FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,41

his unflinching gaze nor the pace of his breathing altered at all.

“I didn’t upset you, and I don’t much care who did. But I’m not going to take advantage of you being upset. I don’t upset people for fun,” Seiji informed him coolly. “I don’t employ cheap tricks. I’ll just beat you because I’m better than you.”

He delivered this devastating speech with no sign he realized it was devastating. Perhaps Seiji knew no other way to be.

Aiden couldn’t help letting out a slightly impressed laugh. Seiji Katayama was relentless. It was probably what caused most of Seiji’s problems, that he’d been born basically carrying a dueling sword when everyone else had safety foils.

Seiji came at him, remorseless, contemptuous, and Aiden fell back as Seiji scored point after point. No matter how much Aiden twisted and lunged, in the end, it didn’t matter. The taste of defeat, bitter as ashes, had been lingering at the back of Aiden’s mouth long before he’d entered this room.

“Fair enough,” Aiden conceded and swallowed.

“I try to be,” said Seiji.

Other people might consider that their first match hadn’t been fair, and now Seiji’s victory was. Aiden operated on the principle of all’s fair in everything, so he didn’t feel that way. But perhaps now he understood slightly better how Seiji had felt at tryouts. He found it less amusing than he had at the time.

“Catch you later, Katayama,” said Aiden, abandoning the battlefield to the victor.

It was only after he got outside that Aiden realized he was still wearing his fencing gear and holding his épée. He refused to turn around and go back. Losing to a freshman was one thing. Looking ridiculous in front of a freshman was quite another.

The redbrick of the Kings Row buildings had turned the same color as the lake in the distance. At this time of night, everything was either silver or shadow.

Aiden stood in a wavering, sword-thin line of light between the silver grass and shadow of the parking lot. That was when Harvard’s motorcycle came purring through the golden gates of Kings Row and up the curving driveway, parking close by Aiden.

Harvard took off his helmet and looked up into Aiden’s face, gray Henley stretched tight over his shoulders and turned into pewter in this light, dark eyes warm with affection. No wonder half the school was buzzing about Harvard and his motorcycle.

“Fencing with the moonlight?” Harvard inquired, sounding fond and amused.

“Something like that. How was your date?” Aiden asked in a distant voice.

He could turn distance into words that came up close and cut, he thought. He wanted to. If other people were hurt, he didn’t have to be.

Harvard glowed, transparent as a window with the sun coming through. “It was fun. Actually…” Harvard paused, shy but wanting to confide. Every second of his embarrassed pause felt like a year of horror. “I think it’s going super well. I was worried, you know? That I would… get it wrong somehow. We can’t all be you.”

“No,” murmured Aiden.

This was his best friend. That meant Aiden should be his best self. Sometimes being with Harvard was the only way Aiden knew he had a best self at all.

He let his point drop, electrified steel gleaming among the bright threads of moonlit grass. He fought the urge to say arrêt, and signal surrender.

“That’s great things are going well with your guy,” Aiden told Harvard. “I’m really glad for you.”

13: SEIJI

Seiji frowned at Nicholas’s sneakers, propped up on the common room desk. As was typical, Nicholas appeared to have given up on his essay and life in general, and was reading aloud to Seiji from The Twenty-Six Commandments of Irish Dueling and other purloined books.

“Spiral staircases in old castles were built so the defending swordsman could wield his blade freely, but the attacker’s blows would be blocked!”

“For the last time, Nicholas, these rules are not applicable to modern fencing. Nobody is going to hold a fencing match on a staircase.”

“I wish we could,” mourned Nicholas. “I’m left-handed. My attack wouldn’t be blocked at all. I would kick ass.”

Seiji squinted at his essay. He’d typed a list of his most notable victories in fencing and hoped this would suffice for Coach. When he hit SEND, he was reminded that Nicholas’s sneakers were up on the desk.

“Why do you wear red shoes?” Red was so garish.

Nicholas shrugged comfortably. “Red means go.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Seiji.

Nicholas grinned. “Does to me!”

Seiji sighed. “In the name of teamwork…,” he said, “… do you want to train