FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,43
trophy. All he could think to do was to listen to her carefully so he might understand her better, and follow her unorthodox suggestions.
“She’s the greatest, but that’s not what I meant,” Nicholas continued. “If you’re going to be training with me… I know I’m not exactly what you’re used to.”
Oh. Nicholas was worried about this being fair to Seiji. That was odd. Seiji didn’t think anyone had ever done that before.
“It’s sometimes… somewhat helpful for me to train with you.”
It was a massive concession, but for some reason, it didn’t satisfy Nicholas. He was still frowning. Seiji didn’t know what Nicholas wanted from him. Did he want Seiji to ask him for something?
“What if,” Seiji suggested slowly, “you helped me with team bonding? The social aspect, I mean. Since you’re extremely popular.”
Nicholas blinked several times. “Sorry, what?”
“You have breakfast with multiple people every morning,” Seiji pointed out. “So you can indicate to me if I’m accidentally offending people.”
There was a thoughtful pause. Above their heads, bright leaves sighed as the wind changed.
“Is it chill if you’re offending people totally on purpose?” asked Nicholas.
“If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to!”
Seiji stalked off with cold dignity, but Nicholas just jogged faster and caught up with him on the stairs to the dormitory.
“No, I do want to!” Nicholas said. “Deal. Deal?”
He gave Seiji an expectant look. Seiji watched him warily.
“If you spit in your hand and expect me to shake it,” he warned, “I’m making you sleep outside. Deal.”
He nodded to seal the deal. Seiji felt good about nodding.
“Hey, Coach thought we were good,” Nicholas said smugly as they returned to their dormitory. “Because we’re awesome rivals. We rock!”
Nicholas had probably never had a proper coach before, Seiji reflected. He didn’t even know Coach Williams was unusual.
“You’re not my rival,” Seiji snapped.
He expected Nicholas to snap back “Not yet,” as he always did. When Nicholas didn’t, Seiji glanced up sharply to see what was wrong. Nicholas was still in Seiji’s half of the room. He’d pulled the curtain back to step into his side, but now he stood in the shadow of the curtain with his head bowed.
Nicholas said, “I know you’d rather be fencing with someone else. I get that must suck. I’m starting to see that you and Jesse Coste were, like… best friends?”
He seemed about to say something else, but Seiji interrupted.
“Best friends,” he scoffed. “We weren’t best friends.”
That was a childish concept. But they’d been children when they first met, he and Jesse. Seiji’s coach had warned that Seiji was too advanced to fence against kids his own age, but Jesse’s confidence hadn’t wavered. He’d smiled and said he hoped they’d have a good match, and they had. Seiji had been so relieved to find someone who could really fence, and someone who wasn’t put off by him. Jesse made life easier, on and off the piste. Jesse had enough social grace for them both.
If Jesse had suggested being best friends when they were young, Seiji would have agreed. But they hadn’t been about that. They had been about skill.
Tell me—or anyone else—something that is personal to you, Coach had said.
Seiji couldn’t talk to just anyone, but Nicholas had said they were friends.
“I was… Jesse’s mirror,” said Seiji slowly. “I reflected his—glow, his glories and his victories. I used to think it was an honor. We were similar, I told myself, in all the ways that really mattered.”
Jesse was left-handed like Nicholas, so facing him sometimes felt like looking into a mirror. Like seeing yourself through the glass, a better, golden self in a different world. A self who fenced just as well but didn’t have to work as hard for it. A Seiji who did everything in life with the same skill as he fenced.
“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.