Fence

by Sarah Rees Brennan

  At first, Seiji believed his father and Robert Coste would be real friends. Robert Coste had his son’s effortless charm. Robert Coste would speak extensively of Jesse’s and Seiji’s progress in fencing. Seiji was sure that if his father listened, he would come to like fencing more. Why would his father keep meeting with Mr. Coste if he wasn’t beginning to be interested? And Mr. Coste seemed to enjoy the meetings with Seiji’s father.

  Seiji believed it was progress when his father made time to attend an important fencing tournament, but that had ended in disaster. All through the match, Seiji kept thinking about how his father was watching, and he let nerves overcome him and made mistakes. He threw off Jesse with his odd behavior. It was Seiji’s fault that Jesse and Seiji got bronze and silver medals, respectively, and another fencer with far less polished technique had a good day and got the gold.

  Robert Coste took them to a side room afterward and delivered to them a detailed and helpful accounting of where they’d gone wrong. Like Jesse, Mr. Coste was wholly focused on fencing.

  Seiji and Jesse listened attentively with their heads bowed while Jesse’s father outlined their mistakes.

  Seiji’s father took a seat and listened quietly, too. For a while.

  Then he lifted his head and said, “Shut the hell up, Robert.”

  Seiji and Jesse were shocked, but nobody looked more shocked than Jesse’s dad.

  “They won’t improve if—”

  Seiji’s soft-spoken father cut Mr. Coste off with a flat, “I really don’t care. Don’t you ever talk to my kid that way again. Can I have a word in private?”

  Through the door, Jesse and Seiji listened to the sound of a low, grown-up fight.

  “We won’t ever fight, will we?” Jesse had murmured.

  And Seiji had replied, “Never.”

  Seiji had made sure to win the gold at the next tournament, but his father was at a business meeting and couldn’t come to the match, so it didn’t matter the same way the last tournament had. Robert Coste was there, though, and he praised them both.

  He wished he hadn’t messed up that tournament his father had attended. Everything would have been all right if he hadn’t done that.

  Seiji’s father said Seiji should tell him if Robert Coste spoke to him in a way that made Seiji uncomfortable, but his father didn’t understand how important fencing was. He thought Robert was obsessed and intense about fencing. He didn’t understand that Seiji was obsessed and intense about fencing. That was what it took to be a champion.

  So Seiji didn’t tell his father anything about his matches again. Since Seiji’s whole life was fencing and the Costes, that meant Seiji and his father talked even less than before. Seiji told himself it was perfectly natural and nothing to be upset about. They were both busy people with little in common. Why should they talk much?

  It would do no good to call his father, but for some reason, Seiji did it anyway. His father answered on the third ring.

  Without planning to say it, Seiji burst out, “Jesse challenged me to a fencing match. He said that if I won then I had to leave Kings Row and go to Exton and be his fencing partner. We made a bargain.”

  “So what?” Seiji’s father asked. “You didn’t sign anything. Even if you signed something, I have lawyers on retainer. Many lawyers.”

  “I keep my word,” said Seiji.

  He heard his father sigh over the phone. “I know you always try to play fair. But what if the other person doesn’t play fair?”

  “I still do,” Seiji answered.

  “Oh, Seiji,” said his dad.

  He sounded sad. Seiji was sorry to make his father sad, but he couldn’t give way on this matter.

  “Also, Nicholas and I had a fight,” he added. “I assumed we wouldn’t be talking after our fight, but he says he’s not angry anymore and he is talking to me. Actually, there seems no way to stop him doing it. I’ve grown accustomed. But I don’t understand why we had the fight and so I don’t know how to stop it happening again.”

  “What was the fight about?” his father asked.

  “Jesse,” said Seiji.

  “Can’t express the depths of my surprise,” muttered his father.

  Seiji sympathized with his father. He found it difficult to talk about emotions, too.

  “Nicholas keeps getting angry with Jesse, and there’s no reason for him to get angry. The other students at Kings Row are sometimes cruel to Nicholas because of him being poor, but he doesn’t get angry with them, and he doesn’t get angry with me when I beat him at fencing or when I say the things that make other people angry. But he gets mad at Jesse, and I can’t figure out why. I hate it when it seems as though there’s a secret reason people act the way they do.”

  So many social situations were opaque and distressing, but Nicholas was always transparent. Seiji didn’t want to be confused about Nicholas. He didn’t want Nicholas to be like everybody else.

  “Have you considered that perhaps Nicholas is angry for your sake? Maybe he doesn’t like the way Jesse treats you.”

  That hadn’t occurred to Seiji at all. He paused to consider the idea of Nicholas being angry for him, rather than angry with him. That would be pointless, like much of what Nicholas did, but Seiji didn’t find it totally objectionable.

  “Sometimes…,” said Seiji. “Sometimes when I look at Nicholas, I see Jesse. I don’t know why that would be, but it’s true. I was—angry with Jesse, and it made me furious with Nicholas.”

  His father’s voice was mild, in the way it was when he pointed out unassailable facts on business calls. “Well then, you’re going to stop that, aren’t you? Because you want to play fair.”

  Seiji nodded to himself.

  “I will. I have another question. Do you think I should do my hair differently?”

  His father sounded surprised by the question. “It might be time for a change. A lot of people tell me that my ponytail is dashing.”

  “I am not ready for a ponytail,” Seiji said flatly.

  His father laughed. “Whatever you want. You’re a very handsome kid. You take after me, how could you not be?”

  The sun was rising on a troubled sea, giving every choppy wave a golden crown. Seiji was somewhat abashed by his father’s words, and he was still deeply worried about the day to come, but it was like making up with Nicholas. Seiji was glad he’d called.

  “Thanks.” Seiji paused. He didn’t want to seem like those people who only wanted to fence Seiji for the victory, calling his father purely to get something. He offered, “Next time, I’ll call just to… chat.”

  He wasn’t sure what he would say, but he would figure it out.

  His father sounded as though he was smiling. “Looking forward to it. Say hello to Nicholas from me.”

  “I will,” promised Seiji. “Later he’s helping me trespass.”

  “Um,” said his father. “What?”

  Right. Nicholas had made it clear that the first rule of petty crime was not alerting authority figures.

  Seiji told his first lie of the day. “Oh no,” he said. “The connection of this international call has gone wrong. You’re breaking up. We can’t continue the conversation.”

  “Seiji—”

  “Goodbye, I love you,” Seiji announced stiffly, then escaped from terminal embarrassment and criminal revelations by hanging up the phone.

  The sky was pearl white over a slate-blue sea. It was time to face Jesse, but Seiji wouldn’t do it alone.

  31 NICHOLAS

  The last day of training camp was going great so far. Nicholas and Seiji had made up, and now he was going to help Seiji do crime. The first order of business was finding Eugene and Bobby to explain the situation—and Nicholas and Seiji’s scheme—to them. That took almost all of breakfast time, with Nicholas waving around his breakfast roll from Seiji to illustrate the master plan.

  “I dunno. It’s a million-to-one chance,” said Bobby.

  Nicholas grinned. “… But it might just work?”

&n
bsp; “I wasn’t going to say that,” said Bobby. “I mean, I’m with you to the death, Nicholas, but I’m actually very worried it won’t work! Can we get banned for life from Camp Menton?”

  “The dream,” murmured Dante.

  Nicholas appreciated everybody’s support.

  “Where were you at breakfast yesterday, by the way?” Eugene asked Seiji. “We missed you, bro.”

  Seiji inclined his head without saying a word, but he did the thing where his mouth wasn’t frowning or in a perfectly ruled line, which was something like a smile.

  Next up, drills. Nicholas found they were actually going more smoothly than before. A few other teams had to run more suicides than Kings Row.

  Aiden had gotten into some kind of trouble, though, so he wasn’t at drills. Without Aiden and Eugene, their team felt incomplete. Nicholas couldn’t wait to go back to normal, but that meant making sure Seiji stayed at Kings Row where he belonged.

  Nicholas had to prowl the training grounds until he found Marcel, then wait for him to finish his bout, then demand Marcel lead Nicholas to Jesse. When he did, they found Jesse standing and chatting in German with two other fencers. Jesse was wearing a sunny, charming smile, and his companions seemed dazzled.

  As Jesse’s eyes fell on Nicholas, the sunlight drained out of his face. He scoffed, “You?”

  Nicholas smiled a wicked, delinquent smile. “Me.”

  “He says Seiji sent him,” Marcel reported.

  Jesse hesitated, then nodded to the other fencers, who departed with speed, obviously freaked out by the abrupt change in Jesse’s demeanor. Nicholas turned, and Jesse and Marcel followed him out of the practice grounds and through the trees, to the rock by the sea where Seiji stood waiting. Seiji was wearing his fencing whites. Nicholas had argued strongly for Seiji not to wear them, as white from head to toe was the opposite of sneaky.

  “I can see you for miles. There’s a reason ninjas don’t dress this way,” Nicholas said in greeting.

  Seiji rolled his eyes so hard Nicholas thought he might hurt himself. Jesse was right there, but Seiji was paying attention to Nicholas, so Nicholas felt great about everything.

  “Why is this person even here?” Jesse demanded.

  Seiji’s gaze moved to Jesse. Nicholas stepped in between them.

  “I’m helping out my buddy,” he announced cheerfully, watching Jesse’s mouth go pinched. “You challenged him to a fencing match, right?”

  Echoing silence was Nicholas’s answer.

  “Did you just think it would work out for you, because you expect everything to work out for you?” asked Nicholas. “Lucky thing Seiji has me. I know how to break the rules.”

  “Seiji, is this person a criminal?” demanded Jesse.

  “No!” exclaimed Seiji. “Unless you mean in the sense of, Has he committed certain petty crimes? In that case, yes.”

  That caused Jesse to make the only expression Nicholas had ever enjoyed seeing on his face. Nicholas felt someone should frame it and put it in an art gallery, and title the masterpiece Jesse Coste, Rendered Speechless.

  Nicholas proceeded to explain the plan. “I wanted to have this planning session now, because our team captain is having a fencing match with Bastien. Nobody will overhear us. They’re all watching the match. Our coach has put money on it. Actually, many people have put money on it. I think most of Camp Menton is expecting it’ll be a fun opportunity to see another lousy American fencer get crushed. Which is hilarious, since Harvard’s totally going to win!”

  Marcel made a dismissive sound. “Please. My friend Bastien is going to win.”

  “Of course he is,” said Jesse. “He’s better than all the Kings Row fencers.”

  The calm certainty in Jesse’s voice made Nicholas’s fists itch. He’d wanted to go to Kings Row because his father had gone there before him. Whenever Nicholas walked through Kings Row, he told himself he was walking in his father’s footsteps. Being at Kings Row was the closest he’d ever been to his father.

  Jesse had all the rest of their father. He shouldn’t get to look down on the only piece Nicholas possessed.

  “What about”—the words stuck in Nicholas’s throat, but he forced them out—“your father? Didn’t he go to Kings Row?”

  “Exactly,” Jesse responded. “If my father thought Kings Row were the right place for a promising young fencer, he would have sent me there. That place, that team, almost dragged my father down. That’s why I’m doing Seiji a favor by getting him out of Kings Row.”

  “You haven’t done anything yet,” Nicholas reminded him. “You haven’t won your match against Seiji. And Harvard hasn’t lost his. I don’t think he will.” He turned to Seiji. “You agree with me, right?”

  Seiji gave some thought to the matter. “I’m not certain. In terms of skill, Bastien and Harvard seem fairly evenly matched.”

  “Seiji!” Nicholas shoved him. “Where is your team loyalty? He’s our captain! He’s the best captain ever.”

  “My personal feelings about Harvard and Bastien as individuals don’t matter, Nicholas,” said Seiji. “Fencing is a game of skill.”

  Jesse raised a golden eyebrow. “What was your captain ranked again? Thirty-third?”

  “He should be ranked higher,” Seiji responded in his coolest, most analytical tone. “He’s good at defense, but he’s flawed when it comes to attacking. He has trouble with his low lines, because he’s tall, which I’ve spoken to him about extensively. Yet instead of concentrating on working on his weak points, Harvard spends a great deal of his free time developing plans for his team and guiding us through drills.”

  “So you’re saying he focuses on the wrong things,” said Jesse.

  “No,” Seiji returned, level. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  If Nicholas hadn’t known Seiji, he would have thought Seiji was entirely indifferent to Jesse’s needling. Unfortunately, Nicholas was keenly aware that Seiji was holding himself with so much tension that Nicholas worried he might snap, as even a great sword might when too much pressure was exerted on the steel. Nicholas wished he could help. He wished he could hit Jesse. But he’d promised Seiji he would stay beside him at the party, and he hadn’t kept his promise. The least he could do was stay by Seiji’s side now.

  They walked toward the edge of the trees, heading for the winding road and the botanical gardens.

  “What’s your plan, then?” asked Jesse.

  “It’s gonna take some good old-fashioned Kings Row teamwork,” said Nicholas, and nodded toward the trees.

  Bobby and Dante were there. Dante regarded Jesse with silent disdain, which was how Dante regarded everyone. Bobby, who’d been fully briefed that Jesse was the enemy, restricted his natural exuberance to a small wave at Marcel. Thawing slightly, Marcel waved back.

  “You invited all of Kings Row to our conversation?” asked Jesse.

  “So, here’s the plan,” said Nicholas, ignoring him. “We’re going to sneak into the salle during the big party.”

  Jesse scoffed. “Surely it would be a better idea to sneak in at midnight, once everybody is asleep.”

  “You’re an amateur at crime, Jesse,” said Nicholas loftily. “The coaches here are all obsessed with curfews. If a noise wakes them at night, we’re all sunk. If they find us when they’re patrolling, we’re all sunk. The party is when they’ll be distracted. The party’s our chance. Our teammate Eugene says he’ll pretend not to feel well so that we can sneak away. And Bobby and Dante will sneak down to the harbor tonight. If we’re not back and people start asking about us, they’ll create another distraction and a call for help, so everyone will go looking for them and not us.”

  Jesse’s voice went captainly again. “You two will get kicked out of Camp Menton.”

  Dante asked, “Promise?”

  “If necessary, I’m going to fling myself in the water!” Bobby announced with huge excitement. “Dante will be there to make sure nothing bad happens to me.”

  He squeezed Dante’s for
earm appreciatively. Dante, who hadn’t been in favor of the Bobby flinging himself in the water idea, looked less grim.

  “Thanks for helping, both of you,” said Seiji.

  The tips of Bobby’s ears went pink. Nicholas also found the measured amount of warmth in Seiji’s voice touching.

  “Is this what it’s like at Kings Row?” demanded Jesse.

  Bobby didn’t seem to hear Jesse, distracted first by Seiji’s praise and then by a horrible realization. “I can’t believe we’re missing Harvard’s match,” Bobby said wistfully.

  As if uttering Harvard’s name was a summoning spell, a tall boy slipped between one shadow and the next, moving in long strides like a predator.

  “I, too, can’t believe you’re missing Harvard’s match,” drawled Aiden Kane. “I can’t believe you’re making me miss Harvard’s match. What are you planning, freshmen?”

  32 HARVARD

  Before the match with Bastien started, Harvard had to endure several more trainees coming over and being sympathetic to him. It seemed Harvard had made some friends at Camp Menton. It also seemed as though his new friends were all convinced Harvard was going to get his ass handed to him.

  He could deal with that.

  As they all gathered around the piste, before Harvard and Bastien began their match, Harvard saw Aiden coming. For a moment, there was a burst of ease and freedom in Harvard’s chest, the same feeling he got watching a flock of birds alighting from a tree into the air. He thought Aiden would come over and speak to him. Aiden always told him that he was the best captain, the best ever, with faith in Harvard that Harvard had never been able to summon in himself. He hadn’t needed to. Aiden was always there.

  Aiden made eye contact with Harvard for a moment. Then Aiden averted his eyes and walked directly over to Bastien.

  Harvard watched the lovely, wicked curve of Aiden’s smile as he whispered something in Bastien’s ear. That was much harder to deal with than anything else.

  Aiden spoke far too low for anyone but Bastien to catch, but his tone was carried on the warm Mediterranean breeze. Aiden’s voice sounded warmer than the breeze, dark and sweet at once, like honey being poured in the shadows.