Fence, Page 2

  “Watch where you’re going, freshman,” Aiden snarled.

  Usually when Aiden appeared anywhere, his fan club fluttered around him like adoring bluebirds, and the sun danced in his hair. His voice was typically warm and amused, like he was mentally on a tropical beach.

  This evening, it seemed as if a tropical storm had arrived, sending the tourists running and turning the white sand gray. Aiden’s hair, normally imperfectly perfect, was wild. It looked as if someone had pressed ash-covered thumbs under both his eyes, leaving dark marks beneath them. He was buttoning up his wrinkled uniform shirt, concealing a string of small bruises running up from his chest to his chin, as though he’d been hit multiple times with the hilt of a sword.

  Nicholas truly had no idea why anyone would be getting dressed in somebody else’s room, let alone how someone would get those bruises. But somehow even those things weren’t as weird as the blankness in Aiden’s eyes.

  Nicholas shook his head.

  Aiden. What was up with that guy lately?

  2 HARVARD

  Hang back, Captain, would you?” Coach Williams said. “I want a word.”

  That was Harvard’s first sign something was very wrong.

  When Coach was in a good mood, she’d yell, “Yo, Harvard!” and maybe toss something at his head. Harvard would always catch it and grin. Sure, she was stern when it came to discipline, but otherwise she was pretty chill.

  Seeing Coach Williams this serious made Harvard want to run away.

  Harvard was captain, though, so he couldn’t do that. Instead he braced himself and waited for whatever came next. He usually liked it in the coach’s office, where they would sit at her big, battered desk and sketch plans for the team’s future.

  Today Assistant Coach Lewis was sticking around, too, wisps of ruddy brown hair escaping from her ponytail. She shot Harvard a covertly sympathetic glance over her glasses, then straightened up. She never stayed behind for captain-to-coach meetings. If Coach Williams needed backup, that was even more proof this was bad.

  Coach Williams gestured to the chair across from her. Harvard sat and Coach Williams sighed.

  “This isn’t about fencing,” said Coach. “Well, only tangentially. It’s about a member of the team, and I think you know who.”

  Coach paused, leaving a space for Harvard to fill. Harvard wished he didn’t know who Coach meant. He had a sudden desperate urge to hear Eugene was setting fires in the gym.

  Instead he turned away, to the window, and said to the glass rather than his coach: “Aiden.”

  Even saying his best friend’s name sent a strange, shuddering pang through Harvard. It was like a story Harvard had read as a child about a broken magic mirror. The shards had flown in all directions and hit people—some in the eye, some in the heart—and the small, cold, jagged pieces had stayed in them and twisted. Those who’d been hit had to learn to live with those sharp, cold reminders that something magic had been broken and couldn’t be fixed.

  “The man himself,” said Coach. “Have you seen him lately? Because I haven’t since he no longer comes to matches, to practice, or, so I’m told, to class. He didn’t even come to this meeting. Eugene couldn’t find him.”

  Harvard crossed his arms and tilted back in his chair. If he’d been Aiden, that would’ve been a cool move of lazy insouciance.

  Since he was Harvard, he felt vaguely unbalanced and almost immediately restored the chair to its rightfully steady position on all four legs.

  “Aiden says he’s living his best life.”

  “He’s sneaking out to meet guys. And I say ‘sneaking out,’ but it seems like he wants to get caught, or at least doesn’t care if he’s caught. He’s had detention every day for a week,” said Coach. “At least he gets some sleep in there. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s living his best life. Do you have any idea what’s going on with him?”

  “I…,” said Harvard. “Not exactly.”

  He swallowed, fidgeted, and bit his lip. He didn’t do well with guilt. When he was younger, and he was home alone and broke something, he waited on the porch so he could run to his mom and confess as soon as possible.

  He’d never kept a guilty secret. Not until now.

  “Do you want me to read out all the Kings Row rules Aiden has broken this week?” Coach Williams gestured. “Lewis has a list.”

  “I do have a list,” the assistant coach agreed sadly. “It’s extensive.”

  Harvard shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it.

  “Is it my fault?” wondered Coach Williams aloud. “Am I a bad role model?”

  “You’re doing great, Sally,” the assistant coach contributed supportively. “You’re the best role model!”

  Coach drummed her fingers meditatively on the surface of the desk. “I certainly haven’t dated the entire state of Connecticut, as seems to be Aiden’s dream.”

  “You totally could, Sally.” The assistant coach continued to validate Coach Williams. “Um. Anyone could tell you that! Anyone would say the same thing.”

  Coach Williams was frowning, dark eyes narrowed as she focused on the problem of Aiden. The assistant coach sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose. Harvard’s stomach roiled, sick with guilt.

  What he couldn’t tell Coach was that Aiden’s behavior was all Harvard’s fault. Harvard was a fool about love who’d messed up the very few dates he’d ever gone on. It had been Harvard’s idea to practice dating with his best friend, and it was Harvard who continued being a spectacular idiot and fell in love with his best friend over the course of three days. Brilliant, beautiful Aiden Kane, who wanted to date the entire state of Connecticut.

  Harvard had tried to make things right. He’d reassured Aiden that he only wanted to be friends, that their friendship was the most important thing. He’d made sure Aiden knew he was free to do whatever he wanted.

  Only it seemed now that what Aiden wanted was to go absolutely wild. Harvard couldn’t figure out if the recent bad behavior was Aiden making clear that he couldn’t be tied down, or—and this suspicion made Harvard feel worse than anything else as he lay alone in their room through the long, cold nights—if Aiden had simply been bored out of his mind for the handful of days they’d pretended to date, and was seizing his chance to have fun again.

  “We had an emergency meeting about Aiden,” said Coach Williams. “The principal called Aiden’s father. You know Aiden’s father.”

  Sadly, Harvard did. He thought it was a pity that Aiden knew Aiden’s father.

  “His father is opposed to any discipline that would stay on Aiden’s record, like suspensions,” Coach Williams went on. “He said he would rather withdraw Aiden from school. Of course, it won’t come to that, but I don’t even want to think about it. Do you understand, Harvard? You have to get Aiden to calm down.”

  Harvard could barely speak, but he managed in a low voice: “Yeah.”

  He understood.

  Coach Williams ran a hand through her springy Afro, dark-and-silver curls catching on her fingers like rings. “I hate to put this on you, kid. But I’ve tried sitting him down myself, and I just got a cat-eyed stare and too-cool-for-school jokes. You’re the only one who can talk sense into him.”

  Harvard had always been Aiden’s best friend. Since they were little.

  “I’ll do my best,” promised Harvard.

  He always really tried. He couldn’t let these wild new feelings for Aiden—feelings that were his problem alone—get in the way of being a good captain or a good friend.

  He excused himself from the coach’s office and made his way back to the dormitory. His own room was empty, with no sign of his roommate. Harvard wasn’t surprised. Aiden hadn’t slept there in days. He and Aiden, at the start of the year, had pushed their beds together so they could talk and watch movies more comfortably. The only occupant of Aiden’s side of the bed was Aiden’s teddy bear, Harvard Paw. Harvard had given him that bear in preschool, and Aiden had always fussed over it and treasured it. Until
now. The teddy bear was flung carelessly to one side, abandoned. Much like the room. Much like Harvard himself.

  It had reached the point where Harvard missed Aiden so much that he’d gone home and brought back his album full of postcards from all the outrageous vacations Aiden had ever been on. Aiden always wrote postcards to Harvard every day when he went abroad and texted Harvard every day when they were both at home. They had never really been separated before now.

  Okay, that was enough of that. Harvard turned right back around to head for the salle, where he could run drills alone, but he found his freshman teammates there already. Seiji was barking orders at Nicholas at the top of his lungs. Cute kids. Nicholas was getting a lot better. Apparently, Seiji’s unusual teaching methods really worked on Nicholas. Other students who only witnessed Seiji’s lessons had been reduced to tears. Harvard withdrew silently, leaving them to it.

  Instead of a running a drill, Harvard walked around the school, hoping to spot Aiden somewhere. There were a few students here or there, coming back inside as dusk fell, their dark-blue uniform jackets blending with the deepening blue of the evening sky. None walked the way Aiden did, or had long honey-colored hair that could be tied up in an elegant knot or could fall down all around you like a curtain at the theater.

  Being at Kings Row usually made Harvard happy. He’d chosen this beautiful, small school where he could get to know everybody’s names, where they could run through the long paneled halls and across the velvet-smooth lawn underneath the leaves. He’d talked Aiden into coming here so they could be roommates at last and best friends always.

  Falling in love with Aiden shouldn’t have changed everything.

  Harvard thought about it all the time, and he couldn’t talk about it to anyone. Who could he tell? He always told his best friend about his problems, but now Aiden was his problem. His parents loved Aiden: He didn’t want that to stop just because Aiden had accidentally broken Harvard’s heart. His friends were Aiden’s friends, and they knew how Aiden was. They’d think Harvard should have known better—after knowing Aiden for so long—than to add his name to the endless list of Aiden’s lovestruck victims. Even Coach Williams would laugh at him. Coach Williams literally made people do suicide runs if they said “Aiden dumped me” in front of her. And Aiden hadn’t even dumped Harvard, because they hadn’t been truly going out in the first place. This was pathetic. Harvard felt like a big joke.

  When it came to fencing, Harvard didn’t have Seiji’s consummate skill or Nicholas’s raw potential. What he had was determination and patience. He kept a level head, and he worked on mastering a move, and he made sure he succeeded.

  He could master this feeling, too. He should concentrate on what mattered: teamwork, being captain, being a good friend. Aiden couldn’t give him the slip forever. Even if he had to corner his roommate, Harvard would make Aiden see reason.

  Maybe this break would be good for them both. Eventually things would be just the way they’d been before. If Harvard kept calm and stayed sensible, it would all work out. Nothing had to change.

  3 AIDEN

  On second thought,” announced Aiden, slamming the door on the awful world in general and Nicholas Cox’s awful haircut in particular, “come over here and kiss me, What’s-your-name.”

  Aiden’s head hurt. His whole body hurt. He’d been sleeping badly in unfamiliar beds for days. He hadn’t slept last night, though he’d skipped class and fallen into a fitful doze at some point today. Unfortunately, the owner of last night’s unfamiliar bed had returned and disturbed him.

  The owner of last night’s unfamiliar bed blinked over at Aiden now. He had eyes like a wounded sheep’s. Seeing someone else’s suffering infuriated Aiden. He wasn’t here for more pain.

  “You don’t remember my name?” the other boy asked.

  “Were you laboring under the mistaken impression you were memorable?” bit out Aiden.

  The resemblance to a wounded sheep increased. Whatever—this guy had kicked out his roommate for a chance to spend time with Aiden. That made him a lousy roommate, and he deserved everything he got.

  There was a sour taste in Aiden’s mouth, but he almost savored it. Aiden kept doing this lately. He’d always had a sharp tongue, but there was a difference between a needle and a sword. In the past, Aiden had known when to stop. He’d tried not to say anything that would ever disappoint Harvard if it got back to him.

  To be fair, Aiden still knew when to stop. He just… didn’t stop when he should. Who cared?

  He prowled toward the boy now.

  “If you let me kiss you,” Aiden murmured as he dipped his head down toward the other boy’s, “you’re pathetic.”

  The boy trembled and turned his face up for the kiss. It wasn’t a kind kiss. His hands shook as he clung to Aiden.

  Had Aiden seemed the same way when he was with Harvard? Did I like him too much? Was I too obvious? Aiden wondered sometime later, once it was night. He sat on the ousted roommate’s bed, pushed up under the window, and stared out at the black-veiled trees. The lake beyond gleamed by the light of the moon, as the moon had shone for an owl and a cat in a tale from one of Harvard’s storybooks. The owl and the cat had sailed away for a year and a day in a pea-green boat. Aiden only got fairy tales at Harvard’s house. His dad and his many stepmothers were too busy. Harvard’s mom used to read books to them both when Aiden stayed over, and that was Aiden’s favorite story.

  Aiden had hurt his flings in the past, but he’d always done it by being thoughtless. He hadn’t cared much about his wannabe suitors, but he had never wanted to hurt them.

  Now he did want to, with a viciousness that surprised him. Aiden wanted to hurt anyone within reach, including himself. He was especially furious with himself.

  Ever since his growth spurt, Aiden was used to his mind and body being on great terms. He treated his body right and kept his hair fabulous. In return, his body remained cool and composed in even the most stressful of situations.

  He didn’t understand why, now, in his time of need, his body had betrayed him so completely.

  Harvard had said he only wanted to be friends. Aiden had given him what he wanted. Everything back to normal, pretending like they’d never kissed, never touched. He’d thought he could do it, for one evening, for the duration of one night. They’d gone to sleep like they always did, in beds pushed up together.

  Aiden had woken in the early hours of the morning, with his arm twined around Harvard’s neck as though it belonged there, his face nuzzling into the crook of Harvard’s shoulder. Thank God Aiden had woken up before Harvard. He’d thrown himself out of bed and onto the floor, then snatched up his uniform and gone looking for the first boy he could find. Anyone would do.

  Finding a new fling had always worked to make Aiden feel better in the past. But now it wasn’t working in the slightest.

  Every time he went to kiss a guy, Aiden had to fight the urge to turn his face away. Kisses had once felt like playing, but now they felt like defeat. There was nowhere he felt comfortable enough to sleep. He didn’t dare go back to his room, and it was horrifying to sleep near anyone else. Even if he tried, he would inevitably jolt out of his doze, heart hammering in a panic because something was wrong, and would have to spend too many sick moments figuring out what it was. He was always in the wrong place with the wrong person. It was as if Aiden’s every instinct had been rewired over the duration of a handful of days.

  A few times, he’d been unguarded enough to flinch from a kiss, or his fling had caught him being too obviously miserable. What was Aiden supposed to say? I hate being touched by someone who’s not Harvard? I hate you for not being Harvard?

  He’d thrown himself into misery instead and hadn’t come up for air. Why would he do that when he just wanted to drown?

  Aiden was so tired his eyes burned, but he didn’t close them. Whenever he shut them, he saw that evening again and remembered what an idiot he’d been to hope. He’d run to Kings Row, intent on confessing his
love to Harvard. But before he could even get the words out, Harvard had said he couldn’t imagine anything worse than being in love with Aiden.

  What a moment that had been. Aiden was well aware of what most people thought of him, but he hadn’t thought his best friend agreed.

  Luckily, Aiden hadn’t had the chance to confess his love. What an exercise in humiliation that would’ve been. He didn’t even know why he’d thought it might work: He’d spent years following Harvard around. He’d followed him to Kings Row.

  Aiden smiled mirthlessly to himself.

  He didn’t care if everyone thought he was awful. That was better than the truth.

  Being unrequitedly in love with your best friend since you were a little kid? That was pathetic. Aiden Kane was determined to be anything but that.

  He was the one who’d made the rule that he wouldn’t date people on the fencing team. He was the one who’d broken the rule. He deserved whatever he got.

  If you’re going through hell, keep going. That was a quote from a British politician with a face like a cranky bulldog.

  Aiden had to keep living like this, had to keep going through the deep charring feeling underneath his breastbone. It felt as if his heart were being burned away.

  That was the whole point. Once his heart was gone? Problem solved.

  4 SEIJI

  Seiji couldn’t believe he was doing this.

  The worst thing was that he couldn’t even blame anyone else. He was the one who’d had the bright idea to run off and call his father.

  Koichiro Katayama was a very busy man, so Seiji tried not to bother him, but ever since Seiji had asked him for help over a certain matter involving Nicholas, his father had been calling more frequently. It was peculiar. His father didn’t seem to have anything much to say.

  “How are they treating you at Kings Row?” his father inquired once.

  “They aren’t treating me,” Seiji answered. “I haven’t sustained any injuries, and I haven’t been ill.”