I’m doing okay, Nicholas thought, telling his dad stuff about his day the way he’d heard other kids say stuff about their day on the phone to their parents. Coach had an awesome idea about team bonding. I think I’m going to rock at it! Seiji is not gonna rock at it.
He’d studied this picture of Robert Coste carefully, time and time again, since he’d started going to Kings Row. Robert was tall and blond and polished, like a trophy made into a person. Nicholas didn’t look anything like him. Jesse Coste, the guy with the name and the training, had gotten the face as well. But fencing mattered more than faces.
Nicholas was so absorbed in staring at Robert Coste that he didn’t notice a couple of older boys behind him until one shoved into his back, sending him stumbling a few steps down the hall away from the cabinet.
“Don’t think you’re going gold anytime soon, new kid!”
Nicholas rolled his eyes as the Kings Row guys passed him, talking in pretend whispers that were intended for Nicholas to hear.
“Can’t believe he’s on the team, even as a crappy second reserve.”
The other guy sniggered. “I heard his last coach was basically a hobo.”
Nicholas threw the guy against the wall.
He’d had to trail Coach Joe all around his tumbledown old gym back in the city, bugging the coach to teach him how to fence. Coach Joe hadn’t wanted to train Nicholas, but he had, and he’d done it the best way he knew how. Now that he had Coach Williams, he understood Coach Joe hadn’t been exactly all a coach should be, but it wasn’t as if Nicholas were the ideal student. Coach Joe had texted Happy birthday, kid, hope you had a blast a couple of days after Nicholas’s last birthday. He was the only person who’d remembered it at all. Coach Joe was great. Nicholas whirled his fist around, already imagining the satisfaction when it connected with this smug idiot’s jaw.
Then Nicholas remembered if he got caught fighting, he’d be thrown out of Kings Row. It had never mattered before. One school was pretty much the same as another. Nicholas had nothing to lose.
Thinking of all Nicholas had to lose now—real fencing, Seiji, Coach Williams, Bobby and Eugene and Harvard, being at his dad’s old school—it would matter a lot.
Nicholas took a deep breath and stepped back. Stepping back didn’t come naturally to him, and he didn’t like it.
“Watch your mouth,” Nicholas muttered. He didn’t care what they said about him. They were mostly right about him, but they could leave Coach Joe alone.
After a moment, he remembered to unclench his fists. Both the boys wore slightly startled expressions, but after a moment they shrugged off whatever was holding them back and resumed their swagger down the hall.
“Sorry, didn’t realize the hobo was like a father to you!” the older boy scoffed over his shoulder.
Nicholas waited until they were gone, then made his way toward the salle. Coach Joe wasn’t anything like Robert Coste.
Nicholas’s father being one of the greatest fencers of all time hadn’t mattered to Mom. She’d been mad that he’d hit it, quit it, and skipped town with his fancy friends. That was all she ever said on the subject. Robert Coste was just one more in the list of men who’d let Mom down, a passing mention in a string of drunken bitterness.
The only one his father mattered to was Nicholas.
Sometimes Nicholas imagined that the truth might matter to Robert Coste, too. Some day. Not right now, obviously. But one day, possibly, when Nicholas was so great at fencing that he was officially acknowledged rivals with Seiji, and he had lots of trophies. Maybe after they won the state championship, the way Coach wanted. Nicholas might then casually hint at the facts, and Robert Coste would immediately be like, Wow, my son—makes total sense. I’m so impressed… if only I’d known before; would you call me Dad?, and Nicholas would be like, No need to make a big deal of it or anything; I’m doing fine, Dad.
Those half-formed dreams hadn’t ever coalesced into a real plan of action. They’d seemed even more far-fetched once Nicholas had laid eyes on Jesse Coste. The son Robert knew about, the son he’d had with his wife and who’d grown up in his, no doubt, fancy house. The son Robert Coste had trained to follow in his fancy Olympic footsteps. Jesse, the guy Seiji wanted to fence with, because Jesse got everything.
One look at Jesse, and the rainbow-bright bubble of Nicholas’s dream had burst.
You have this shiny pedigree dog you’re super proud of, but hey! Guess what. Here’s some unimpressive mutt on the doorstep. Exciting, right?
No.
Nicholas shook his head as he walked into the salle, feeling slightly sick at the thought. He met Harvard and Aiden on their way out and brightened. Their captain was the coolest.
“Hey,” said Harvard, continuing to be the coolest, and hit Nicholas in the shoulder in a bro way. “Getting some training in? You’re better every day, Cox.”
“Blah, blah, blah, freshman, blah,” Nicholas heard Aiden remark. “Blah, blah, blah, hair, blah.”
Nicholas knew Aiden thought he was ignoring him on purpose, but Nicholas actually found it really hard to concentrate on what the guy was saying. He got this particular sneering lilt in his voice, and Nicholas knew he was gonna say something to indicate that Aiden was so great and Nicholas was such garbage. Nicholas couldn’t help it, his attention slid away like—what was the phrase Coach Joe used?—water off a duck’s back. Nicholas had heard that kind of stuff plenty of times before.
Nicholas gave Aiden a blank look. Aiden was shaking back his fancy hair, wearing an angry expression. Nicholas wondered what Aiden had to be mad about. Aiden didn’t usually seem ruffled by anything. And he’d just been training with the captain, which must have been really fun. Aiden always had someone to train with.
Harvard and Aiden were best friends, people said, who’d known each other since they were little. Imagine having someone you got along with that well, who stuck around that long. Especially someone as great as Harvard. Aiden had no idea how lucky he was.
It must be awesome to have a best friend. Nicholas had never had one, but maybe Seiji would be his best friend someday? Yeah, Seiji probably would.
He carefully put Seiji’s broken watch to the side as he grabbed his mask and épée.
He chose his piste and moved into an étude, going over the footwork Coach had insisted he practice. Nicholas was left-handed, and Coach said that could be a huge advantage, but he had to know how right-handed fencers moved, too. He tried out right-handed advances and retreats; advanced, retreated, advanced six times and remembered to retreat once, reached the end of the piste and spun, advanced, retreated, and went into an advance lunge.
Nicholas allowed himself the luxury of moving fast and forward, the way he wanted. He fenced with imaginary partners to work off his restlessness, trying to make himself tired enough to settle into training.
Coach Joe had always said it was important to keep in shape, so Nicholas used to run laps around the block until it was dark, even though the neighborhood was lousy. If you moved quickly, that wasn’t a problem. Safe within the unblemished walls of Kings Row, Nicholas fenced with shadows and heard the thunder of his own heart echoing through his body, just like his feet falling hard as he raced down the cracked sidewalks of his city.
Keep moving, Nicholas. If you’re fast enough, none of it can catch you.
5: AIDEN
The team was bonding. Or at least attempting to do so in the most ridiculous way possible.
Aiden, personally, was leaning against the farthest wall in order to further disassociate himself from these people.
The whole tableau was awful and unsightly.
The freshmen were being atrocious, as usual. Seiji had his arms primly crossed over his meticulously ironed shirtfront and was refusing to participate in trust falls. It was obvious Seiji would have to be clobbered into unconsciousness before he would permit himself to fall into anyone’s arms. Nicholas had his arms crossed (not primly) over a hoodie that looked like he’d been using it to mop
up dirt. He also seemed twitchy about trust falls. Aiden was prepared to bet the end result would be Nicholas crashing down in the wrong direction and breaking his nose. That would be at least mildly entertaining.
Eugene was running in circles saying, “Fall at me, bro! I’m open!” It was possible Eugene was Aiden’s least favorite teammate.
Harvard had taken off his uniform jacket and was rolling up his shirtsleeves, ready to catch any of his teammates in his strong arms.
Well. Maybe the whole tableau wasn’t unsightly.
Aiden looked away, across the floorboards on which the high window was casting a triangle of light, toward the wicked woman who had perpetrated this horror upon them.
Coach Williams wore a dispirited expression—who could blame her?—but she didn’t call a halt to these lunatic proceedings. Whatever happened, it was on her.
“Are you ready to do trust falls, team?”
“Absolutely not,” drawled Aiden. “As per our agreement, I am Trust Fall Switzerland.”
“Wasn’t talking to you, Aiden, but looking forward to your essay!” said Coach.
Aiden winced.
“Coach Williams,” Seiji appealed, “I also wish to be Trust Fall Switzerland. If one of us got injured doing this, it would impede our ability to fence, and that would be a disaster.”
“You will not get hurt falling onto practice mats. If by some freak chance you did get injured doing this, Eugene or Nicholas would substitute for you on the fencing team,” said Coach. “Hence, why we have reserves.”
“As I said,” Seiji told her, “that would be a disaster.”
Nicholas made a rude noise. Seiji shot him an annoyed look. Aiden judged that Nicholas’s chances of being caught during trust falls had just taken a nosedive.
Coach, perhaps perceiving the same thing, sighed and rubbed the place between her brows where frown lines were forming. “Eugene and Harvard, you’re up.”
Harvard threw his unworthy mentor a brilliant smile. “Sure.”
“I’m ready, Captain!” yodeled Eugene.
This was the guy who Coach Williams thought should be Harvard’s roommate? Aiden gave Eugene a look of pure disdain. Eugene stopped mid-yodel, his mouth hanging open in dismay.
“Coach won’t let you do trust falls because you suck at teamwork,” Nicholas muttered to Seiji.
“One, two, three—” said Coach.
“I don’t want to do trust falls, and I’m excellent at teamwork,” Seiji muttered back.
Nicholas shoved Seiji, which wouldn’t have mattered if Seiji hadn’t been thrumming with tension and standing at the edge of the mat. Seiji staggered off-balance, and the mat spun with him. Nicholas and Eugene, on high alert for falling, both reached for Seiji.
This left trusting Harvard obediently tumbling backward on Coach’s word onto the exposed wooden floor with nobody to catch him.
The world became a blur as Aiden leaped into action. Open-mouthed faces, light, walls, and practice mats all were streaks of color as though someone had hurled random paints at a canvas. Aiden might have done a shoulder roll. He wasn’t sure of anything that happened in that handful of confused seconds, except for the result: Aiden on his knees, Harvard in his arms.
“Hey,” said Harvard, and smiled.
In the distance, Aiden was aware Seiji had righted himself and was fussily brushing off his uniform as though he’d fallen, while loudly criticizing Nicholas and Eugene for getting in his way. Probably Coach was also still there. Weather was probably happening, of some kind, somewhere. Beyond the window.
Aiden expended a great deal of effort in not being too physically aware of Harvard. On a certain level. Aiden was very physically comfortable with Harvard on another level. They’d grown up together. They used to take naps, sharing the same mat or the same bed, holding hands with Harvard Paw cozily tucked between them. Even at Kings Row, their beds were pushed close together and they watched movies with Aiden kicking Harvard in the calf or Harvard’s shoulder pressed up against his. It wasn’t so different from the naps. It was all about context and keeping Aiden’s life arranged in the correct categories: what was important, namely Harvard, and then—strictly separated—everything else.
Now everything was a mess.
There was a distinct lack of strict separation in the warm fact of Harvard in his arms. Harvard, open shirt collar blazing white against his glowing dark skin. Aiden was as close as the shadow of Harvard’s collar against his skin. Harvard was looking up at Aiden, gaze calm and steady. Harvard, broad-shouldered and built for football as well as fencing, was actually too heavy for Aiden, but Aiden wasn’t letting him go.
There was only one way to express the outrage Aiden was currently feeling about the universe.
Softly, because he hated even saying it, Aiden said, “You could’ve been hurt.”
“Nah,” replied Harvard. “This went great. All according to plan.”
Aiden wasn’t used to Harvard being spectacularly wrong. “This went—how did this go—”
“I fell because I knew one of my teammates would catch me,” Harvard explained. He was still smiling. “One of my teammates did.”
They heard the sound of Coach’s authoritative step moving from mat to floor, coming toward them. Aiden’s arms tightened around Harvard.
Harvard patted Aiden’s arm. “Thanks, buddy. Now let me go. Gotta captain.”
With no choice in the matter, Aiden did. Harvard climbed to his feet without a backward glance and went into a huddle with the coach from which the words “could’ve gone better…” were heard. Aiden, head reeling and utterly bewildered, found refuge in rage.
“You miscreant idiot freshmen,” he began in scathing tones.
“I’m not a freshman—” said Eugene.
Aiden pointed at him accusingly. “Which is why you’re the worst of all! You should know better!”
A throat was cleared behind him.
“Aiden,” said Coach Williams, “is right.”
A thunderstruck silence followed. Coach had never said anything like that before. Even Aiden found it tough to handle.
Coach Williams prowled forward as she continued: “It pains me to say this, but you guys put on the worst display of team bonding I’ve ever seen in my life. Maybe the worst display of team bonding since the Stone Age, when the weakest person on the team would have their skull harvested to play the next game with.”
Aiden laughed.
Nicholas asked, “Did that actually happen, Coach?”
Coach pointed to a sign on the wall that read Did that actually happen, Coach? She made an encouraging gesture and Nicholas glumly began to run suicides.
“You all seem determined to prove yourselves extraordinarily bad at teamwork,” Coach continued relentlessly.
“Is Seiji the worst?” Nicholas called as he ran by.
“I can do better!” exclaimed Seiji.
Eugene had draped himself on Harvard and was practically weeping. Only the word bropology could be distinguished. Harvard patted Eugene on the back.
“You have to try harder. Take meals together. Sit beside one another. Learn to care if your teammates are in trouble. It is quite rare for there to be a situation in which not only is someone not caught during trust falls, but chaos ensues in which he could be physically harmed! Harvard came close to falling on the wooden floor and could easily have sustained a concussion. Aiden is the only one who was there for his teammate. He showed you all up. Aiden.”
The way Coach said his name suggested she’d observed a great white shark saving a drowning swimmer. Aiden was beginning to feel personally offended. He felt even more offended when Seiji hung his head in shame.
Nicholas tried to argue, panting as he ran by: “Yeah, but Aiden wouldn’t have tried to save anybody else, so it’s not like he really cares about the team—”
“Are you suggesting that I’m biased? I’m totally impartial. It’s not my fault Harvard is awesome and the rest of you suck!” Aiden snapped.
&
nbsp; Scholarship Nicholas gave Aiden a vacant stare, then continued running. Aiden considered tripping him.
“You’ve forced my hand,” announced Coach. “I can’t make empty threats or I’ll lose your respect as a coach, and more important, your fear. Tomorrow night I’m sending you out to run suicides through the woods. With raw steak around your necks.”
Amazingly, the freshmen and Eugene seemed to be taking her seriously.
Eugene whimpered. “What if we get eaten by bears?”
“I may have mentioned that our team is in the uniquely fortunate position of having two reserves!” Coach said brightly. “I can spare at least one of you.”
Maybe this day wasn’t turning out so badly, after all. Aiden snickered. He could still feel a ghost of warmth in his arms, but—whatever. He was a world-class champion at compartmentalizing. He had a date tomorrow night, he was pretty sure. With someone hot, no doubt. He could have a date tonight, if he wanted. Everything was fine.
Aiden could’ve mentioned to the idiot freshmen that the manicured woods around Kings Row were conspicuous for cottontail rabbits and columbine, not bears. But why would he do a silly thing like that? This was hilarious. They deserved everything they got, especially Eugene.
“Fortunately for you guys,” Coach announced, “I have, my sister tells me, no life… and that means I have no plans Friday evening! I’ll be supervising your run through the woods. I plan to stand at a safe distance and note your cries of distress with interest. You accompanying me, Captain?”
“Can’t make it, Coach,” Harvard told her cheerfully. “Got a date.”
The sky outside the windows went dark. There was a sudden sour taste in Aiden’s mouth.
Coach whistled. “Good for you, Harvard!”
It was Aiden’s firm opinion that the teaching staff should not be involved in or even aware of their students’ love lives. This was inappropriate. Coach should be ashamed.
“Oh cool,” said Worst Freshman Nicholas, though he looked startled, as though a date was a foreign concept to him. “Hope you have a great time, Captain.”
Fence--Striking Distance Page 5
