Tuesday was the day after next. How many dates was Harvard planning to have per week? They would never win the state championship at this rate.
Everyone seemed pleased—except Seiji and Aiden, whose face had darkened further. Seiji was glad to see someone else was worrying about the important things in life, but if Aiden wanted a shot at the state championship, he should practice more himself.
Seiji was about to voice this when Harvard’s phone buzzed with a text. Harvard smiled as though it was an instinct, the others said “Ooh” in a chorus, and Aiden knocked over the burner. The fallen curtain caught on fire. Dante gave Bobby a look that combined pleading and total rage.
“I’m so sorry, everyone!” exclaimed Bobby. “Especially Seiji. Fencing team, you have to leave now.”
Nicholas walked back to their dormitory, bumping shoulders with Seiji companionably in the way nobody else ever did, but he was still much quieter than usual. It was worrying. However, Seiji was able to go to sleep secure in the knowledge that at least he hadn’t been the worst guest at the midnight feast.
12: AIDEN
Harvard liked a boy. His name was Neil. Aiden was sick of hearing the name.
The whole school was talking about it, because Eugene—Aiden might wring his stupid thick neck—was Kings Row’s worst gossip. The Bons cornered Aiden to ask sorrowfully if it was true. Aiden snarled that it was, and the gaggle looked as though they might cry.
“Worse things happen at sea,” said Aiden.
Did they, though? If they went to sea, Neil might fall overboard.
Aiden couldn’t tell the Bons apart. They were all shiny-eyed and brimming over with effervescent admiration, like mini prosecco bottles on legs. Today, apparently, they’d gone flat, with not a golden bubble in sight.
“If you’re happy for your best friend, we’re happy for him!” declared the tallest Bon.
“Who said anything about happiness?” asked Aiden. “Who cares?”
“We always thought that possibly, when you were done being a glamorous playboy…”
The two other Bons elbowed that Bon in the ribs at the same time. The unlucky Bon folded over with a squeak.
“I’ll never be done being a glamorous playboy.” Aiden pronounced this sentence with a laugh and left the Bons shattered in his wake.
One day the sun would die, and Harvard liked a boy. Aiden’s fan club needed to toughen up and accept life was pain.
Worse than hearing the Kings Row kids chatter about this in a low, continuous hum was listening to Harvard talk about Neil. Harvard didn’t talk about him that much, but Aiden wished he would. If Harvard were excessive about it, Aiden would be perfectly justified in complaining. He could roll his eyes and tell Harvard to lay off, and everybody would sympathize with Aiden about his annoying roommate.
As one date turned into two dates and then metamorphosed hideously into plans for a third, Harvard let the name Neil drop more often into conversations. His phone went off all the time, and when it did, he would smile to himself, private and delighted. He mentioned a plan to see a movie, and Aiden knew he wasn’t invited rather than just assuming he was. Neil was going with Harvard instead. From now on, Neil would be Harvard’s first choice.
How was any of this just or right, Aiden wanted to know? This guy Neil didn’t seem like anything special. Why did Neil get Harvard? He’d known Harvard for precisely six days, as opposed to twelve years. He’d been set up on a date with Harvard because their mothers were friends, and that was all. He didn’t know anything about Harvard. He was some random idiot who drew pictures and played a lot of games on his phone, and he’d been chosen by fate?
Only that wasn’t right. Neil hadn’t been chosen by fate, he’d been chosen by Harvard. If Harvard liked this guy, there was nothing Aiden could do about it.
Aiden missed Cindy. The days when he imagined Harvard might get a girlfriend shone in his memory like a beacon of lost light compared to now, when Harvard seemed like he really was getting a boyfriend. Aiden supposed they’d make it official when Neil asked. Or if Harvard asked, and Neil jumped at the chance.
That Friday night, Harvard went on his third date with Neil, and only then did Aiden realize he’d forgotten to line up one for himself.
His dad called to tell him about another business triumph, and mentioned casually that he was getting married again.
“You’ve gotta be a killer and go for blood, otherwise what’s the point?” Dad asked after delivering that news, without stopping for breath. “You’ve got to be the baddest shark in the ocean.”
Aiden assumed he was talking about work again and not the latest model in wives. Otherwise, Aiden had questions about his father’s love life, and he didn’t want the answers.
“Congratulations to you and Samantha,” Aiden said.
“Aiden, her name is”—his dad paused—“Claudine?”
“In that case… felicitations,” murmured Aiden, and hung up.
He updated the “eight” in his essay. Perhaps he could just say he had infinite stepmothers?
He couldn’t write his essay for Coach. He couldn’t even focus enough to hook up. His only comfort at times when he felt this desolate was Harvard, and Harvard was out on a date.
There was no choice. Desperate measures were called for. Aiden was going to fence.
He plunged out of the dormitory and down the stairs, almost blundering into the wood paneling and almost knocking a portrait of a school benefactor from a hundred years ago off the wall. The benefactor eyed him coldly from within a gilt frame. Aiden was clumsy lately, all his accustomed grace deserting him, but he could still fence. He wanted to slash at the air, to feel something simple and physical so he didn’t have to feel anything else.
It was already full night, the moon turning the quad into a silver square. Aiden determinedly did not think of the first time he’d ever walked under these trees, with Harvard talking about whether they would like Kings Row. Aiden had thought he would like any school, as long as Harvard was there, and had concentrated on bringing up the fair in a casual way. It was the last time he’d tried to ask out Harvard.
When he entered the salle, Aiden registered a figure in white fencing gear moving silently down the gleaming wood floor, and his eyes narrowed with glee. Seiji Katayama, spine straight as a sword and black hair arranged in rigid defiance of gravity, was performing his training exercises. Exactly the exercises Coach had assigned him, performed with mechanical precision. Coach’s exemplary little soldier, whose presence had inspired Coach’s current ambitions for teamwork and winning the state championship.
Be a killer, his dad’s voice said in his mind.
Aiden never did like to be alone. Other people were amusing. He could always use them to feel better. Sometimes he could only feel better by making them feel worse than he did. Whatever worked.
“Hey there, Katayama,” Aiden called out. “Fancy a friendly sparring session?”
When Seiji glanced around, Aiden winked. In return, he received Seiji’s usual look, mystified and slightly offended by the world around him.
“All right,” Seiji answered slowly.
Aiden gave a showy bow. Seiji inclined his tidy dark head a bare fraction.
Go for blood, his dad whispered. Otherwise what’s the point?