Fence--Striking Distance

by Sarah Rees Brennan

  He’d often seen them with their foreheads pressed together, or their eyes on each other, in their own private bubble where Seiji had never been able to reach them. At family mealtimes, they became wholly wrapped up in business discussions and seemed hardly able to hear when Seiji tried to join in. His contributions hadn’t been particularly helpful, he had to admit. Then again, last time he tried, Seiji was six.

  His parents were a team. Seiji didn’t think he had the same capacity for devotion his parents possessed, and perhaps they knew that. Seiji suspected his parents didn’t find him very likable, which was an opinion many people held.

  They were always civil to him. They provided well for Seiji. They did everything they could. It wasn’t their fault that once they’d had a child, they discovered they didn’t want the one they’d got.

  I have an excellent relationship with my family, Seiji concluded.

  Surely three lines was enough chattering on about his homelife, and the rest of the essay could be about fencing.

  Seiji put down his pen and sighed as he looked around. It was almost time to go into the woods. Behind the blue shower curtain, the wild disorder of Nicholas’s half of the room lurked. Outside their mahogany door, the wild disorder of the world awaited. Even if he managed to complete this essay to his satisfaction, there was the rest of the team bonding to contend with.

  Kings Row was a small school compared to the towers and high walls of Exton, where Seiji had always intended to go. The fencing team at Kings Row was a stranger team than the one he’d always expected to be part of. Even their coach was strange.

  Seiji respected his coach, of course, and if she felt team bonding was important, then he believed that it must be. He was still having trouble working out what the point of the exercise was, but he hoped he’d discern it with time. Until then, he was putting in his best effort.

  Seiji wasn’t asocial. He was perfectly good at the social situations that had proper rules. At gatherings with sponsors, whether to do with business or fencing, he knew to stay mostly quiet, murmur in a modest way, and exhibit excellent manners. Seiji’s coaches and his father never had any complaints about how Seiji conducted himself on those occasions.

  He wasn’t asocial, but he wasn’t sociable, either. Keeps a distance from his peers, a teacher had written on Seiji’s report card once. Seiji did, and felt that was sensible. Why not hold yourself apart from chaos?

  Kids Seiji’s own age were chaotic. Nicholas was more chaotic than most. Seiji found him very difficult to reason with. It had been Nicholas’s suggestion that they should be friends, not Seiji’s, and it was impossible to know what Nicholas even meant by being friends. Was Seiji supposed to watch all Nicholas’s terrible fencing matches? None of this was Seiji’s idea.

  Nicholas had once saved Seiji a seat on the team bus, and Nicholas took the seat beside Seiji in their classes, but Nicholas hadn’t saved Seiji the seat beside him at breakfast this morning. Of course, Seiji had to admit, Nicholas hadn’t known Seiji was coming.

  Would Nicholas save Seiji a seat at breakfast tomorrow morning? There was no telling. It would be worrying if he did, since from what Seiji had observed, Nicholas stole food from other people’s plates. Seiji didn’t want anyone to steal food from his plate.

  It had all been so easy with Jesse. Until it hadn’t.

  Jesse had never said they were friends. He’d said they were fencing partners, and Seiji believed that was better. More important.

  Seiji put away his papers and pens neatly, then checked his reflection in the mirror. There was a lock of hair out of place, so he produced a comb and made himself presentable.

  Then he went out into the woods. He found Nicholas and Eugene already there—maybe they’d been socializing beforehand—at the edge of the forest, with Coach and a pile of raw steaks.

  Seiji had been hoping the steaks were a joke, but apparently not. Nicholas was already wearing a steak around his neck, secured in place with twine. The uncooked meat was blue in parts, and dripped onto Nicholas’s skin. Somehow, he was managing to remain calm. Eugene looked upset, but not as upset as Seiji felt.

  “Shirt off, steak on,” Coach Williams encouraged.

  Seiji stared at the steak. “I cannot put this on.”

  “Your teammates are already wearing them,” Coach pointed out. “What makes you different from them?”

  Seiji fought the impulse to cling to Coach’s sleeve and beg. “I have dignity.”

  There was a pause. Seiji had never disobeyed a direct order from his coach, but he didn’t think he could put some clammy, messy thing on himself. Nicholas and Eugene’s appearance was absurd.

  “Oh, all right,” Coach said at length to Seiji’s intense private relief. “But you have to stick to the others. Don’t run away if the bears come. Stay and be eaten together. That’s what teamwork means.”

  “Please stop talking about bears,” Eugene moaned.

  Coach gave them a wild grin.

  Seiji was certain there were no bears, but when Seiji pointed out obvious facts, other people got annoyed. Sometimes he found it best to keep quiet.

  Coach clapped her hands. “Off you go!”

  They began jogging through the woods. The reassuring sight of Coach, in her bright-red tracksuit, was soon lost among the trees. The evening air had a bite to it, and while Seiji had to repress the urge to shiver, Eugene and Nicholas were wearing cold steaks around their necks. This wasn’t responsible behavior on Coach’s part. Nicholas could get sick, and Seiji, as his roommate, would have to handle the situation. Seiji could already picture snuffling and complaining from behind the curtain in addition to Nicholas’s usual incessant noise. There would be tissues all over the floor.

  There was a rustling in the undergrowth.

  Eugene startled and threw his arms around Seiji. “Bear! I heard a bear!”

  Seiji fought free with strength born of desperation. “You did not hear a bear!”

  He almost tripped over a tree root getting away from Eugene. Then came another rustle, and Eugene threw his arms around Nicholas.

  “Bear!”

  “Where?” demanded Nicholas, clinging back. “I’m a city kid. I don’t wanna go out in a bear attack!”

  Seiji lifted his eyes to heaven and saw only evergreens and the darkening sky. He kept a careful distance from his teammates to avoid any repeat of Eugene springing at him, and tried to judge how far they’d gone and in which direction. That was tricky, since the trees looked similar to one another. When Seiji turned around to consult with Nicholas and Eugene, they were nowhere to be found. Seiji felt lost and confused in a dark-green world.

  He decided to head for the road he could glimpse through the trees. Roads led to civilization. A road would lead him back to school.

  As Seiji reached the road, winding through the trees like a dark snake, a gleaming black limousine turned a curve. Seiji stepped to the side to let the car go past. He had no wish to be run over.

  The limousine came to a halt. A shiny black door opened, and a smooth golden head emerged, almost silver in the dusk.

  “Seiji?” said Jesse Coste in obvious astonishment. “What are you doing out here? And where is your shirt?”

  This couldn’t be happening. This must be a nightmare. No, that was a panicked and irrational thought.

  Seiji, perfectly able to distinguish awful reality from dreams, pulled himself together. “I’m jogging through the woods near my school. What are you doing here?”

  He was grateful that his voice sounded cool and distant, as though he were doing a completely reasonable thing and asking a completely reasonable question. Jesse looked precisely as Seiji remembered him, as Jesse always did: in control without even having to try, without being aware there was any other option.

  “I’m headed to the airport for a tournament,” Jesse answered, then raised an eyebrow. “Your school? That’s cute.”

  “It is my school,” Seiji pointed out evenly.

  He was getting through th
is ordeal with dignity, he told himself. Then he heard a rough voice calling his name. Seiji’s heart sank.

  Nicholas came blundering through the trees with all the grace and subtlety of a lost hippopotamus.

  “Oh, there you are,” said Nicholas, frowning.

  Seiji was more or less accustomed to Nicholas by now, but he could vividly imagine Nicholas through Jesse’s eyes at this moment, and it was hideous to contemplate. Nicholas had leaves in his hair, dirt on his chest, and a raw piece of meat hung around his neck. He was a monument to the mess Seiji’s life had become.

  Then Nicholas noticed Jesse and went absolutely still.

  “You,” Nicholas murmured in a strange, faltering voice, as though too shocked to think of any other word.

  “And… you?” said Jesse. “Who are you? Did I—Never mind, doesn’t matter.”

  Jesse made a dismissive gesture, flicking away Nicholas’s existence as though it were a crumbled leaf that had fallen onto Jesse’s Exton uniform. He turned his head, not a golden hair out of place, back to Seiji.

  “As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted”—Jesse’s tone invited Seiji to share the joke, but Seiji didn’t feel like joking—“I think it’s well past time you gave up this absurd notion of Kings Row. You’ve made your point. You don’t belong at this third-rate school with these third-rate students. You need to be at Exton with me. That’s where you really belong.”

  His voice was convincing, but then Jesse always did have conviction. Seiji knew Jesse well enough to know it wasn’t false assurance. Everything about Jesse was golden: voice, laugh, skill, confidence. Everything about him said, I’m on the winning side. Jesse never doubted that. Nor did he have any reason to doubt. Jesse’s whole life so far had proven him right.

  When Seiji had first met Jesse, Robert Coste was with him, speaking proudly of Jesse’s ability. Jesse’s father watched every one of Jesse’s matches and monitored his training. Seiji wondered what it would be like, to be able to inspire the kind of pride Jesse could. He wanted to learn how.

  Always keep moving toward your target, Seiji’s dad had said once at the breakfast table, talking about business. That made sense to Seiji, so he’d remembered it.

  If Seiji was with Jesse, he wasn’t a weird loner whose appearance in the dining hall caused widespread mockery. His intense training made sense to everybody, because he wasn’t just a prodigy. He was Jesse Coste’s training partner, and he had to live up to that. If Seiji was with Jesse, he was chosen and special. In Jesse’s presence, Seiji wasn’t lost and wandering in the dark, having taken all the wrong turns. He wasn’t alone.

  Seiji always tried to control his expressions, but Jesse knew him well enough to recognize the hint of surrender on his face. Jesse had seen it before.

  Jesse smiled as he always did when he got his way, pleased but not surprised. He moved away from the limo and toward Seiji, smooth as when he was delivering the coup de grâce in a match, with his hand held out.

  “Uh.” Nicholas cleared his throat. “I’m not gonna let you kidnap my teammate in your limo.”

  Jesse’s eyebrows almost rose through his golden hairline at the unfamiliar words not gonna let you. Nicholas took a step forward.

  Seiji had a sudden feeling of unease. The way Nicholas was staring at Jesse was uncharacteristic. Usually, Nicholas paid more attention to Seiji than anybody else.

  Jesse regarded Nicholas suspiciously in return. “Please stay back. I don’t wish to contract mad cow disease.”

  Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

  “I’m serious—I don’t want to,” said Jesse.

  Seiji was direly embarrassed by Nicholas’s presence, not to mention his appearance. He hadn’t wished to see Jesse again. If forced to, he would have preferred to see him while winning Olympic gold. Failing that, Seiji would’ve preferred to see Jesse literally anywhere other than here. In the middle of the woods, in a state of undress, with a companion who had apparently been raised by wolves and then abandoned by the pack for being too scruffy.

  There was… another consideration, besides embarrassment.

  Sometimes there were people who were obviously not on the winning side, and never would be. Bad at fencing or at words or at life in some crucial way Jesse could always ascertain. Occasionally, Jesse would casually amuse himself at some unfortunate soul’s expense. Seiji wouldn’t laugh because he never actually understood the jokes or why they were funny, but he didn’t care much. It was simply Jesse’s way. Now he recalled with unwelcome vividness how those people’s cheeks would bear sudden swift streaks of red, as though slashed. Or they might slink off with a curious look of defeat, as if a lunch table were a fencing match. Some of them, Seiji had noticed, never came back again.

  Seiji didn’t want to see Jesse do that to Nicholas.

  Not Nicholas.

  The wind whipped around and around the tops of the pine trees, an almost mocking sound—like kids chasing one another around the playground, and singing taunts in thin, cruel voices.

  Nicholas Cox was an absurd wreck of a person. But he’d said they would be friends. He’d once congratulated Seiji on his win, in a match that didn’t even matter much—not in the gracious public way other people did, more as if they were congratulating themselves on their own good manners than anything Seiji had done—but sincerely because Nicholas thought Seiji had fenced well and was glad he’d won. Nobody else ever congratulated Seiji like that. Jesse and Seiji hadn’t congratulated each other on their wins against lesser opponents. Victory was assumed.

  How was Seiji supposed to stop Jesse from hurting Nicholas? He’d never been able to stop Jesse from doing anything he wanted.

  Seiji edged toward Nicholas. He didn’t get in front of him, but he tried to be in the position he would’ve taken on the piste in order to deflect a blow, if one came.

  It was something a fencing partner would notice.

  Jesse’s eyes went dark.

  “I have no idea what’s going on here,” he said, his voice bright as ice, “though it appears to be extremely sad and strange. Does it make you feel better about yourself to hang out with losers, Katayama?”

  Nicholas, who apparently hadn’t noticed Seiji’s careful maneuvering, charged right past Seiji as if he wanted to head-butt the limousine. He hit Seiji’s shoulder hard on the way past. Seiji clenched his teeth with annoyance.

  “Who are you calling a loser, jerk?” Nicholas demanded.

  “You,” said Jesse. “I’m calling you a loser. You were born to be one. That much is obvious.”

  He didn’t spare either of them another glance. He yawned and stretched, gold watch gleaming above the cuff of his shirtsleeve in the dying light, then strolled back to the limousine.

  “Let me know when you’re tired of sulking, Seiji, and ready to fall in line.” He closed the door.

  Seiji watched the retreating red lights of the sleek car, like evil eyes in the shadows.

  Fall in line. That was the crux of the matter.

  If Seiji was with Jesse, he would be where he belonged. He wouldn’t be awkward or out of place or wake up at night with a knot of misery in his chest.

  And if Seiji was with Jesse, they would never be equals. Jesse had always assumed that was understood, but Seiji hadn’t realized it until recently. Once he did, he shocked everyone—even himself—by finding it unbearable.

  “That guy,” Nicholas spat at the retreating car, “is—”

  “Probably the best fencer of our generation,” observed Seiji. “And everything he said was true.”

  Nicholas reared back. Seiji stared him down. For a moment, Nicholas seemed a symbol of everything that had gone wrong in Seiji’s life, all order lost and only chaos remaining. For a moment, Seiji hated him.

  Nicholas made a graceless snorting sound and plunged into the woods. Seiji wasn’t worried about losing him. Nicholas was practically crashing into the trees and trampling the undergrowth with his stop-traffic-red sneakers. His path of d
estruction would be simple to follow. For now, Seiji lingered on the dark road where Jesse had been, as night fell.

  Nobody could rival Jesse. Nobody could replace him, either.

  Seiji was alone.

  8: AIDEN

  Aiden kissed a boy and saw stars. He was lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the night sky, and there were stars in it. There were also several clouds, though not as many as Aiden could wish for.

  “Does it seem like hurricane weather to you?” asked Aiden.

  “—you’re so hot?” said Whatshisface.

  “Feels like the wind’s picking up a little though, right?”

  “No,” murmured Aiden’s date. “Seems to me it’s going to be a really nice night.”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Aiden demanded.

  The boy gave him a somewhat quizzical glance. Aiden had to admit, he hadn’t been bringing his A game, so he stretched out languidly on the picnic blanket, laced his fingers through the boy’s long brown (red? It was dark out here) hair, and pulled him down for another kiss. The boy gave a soft, delighted sigh.

  “I used to watch you in the halls,” the boy murmured in his ear, “and wonder… Did you ever think about me, too?”

  Aiden wasn’t thinking about this boy now.

  Before Aiden could say “So, this is awkward,” the boy kissed him again. He wasn’t a bad kisser. Hooking up made Aiden think of fencing, sometimes. The sheer physicality of it, the smooth, skilled movements flowing and arching to a victorious end. Knowing your opponent’s moves, weaknesses, what would get to them. Scoring all the points you could. And, in the end, turning away.

  The boy began to unbutton Aiden’s shirt, and Aiden turned away from stars and kisses.

  “Are you finding it difficult to concentrate?” Aiden asked, and the boy stilled, looking slightly helpless. Aiden grinned and shrugged. “Just me, I guess.”