“I hardly call beating Nicholas Cox a victory,” Aiden drawled.
“Didn’t Nicholas once beat you?” Harvard asked.
Aiden gave up on drawling and shoved him. “I’ve told you that was a fluke!”
They had discussed this extensively, and Harvard could quit teasing him about it anytime. Harvard knew Aiden had simply been caught off guard by Nicholas’s total imperviousness to psychological warfare. Usually Aiden could win a match, even against people who were technically better than he was, by zeroing in on their weak points. Nicholas was almost all weak points, but he didn’t seem to care about having that remarked on.
“It wasn’t a fluke. Nicholas is a great kid and has huge potential as a fencer,” Harvard told Arune earnestly.
“Ugh, I’ve told you to stop having whole-hearted belief in people,” complained Aiden, shoving him again. “You’re so gross.”
“Cool, okay, give me back my hoodie,” Harvard teased, and he reached out and pulled the zipper of the hoodie down.
Then Harvard froze.
Joking around was ruined, standing close was ruined, touching was ruined. Aiden stood on the edge of the sea, in the ruin of their friendship, staring up at Harvard with wide, desperate eyes.
“Sorry, I have to ask,” said Arune. “People had bets on it, even back in middle school. Did you guys ever date?”
Aiden had always hated Arune, and he’d been so right.
What the hell, Arune?! Why would someone ask that out of the blue, for literally no reason? After shooting Arune a single desperately enraged look, Aiden assumed an air of complete indifference.
Harvard coughed then receded like the tide, leaving Aiden alone.
“Uh, guys,” said Arune. “Is that a no?”
They’d agreed they would pass off their weekend of practice dating as just another one of Aiden’s flings.
“Yes, we did date briefly, but as you can imagine—” began Aiden in a breezy tone.
“No,” said Harvard loudly. “We didn’t date. Not really. It was nothing. Right, Aiden?”
He met Aiden’s gaze. The reflections of electric lights on the water were growing brighter as the sea and sky grew darker, absinthe green and yellow, and dangerous red. The lights stretched onto the horizon, which was now very distant and very dark.
Aiden said, “You’re right, Harvard. It was nothing at all.”
22 NICHOLAS
Nicholas wasn’t exactly used to large gatherings. Plus, this was a French gathering, so it was super classy. Nicholas had gone to get-togethers at his old schools, held in beat-up gyms where Nicholas would much rather have been fencing. Loud, obnoxious music would play, and everyone would look sweaty without having exercised at all. The boys would stand on one side of the room, and the girls on the other. “How do we ask the girls to dance?” one guy had whispered in Nicholas’s ear. Nicholas had stared blankly and asked, “Why would we want to do that?”
Tonight, the music playing was tinkly but somehow sweet, as if someone had put big wind chimes up in the sky among the white clusters of stars. People were dressed up and mingling as though it was simple, with the graceful ease of adults.
It was still awkward. Nicholas would still much rather have been fencing. There were a lot fewer girls than at Nicholas’s old schools, but there were still some, and a couple of them were dancing with a few boys. Some boys were also dancing with other boys, and one girl with another girl. None of the Kings Row boys were dancing with anyone.
“Dancing under the stars would be fun,” Bobby said wistfully, hopping from foot to foot.
There were strings of white light threaded through the lemon trees, mirroring the stars and making curves like tiny galaxies captured in a net of leaves. The lights in the lemon trees caught red and white sparks off the sequins on Bobby’s shirt as he hopped.
Dante cleared his throat. “Let’s.”
Surprise touched Bobby’s face. “Really, will you? Aw, what a pal. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Dante didn’t answer in words, since that wasn’t Dante’s way. He led Bobby out onto the cleared space that was the dance floor and leaned back and forth like a tall tree bending slightly in a storm, while Bobby danced enthusiastically around him in a circle.
They left Nicholas and Seiji standing side by side in total silence.
“I dislike dancing,” Seiji offered eventually. “Sometimes I have to do it at my father’s parties.”
“Yeah, dancing sucks,” said Nicholas.
Faint satisfaction touched Seiji’s face, since they were in agreement. Seiji was a shade taller than Nicholas, which Nicholas kind of liked for some reason he couldn’t pin down. Nicholas tilted a grin up at him. It was far better to be silent and awkward with Seiji than to do anything else with anyone else.
Seiji had asked Nicholas to stick with him so Nicholas wouldn’t embarrass him any more than he’d already done. Nicholas was happy to do that. A few times people approached them and talked in French about fencing, and Seiji translated for Nicholas, which was helpful. The others seemed startled that Nicholas-of-the-dropped-épée was included in the conversation, but because Seiji was there, they were polite enough. This Seiji-the-social-butterfly stuff took some getting used to. Nicholas hoped it wasn’t too much of a nuisance for Seiji, having Nicholas around. Normally, he didn’t worry about bothering Seiji—he just went ahead and did it—but at Kings Row Seiji didn’t have all these glamorous European companions.
At Kings Row, there was no Jesse. The threat of Jesse Coste’s presence lurked behind the strings of light and the whispers of leaves, and what could have been a nice, awkward evening.
Just then, a silhouette appeared, moving soft-footed across the leaf-strewn ground, light slipping through the leaves to find his bright hair.
Nicholas went tense with dread, but it wasn’t Jesse. It was Aiden, wearing very fitted rich-person jeans and a dark crimson shirt with a scoop neck and long sleeves. Aiden, Nicholas reflected, fit in among French people. Nicholas unconsciously tugged on the blazer Dante had loaned him and tried to push a hand through his newly styled hair.
Nothing could go wrong for Aiden’s hair. It was bulletproof. Right now, it was loose and a bit ripply around his face, as though he’d gotten it wet and let it dry by itself, but that was probably on purpose. He pushed it back with a languid hand.
“Hello, freshmen. Why have you done your hair like Seiji does his hair, Nicholas?” Aiden inquired.
“To look cool, ’cause we’re in France,” Nicholas explained.
That was when Seiji turned to face Nicholas with his black eyes gone wide.
“Is that what I look like?” Seiji demanded.
“Nah, I look way better,” Nicholas replied.
A mischievous smile leaped onto Aiden’s face, reflecting the amusement Nicholas felt. Nicholas was expert enough in Seiji expressions to know by now that the tic at the side of Seiji’s mouth meant he was quietly appalled.
The French guy who’d beaten Nicholas, Bastien, approached their group.
Bastien glanced at Aiden, then at Nicholas, then back at Aiden, but Aiden was studying the trees as though he found them fascinating. Bastien opened his mouth but ultimately didn’t speak, only shrugged and slid back into the crowd. Nicholas wondered what his deal was. Other Camp Menton trainees glanced Nicholas’s way and snickered, no doubt imagining that Bastien had come over to taunt Nicholas for sucking. Maybe Bastien had. Everyone at Camp Menton seemed to find Nicholas’s ineptitude deeply humorous.