Harvard shrugged comfortably. “Yeah, yeah.”
“You should be on your knees,” said Aiden. “Thanking me. If I wasn’t writing this essay, you’d have to room with Eugene.”
“I like Eugene,” contributed Harvard.
“More than me?”
“What do you think, idiot?” asked Harvard fondly.
He gave Aiden’s shoulders a last squeeze and let him go. Aiden’s side where Harvard had been was now colder than Aiden preferred. Aiden flicked a last bit of frosting from Harvard Paw’s ear.
“How’s everything at home?”
“Good,” said Harvard. “Mom’s setting me up on a date.”
That surprised an uneasy laugh out of Aiden. “What put that wild idea into her head? Don’t worry, I’ll handle—”
“I put the idea into her head,” Harvard said mildly. “Coach suggested I should try dating.”
Wow—how was Harvard dating in any way relevant to team bonding? This was nonsense. It was beginning to seem more and more as if Coach Williams was on a campaign to ruin Aiden’s life! What had Aiden ever done to her, other than add a touch of class to the fencing team and, admittedly, never show up for matches?
Ruining Aiden’s life still seemed like an overreaction.
“I’ll talk to Coach,” Aiden suggested. “This lunacy can’t continue. She’s high on victory and maybe paint fumes.”
“Aiden,” said Harvard. “I want to.”
Since when?
Harvard had never been interested in dating before. Aiden should know. He’d been there the whole time.
Every year, when they were younger, Aiden used to timidly proffer a Valentine’s Day card. Every year, his heart pounding so hard he thought his ribs would be smashed to dust, he’d think this time Harvard would understand. Harvard had always put his arm around Aiden’s neck and said, “Aw, thanks, buddy.” Harvard had never talked about wanting to date anybody.
To this day, Aiden got rid of Harvard’s other valentines. Harvard didn’t want to be bothered with valentines. His mind was on schoolwork and friendship and family and fencing. Aiden was doing him a favor.
And Aiden was doing himself a favor, putting those days of hope and humiliation far behind them.
Very occasionally, Aiden thought about maybe trying something, hinting, seeing if Harvard might be open to the possibility of dating. Every time, he remembered how he used to act around Harvard, and he wished to die of shame.
He couldn’t endure ever being that pathetically transparent again. Bad enough that Coach knew and could use that knowledge anytime she wanted.
Only now, everything Aiden was certain of had turned out to be wrong.
“You on a date.” Aiden tried to put the words together in a way that wasn’t horrifying. “You dating.”
“Yeah, dating. The thing you do practically every night?” Harvard reminded him.
Obviously, Aiden had to clarify his meaning.
“You’re going on a date?”
“Yeah, I am,” Harvard said, with uncharacteristic sharpness. “You’re not the only one who gets to date, Aiden!”
Aiden shook his head, lost for words. Harvard had stranded them both in unfamiliar territory. Aiden was always the one with sharp retorts. Harvard never got impatient with Aiden.
“Mom says this girl is really nice,” Harvard added.
“A girl?” Aiden said. “Oh.”
He’d thought… no. Obviously not. That had just been Aiden, seeing what he wanted to see. Harvard had never shown interest in anyone, because he was sensible and waiting until he felt ready to date.
Which, apparently, he did now.
Harvard was beginning to look suspicious. “Why are you being weird about this?”
“No reason!” Aiden responded, fast as a snake. “Just surprised! Aw, my little Harvard. They grow up so fast. I’m tired of trying to write my essay. What do you say you and I go have a practice bout?”
He patted Harvard’s head, the texture of Harvard’s close-cropped hair pleasantly soft under his palm. Then Aiden stepped back and put down his bear.
Harvard agreed with gratified surprise, as Aiden had known he would. Usually, Harvard was the one who had to bug Aiden to practice. It wasn’t that Aiden didn’t want to fence, but he liked when Harvard fussed.
They ran together down the broad back staircases, past the study halls that Aiden, for one, never entered, then across the evening-gray lawn toward the salle. It was dark and echoing in the gym before Harvard flipped on the lights and the floor stretched out in front of them, suddenly golden wood rather than shadows. Aiden put on his fencing mask with some relief, protected from the world and Harvard’s gaze by the beehive mesh of metal. They lowered and extended their blades, mirroring each other’s movements.
After that, Aiden broke pattern and twirled his épée, playing around. He caught the flash of Harvard’s white teeth through the mesh of his own mask. Harvard let the weight of the world rest on his shoulders. It was Aiden’s job to help him have some fun.
Harvard dipped the point of his blade twice, inviting attack, but Aiden didn’t take the bait, so Harvard moved back a little.
Aiden followed, beginning to step. In that split second of opening, Harvard’s épée flashed suddenly into attack.
It was so unexpected, Aiden wavered and let his point drop slightly as his grip on his épée went unsteady.
“Arrêt,” Harvard murmured instantly. “What was that? Have you hurt yourself?”
“I was just thinking about writing my essay,” Aiden admitted. “I think I’m allergic to doing things I don’t want to do.”
Arrêt. The term meant stop, putting an end to any fencing bout. Harvard always said it, never seemed to feel embarrassed about his ready surrender. He would always surrender rather than risk hurting Aiden.
Harvard wouldn’t give up in a real match—that would be letting down the team. But whenever they were practicing, all Aiden had to do was show a moment of vulnerability and Harvard would throw down both his weapon and his guard, unconcerned with protecting himself. Only concerned with Aiden.
That was just who Harvard was. That was why he was the only person Aiden was close to. He could allow Harvard within striking distance, because Harvard would never hurt anybody.
All those years ago, little-kid Harvard had felt sorry for little-kid Aiden. That was understandable. Little-kid Aiden was a sorry specimen. Harvard had never got out of the habit of feeling bad for him. If Aiden—his best friend—asked Harvard not to go out on a date with some random girl, Harvard wouldn’t do it.
Only Aiden couldn’t ask him.
If this was something Harvard actually wanted, something that would make him happy, Aiden couldn’t stand in the way.
There was a Greek legend about a hooded figure named Nemesis that pursued a man, slowly but surely coming closer to him. When Nemesis reached him, he would be destroyed. Aiden had always been uneasily aware of the shadow of the future, coming for him. They couldn’t always live together at Kings Row. They wouldn’t always be on the same fencing team.
One day, Harvard would leave. Like everybody else.
Aiden had been living on borrowed time for more than half his life. The most he could hope for was that someone would call a brief halt to inexorable progress, and he could avoid being hurt for a little longer.
“Are you really going on a date?” Aiden asked as casually as possible. Still hoping against hope that this might be a joke.
“Yeah.” Harvard sounded tired. “I really am.”
4: NICHOLAS
The walls in Kings Row were very smooth.
Maybe that was a weird thing to notice. Every room in Nicholas’s new school had some feature that struck him as unbelievably luxurious, but the walls were literally all around. Since that was, like, the point of walls.
In any of his old schools, or the many apartments he and Mom had lived in, the walls had always been in rough shape. Wallpaper so old it was worn away, strips torn o
ff or damaged by water so that the paper turned a mottled brown and peeled off by itself like a rotten sentient banana. Or just cracked drywall, the usual scuffs or dents from a doorknob slamming into a wall too hard or a plate being thrown. Nicholas had figured that was how walls were. Nicholas had never thought about it much, until he came to Kings Row and woke to see a stretch of perfect white wall gleaming in the morning light beside his bed every morning. Every morning, the wall made him think: Where the hell am I?
He didn’t belong here. But it was nice, and he wanted to stay.
On the other side of Nicholas’s bed was a blue shower curtain, patterned with ducks, to separate his and Seiji’s halves of the room. Seiji had put it up for privacy, and because Seiji couldn’t deal with the sight of Nicholas’s face or the mess on Nicholas’s floor early in the morning. Even with the curtain, this room was the biggest Nicholas had ever slept in. Nicholas had figured the curtain was a good idea at the time. That was when he and Seiji hadn’t been getting along. But now—though they were still rivals—they’d recently agreed to be friends.
When they’d first met, Nicholas thought Seiji was the worst person and the best fencer he’d ever met. He hadn’t been able to get Seiji out of his head. All he’d been able to think about was getting into Kings Row and beating Seiji someday. Then they’d both come to Kings Row, been forced to be roommates, and Nicholas had got to know Seiji better. He still wanted to crush Seiji on the piste, but Nicholas thought being friends was going to be awesome.
Buddies probably didn’t need a strict separation of personal space. When Nicholas saved Seiji a seat on the team bus, Seiji didn’t mind when Nicholas’s stuff or limbs went everywhere. Well, Seiji sighed and snapped at him a lot, but Nicholas was pretty sure that was just part of their thing.
Nicholas pulled aside the curtain and peered out at the orderly part of the room. Seiji, already wearing his ironed-looking blue pajamas, was sitting on his bed with a book on his lap. Even propped up against a pillow, Seiji had weirdly excellent posture, as though someone had trained him by making him balance a book on his head. Or possibly his posture came from being super good at fencing. Seiji’s face was intent—he was very focused in everything he did—on his book. He had a little bedside lamp with a twisty neck that cast a tiny gold pool of light on the side of his face and the open collar of his pajamas. The moonlight was a silver outline around his black hair. Seiji, Nicholas’s new friend.
Nicholas had never had friends before Kings Row. He and Mom were always getting evicted. Finding new cheap places around the city meant switching school districts. It was tough to make friends when you were always on the move.
Here at Kings Row, for the first time in his life, Nicholas got to keep people around. He had his first friend, Bobby, who was little and vivid and as wild about fencing as Nicholas was himself. And now he had Seiji, too.
Seiji lifted his almost-black eyes from the page. “Nicholas. Stay on your side of the room. Do not move the curtain.”
“Um, yeah,” said Nicholas. “Right. That’s the way we still do things, obviously.”
Seiji nodded with unconcealed impatience. Nicholas walked into Seiji’s side of the room.
“Nicholas! That is the exact opposite of what I said to do.”
“Yeah, totally.” Nicholas wandered over to Seiji’s bookshelf. “I thought maybe I could borrow some of your books to help when I’m writing my essay about childhood. You’ve gotta let me! Because we’re teammates, and we’re bonding.”
They had to write these essays, but Nicholas wasn’t awesome with words. The only thing he’d ever been good at was fencing. Fencing words were used to describe conversation all the time—parry, riposte—so he should be able to figure out language eventually. Other fencers could do it: Seiji spoke really well, using words that stung Nicholas or sliced into him like real swords (I’m so far ahead of you, I’m surprised you can see me at all, Seiji had told Nicholas the first time they met, and that burn made Nicholas try getting into Kings Row.). It wasn’t just Seiji: Coach Williams spoke, and the world shifted in Nicholas’s mind. Their captain, Harvard, knew exactly when to reassure and when to command. Aiden never shut the hell up.
And one look at Jesse Coste and you knew he’d never wanted for anything in his life, including the right word at the right time.
So, Nicholas could do it, too. He was good at fencing—not great, but someday he was gonna be great. And he wasn’t good with words, but someday he could be.
Nicholas read the titles on the spines of Seiji’s books. Seiji had lots of books about interesting stuff, like the rules of fencing, the history of fencing, and famous fencers.
Seiji breathed out hard through his nose. “There’s no need to go through my things. We have a school library.”
“I knew that.”
Nicholas hadn’t known that.
“Of course, their section about fencing is utterly inadequate,” mused Seiji.
“Well, there you go,” said Nicholas. “It’s inadequate. Nothing I can do about that, Seiji!”
Utterly was a fancy way of saying totally, he was pretty sure. Nicholas didn’t see what was wrong with just saying totally, but he made a private note to write utterly in his essay. The way I grew up was utterly fine. Yep, that sounded good.
“I still don’t want to do team bonding,” Seiji muttered.
“That’s great news, Seiji.”
A look that wanted to be startled began on Seiji’s face, and then was sternly repressed.
“Team bonding lessons are part of fencing,” Nicholas explained. “When you suck at team bonding, I’ll beat you. So will Harvard.”
Seiji closed his book.
“And Eugene!” Nicholas continued triumphantly.
Seiji’s eye twitched.
“It’ll just be you and Aiden, coming in dead last at team bonding, and Aiden doesn’t even attend matches,” Nicholas said with scorn. “Embarrassing for you. Don’t worry; I guess you can still be my rival. Even if you suck at team bonding.”
“I’m going to crush you at team bonding!” Seiji snapped.
“That’s the spirit!” said Nicholas. “See? We’re bonding already.”
Seiji’s books were lined up in an orderly fashion like soldiers. Some of his possessions were lined up in front of them, as though they were guarding his library.
“Don’t disarrange the books.”
“Oh, are they arranged in some special way?”
“… Alphabetically?”
“Weird,” said Nicholas.
There was a book called The Twenty-Six Commandments of Irish Dueling. That sounded cool. Nicholas reached for it, but Seiji’s books were packed together so tightly he actually had to force the book out. The bookcase rocked, and a watch in a little case tumbled from the top shelf and hit the floor. A different book fell down and struck Nicholas’s foot. Nicholas, hopping in wild dismay, stepped on the watch. The plastic case cracked. When Nicholas hastily removed his foot, he saw that the watch inside the case had cracked, too.
The whole disaster took about five seconds.
Seiji sounded calmly pleased to be proven right. “I knew you would do something like this.”
“Um,” said Nicholas. “Oops. Sorry. I’ll pay for that! Or I’ll get it fixed or something!”
Seiji sighed dismissively, opening his book back up. “All right.”
That made Nicholas feel much worse.
There were plenty of guys at Kings Row who would’ve got very nasty about Nicholas daring to touch, let alone break, their stuff. Seiji wasn’t like that.
Seiji’s words might cut, but he didn’t say them to cut. Seiji wasn’t Aiden, whom Nicholas never paid attention to. When Aiden spoke, all Nicholas heard was: Blah, blah, blah, I’m a snotty rich kid who talks too much. Nicholas had never seen Seiji get any pleasure out of being cruel. That was what made Seiji’s words cut deep. Nicholas knew Seiji meant what he said.
“I’m real sorry.”
Seiji waved a hand,
not looking up from his book. “It’s fine.”
Nicholas put the broken watch in his pocket, searching through his mind a little frantically for something that could make this better. The times Seiji and he got along best—well, the only times they got along at all—were when they were fencing or training.
“Wanna come train with me?”
“No, I can’t help you right now. I’m staying here so I can perfect my essay about my childhood,” said Seiji. “As I intend to excel at team bonding.”
Nicholas wondered if he should point out that staying here by himself and not coming to train with a teammate was the total opposite of team bonding, but he’d already asked Seiji to come with and Seiji had turned him down. Why should he help out Seiji? It would be really funny when Coach told Seiji he sucked.
“Not gonna happen, Seiji,” he said instead.
“I will decimate you at team bonding!”
Nicholas waved a hand over his shoulder as he left. “No way.”
He took a detour on his way to the salle, as he usually did, to the cabinet full of trophies and photos of famous former students. He headed right for the plaque Kings Row had won during the match that got them into the finals for the 1979 state championship.
Even the glass of the cabinet glistened, clear and clean. Nicholas’s breath fogged up the glass, making a little blurry patch of imperfection.
Nicholas was the only thing in this school that was in rough shape. Even the lawns here seemed made of smooth green velvet.
Hey, Nicholas thought as he looked up at Robert Coste’s face in the old photo under the glass, shining with victorious happiness and almost as young as Nicholas was now. Even to himself, he didn’t dare think Hey, Dad.
But that was what Robert Coste was. Robert Coste had had a fling with Nicholas’s mom and left her before either of them knew Nicholas was on the way.
Robert Coste was his dad. One of the greatest fencers of his generation. Of all time. Surely there was something of him in Nicholas. Surely that was why he’d loved fencing so much, from the very start when he’d hassled Coach Joe into teaching him.
Fence--Striking Distance Page 4
