“You’re not a mirror,” said Nicholas. “You’re real.”
“It’s a metaphor, Nicholas.”
Nicholas shrugged. “You’re still not a mirror. Mirrors break. You never do.”
Seiji thought of his moment of defeat against Jesse. The moment that Aiden had seen, and taunted Seiji with, making Seiji lose again. Seiji had trained his whole life to be strong, but somehow, he was still weak. Jesse had taken his sword, and Seiji hadn’t been able to stop him. The bitterness of that defeat sent Seiji to Kings Row.
Always keep moving toward your target, his dad’s voice said, but somehow Seiji had ended up getting his target wrong. He’d moved toward loss and pain he still didn’t entirely understand.
“I lost,” confessed Seiji. “Badly.”
“Doesn’t make you a loser,” said Nicholas, having another lapse where he didn’t understand what words—let alone metaphors—meant. “You didn’t burst into tears and give up fencing. And you didn’t follow Jesse to Exton like a little lamb, the way he was expecting. You came to Kings Row, and you came to fence. You came to fight.”
This view of the matter was so shocking that Seiji said something he’d thought he would never say to Nicholas Cox.
“I suppose…,” said Seiji, “… you’re right.”
Nicholas’s gaze remained fixed on the floor.
“Being rivals shouldn’t be about being someone’s mirror. Both of you get to be real. Neither of you has to break.”
“Sometimes you’re insightful, Nicholas,” said Seiji. Nicholas looked pleased before Seiji added: “I think it’s mainly by accident.”
At that point, Nicholas rolled his eyes and stepped into his side of the room, yanking the curtain closed between them.
Seiji lay back on his pillow, arm behind his head. He supposed he could see what Coach had meant about their fencing bout. Seiji couldn’t be on autopilot with Nicholas, making all the right moves he’d been taught.
Thinking of the way he fought Nicholas, and the way he used to mirror Jesse, something brand-new occurred to Seiji. He couldn’t mirror Nicholas’s moves. Seiji had to make different ones, to adapt to such a wildly different style. He didn’t have the speed to mirror Nicholas. He was fast enough to mirror Jesse’s moves. Which meant… Nicholas was faster than Jesse.
In all other ways, Jesse was infinitely superior. Nicholas could never match up. Nobody could.
But if Nicholas had been trained, maybe he could use his superior speed against Jesse to score a point.
In another world, could Nicholas win against Jesse?
If that was possible, even in another world, could Seiji win against Jesse in this one?
Seiji rolled in bed and stared at a moonbeam cast against the curtain, putting one of the cheerful yellow ducks in the spotlight.
Over the past few months, stewing in the humiliation of feeling defeated and exposed and unworthy, Seiji had grown used to imagining Jesse as unbeatable and unrivaled.
Seiji couldn’t help thinking… if Nicholas could be faster than Jesse, perhaps anybody could be anything at all. What else could Nicholas be?
What else could Seiji be?
Seiji didn’t want them to be stopped from finding out.
14: HARVARD
Aiden was no good at mornings. When they had been younger, Harvard used to call him and act as an alarm clock, urging “Beep, beep, beep” while Aiden made cranky sounds on the other end of the line. Now that Harvard slept in the bed next to Aiden’s, waking him was easier.
It still wasn’t easy, though.
Their beds were pushed close together so they could watch movies in comfort and so Harvard could talk Aiden to sleep on the nights when he had insomnia. Now when he wanted to wake Aiden, Harvard could just reach over and gently shove Aiden’s shoulder.
“Hey. Hey, sleeping beauty. C’mon. Wake up.”
“Never,” Aiden mumbled into his pillow.
“Are you awake?”
Aiden pulled his pillow and half his tawny hair across his face. “I’m hate wake.”
“Let’s return to consciousness just a little more and start putting the words into sentences that make sense,” Harvard encouraged.
Aiden rolled over, emerging from the covers and blinking up at the ceiling. “People who talk sense before noon should be fired from cannons into the sun. Especially on the weekend.”
Harvard, propped up on his pillow, looked indulgently down at Aiden, who was a tangle of limbs and white sheets and long hair. Harvard had always liked this time in the morning, trying to drag Aiden into wakefulness.
It was a chance to have Aiden to himself, and to have the conversation he’d been planning.
“Your behavior has been weird lately,” Harvard let Aiden know. “I have noticed.”
Aiden gave a tiny shrug, the sheet sliding a fraction farther down his bare shoulder. “As opposed to my usual flawless behavior, you mean?”
“Even for you, this has been weird,” Harvard said gently. “I think I know what’s going on with you.”
“Do you?” Aiden said in a distant voice.
Harvard nodded. He’d read all about it in his mom’s magazines.
“When friends get a significant other, they worry that their friend won’t have time for them anymore. But you never need to worry about losing me. We’ll always have bro time.”
“Ugh,” said Aiden, burying his face in the pillow and then pulling the blankets over him and the pillow. “You sound like Eugene. For shame, Harvard!”
Harvard smiled at the lump under the bedding that was Aiden.
“If you got to know Neil, I’m sure that you’d like him.”
The protesting lump under the blankets went still.
“That’s why I want you to meet him,” Harvard proposed, hoping this was a listening silence. “I was thinking—maybe tonight. If you’re not doing anything else. We could have a double date. Have a fun time and a chat. Neil’s super funny. I know you guys will get along.”
Aiden sat up abruptly, sheets pooling around his waist. Harvard blinked at him in astonishment. It usually took a good thirty minutes of coaxing to get Aiden out of bed.
“I would,” said Aiden in a voice shiny and brittle as Venetian glass. “Of course I would love to do that, but I’m busy tonight. Very, very busy. I have business.”
“I assumed you were busy,” said Harvard. “You usually are. That’s why I suggested a double date. Is there another time that works for you?”
There was a pause, long enough for the sunlight to creep another inch along the rumpled sheets. Aiden looked troubled for some reason. Maybe he had dates lined up every day for a year and couldn’t see how to accommodate Harvard.
“What do you mean, I’m usually busy? I’m never too busy for you.”
“I appreciate that,” said Harvard. “And it’s true. You’re always there when I need you. But—I mean, you’re out almost every night. Hey, and good for you. It’s great that you’re having fun. I want you to enjoy yourself. I know it can’t be like when we were little and we lived in each other’s pockets.”
“It can!”