FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,40

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?

“Hope this doesn’t bring back memories of the last time I beat you,” Aiden remarked in a silky voice. “Or the first and worst defeat I saw, when Jesse Coste beat you. That’s the one that really stings, isn’t it?”

To Aiden’s own astonishment, when he feinted, he was slightly off-balance. His point wavered as he pulled back, and he had to collect himself and dance backward a step farther than he’d planned. Seiji’s cool black gaze tracked the motion. Seiji missed a lot in life, but on the piste he missed almost nothing.

Maybe Jesse Coste had driven away Seiji because he couldn’t bear the continuous pressure of those stone-cold judgmental eyes. Who would be able to put up with that?

“You’re upset about something,” Seiji observed. “I can tell. I upset people all the time. I know what it looks like.”

Aiden felt his own narrowed eyes open wide in shock. Seiji’s steady dark gaze didn’t falter.

Aiden attacked, slashing cat-quick, using his height as an advantage. Seiji’s blade slid smoothly sideways, parried, then checked Aiden’s next attack when it had scarcely begun. Neither