At least it was before Harvard ruined everything between them. He’d tried to fix things, the day after that night. He’d promised that he and Aiden would be friends as they always had been, that friendship was what he wanted. He’d done what he had to do to fix them, the unit that was Harvard-and-Aiden, the most important relationship in Harvard’s life.
Only they were still broken.
Harvard slept uneasily that first night in France, with the moon’s rays searchlight bright in his eyes, and when he dreamed, he dreamed that he was hiding and didn’t want to be found out.
When he woke, Aiden’s bed was empty. He got out of bed, forcing himself to smile and remembering his promise with Arune. Even if Aiden didn’t think Harvard was worth hanging out with anymore, someone else did.
He made his way down a narrow path toward the orchard dining area. In Menton, on the border of Italy and in a pocket of ultra-Mediterranean sunshine between the mountains and the sea, the weather was almost always gorgeous.
Arune was at a table crowded with MLC students and their friends, and he waved Harvard over and introduced him to everyone. They seemed like great guys and girls. A couple were Italian, so Harvard tried out his few sentences of lousy Italian and laughed as a girl named Chiara taught him how to pronounce the words correctly.
Then Chiara’s face slackened in awe, as though she’d suddenly experienced transcendence.
Said transcendence was Aiden, moving gracefully around the picnic tables toward them. Harvard willed himself to look away. Everybody in the orchard watched as Aiden went by. Harvard had promised himself that he wouldn’t be just like everybody else. He failed to look away, all the same.
For a moment, with the shadow of leaves, he thought Aiden looked sad, and Harvard’s heart clenched, feeling for an instant as though they were back in elementary school, when Aiden was so much smaller and Harvard always wanted to protect him. Aiden, has something made you unhappy?
Then Aiden reached their table. Sunlight poured gold onto his face and his hair, and it was clear there was nothing wrong with him at all.
“Well, whoa,” said Arune. “Harvard wasn’t kidding when he said you’d changed at our match together. This is a glow up like a supernova. Hey, Aiden. Nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
Aiden arched an eyebrow and regarded Arune without speaking. The whole table hushed as they waited for a reply that clearly wasn’t coming.
Harvard dropped a pebble of conversation into the pool of awkward silence: “You remember Arune? From elementary school.”
“Oh, right, Armand,” drawled Aiden.
Aiden was often carelessly rude to people, while Harvard felt he should be carefully polite. Harvard didn’t approve of Aiden’s behavior or anything, but often it made him smile and relax a little.
Harvard didn’t feel like smiling or relaxing now. No matter how often Harvard told himself that this was normal, that nothing had changed, he wasn’t sure he believed it.
14 SEIJI
The dummy in the room Seiji was sharing with Nicholas looked vulnerable and lonely, standing in that dark corner. Seiji wished it wasn’t there. Then he told himself he was being ridiculous. It didn’t matter that the dummy was there.
It didn’t matter that Jesse was at Camp Menton.
Seiji closed his eyes and there was Jesse, dominating the landscape of sea and lemon trees as he dominated everything else.
Every time Seiji saw Jesse, he felt as though he were still trapped in that single cold moment at the end of their fencing match, when Seiji had realized to his incredulous horror that Jesse had won. He felt like he was losing the match all over again.
Seiji sat on the edge of his white bed and stared down at his empty hands. He’d thought, back then, he wouldn’t ever be able to bear picking up an épée again. That would have left his whole life empty.
His father had been wrong when he said Seiji could pick his battles.
There were times in your life when you were trapped and had no choice at all.
Seiji’s eyes snapped open.
If he was trapped, he was going to fight. Jesse was here, and they were inevitably going to be fencing each other. He tried to imagine what it would be like, finally facing his old partner on the piste after so long. He tried to visualize himself winning point after point, regaining the power he’d thought he’d lost in that match, but he couldn’t manage to make the vision feel real.
His thoughts were interrupted, as usual, by Nicholas.
“Isn’t this the coolest room?” Nicholas asked enthusiastically. “We should dress up that dummy.”
Seiji lifted his suitcase onto the bed and riffled through it, pulling out the shower curtain he had meticulously folded before they left Kings Row.
“You’re a dummy,” Seiji told Nicholas, comforted. “Help me hang the shower curtain up between our beds so I don’t have to see your stupid face.”
Nicholas’s stupid face was grinning as he complied. Then he prowled around the room, opening his suitcase and pulling out clothes so he could dress up the dummy in his Kings Row blazer. Nothing Nicholas did ever made any sense.
While Nicholas’s back was turned, Seiji took a moment to survey Nicholas, taking in his scruffy hair and the long limbs that extended from the black tank top he always wore. He was so different from Jesse, who was shiningly blond and composed at all times.
Yet Seiji couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something similar about Nicholas and Jesse. Something Seiji couldn’t quite place, even if it was just the way each boy drew Seiji in toward them.
Seiji clamped down viciously on that thought and drew the shower curtain closed so he couldn’t see Nicholas. He refused to go there.
Earlier, in a miserable daze at being confronted with Jesse on arrival, Seiji had felt his most ferocious pang of unease when Nicholas went back for Eugene. Camp Menton would be fine, if Nicholas stayed beside Seiji.
“Were you listening to everything the Camp Mention coach was saying? All the rules and the curfew and stuff? Was it this intense in France when you were here before?” Nicholas asked as they got ready for bed, the shower curtain in between them.
“The standard of fencing is far higher in France,” Seiji reminded Nicholas. “And, of course, your fencing is substandard, even for America.”
“You’re such a comforting friend,” said Nicholas in a tone that informed Seiji he was being sarcastic, except for the friend part. Since the curtain was between them, Seiji let himself smile.
Seiji hesitated, reluctant to admit he hadn’t heard a word the coach had uttered. “What precisely was she saying?”
“Like that we can’t skip classes or be late, and that if we break curfew maybe they behead us, and they’re going to train us until we drop?”
“You can’t expect them to go easy on you like I do, Nicholas,” said Seiji, and Nicholas snorted loudly from behind the ducks.
“I’m glad we came,” Nicholas announced decisively. “And I’ll take any match I get. I want to. It would be great if Jesse Coste challenged me. I hope he does.”
“Jesse?!” Seiji exclaimed.
Once again, Seiji relived that cold, eternal moment when he realized that Jesse had beaten him at nationals. Nicholas shouldn’t feel that way.