—it’s expensive.…”

  “Please. I’ll just ask for this to be an early… Arbor Day present. My parents will totally say yes,” said Bobby with a grin. “Plus, I know everything about Camp Menton! They let friends and family attend as part of the audience during training so students don’t have to travel by themselves. I’m a friend! We’ll have so much fun!”

  “Yeah!”

  Nicholas beamed. Bobby was as frenzied about fencing as Nicholas was. It was the first thing they’d bonded about.

  “Besides, you’ll need support,” said Bobby. “Camp Menton is supposed to be totally intense and hard-core.”

  “Yeah, I can handle that,” Nicholas assured him. “And then I’ll use my new skills to win at state!”

  “I know you will! We’ll learn so much! I heard a German fencer came back with his footwork totally transformed—”

  “Why are they like this?” Seiji murmured.

  “Not sure,” grunted Bobby’s best friend, Dante, leaning against the opposite wall.