FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,66
or his own treacherous immune system. Aiden coughed into the pillow. His mind felt fuzzy, thoughts trying to swim in pudding, all his feelings as oversensitive as the surface of his skin. He didn’t want to feel small or helpless ever again. He wanted to make a huge fuss so somebody would tell him it would be all right. He wanted Harvard back at once.
He went back to sleep, having confused dreams in which he was lost and searching, and occasionally was harassed to drink medicine.
He surfaced from fuzzy dreams and hot blankets when he felt relief, and knew it must be Harvard. There was a cold facecloth being dabbed on Aiden’s forehead and his flushed cheeks. Aiden made a soft welcoming sound and tilted his head so the cool droplets of water would run down his neck.
“Cease forcing vile concoctions upon me and accept the fact I am doomed.”
Harvard sighed. “The nurse was the one giving you cough syrup. She said you had a nasty cold, but you’d be right as rain in no time.”
Aiden cracked open one eye. “I did think you looked less attractive than usual,” he admitted.
Harvard hit him on the head with a pillow, which was simple brutality to an invalid.
“I’m gonna get you something to eat.”
“I can’t eat, I’m dying!” Aiden yelled as Harvard shut the door.
Harvard shouted back: “Try!”
Aiden didn’t know why Harvard wouldn’t just have the decency to accept that Aiden was fated to perish, and hold a nice vigil at his deathbed and not let go of his hand until Aiden passed.
Harvard returned with chicken soup he’d coaxed from one of the dining hall ladies, caramel waffles in a little packet, and tea with honey in it. Then he sat beside Aiden and cajoled him to sit up, half leaning against the pillows, and half leaning against Harvard’s chest. Harvard held a glass to Aiden’s lips, and the water soothed the hot ache of Aiden’s throat. Then Harvard bullied Aiden into eating soup.
Aiden complained, but Harvard was patient. Aiden was privately incredulous that Harvard actually believed that he needed lessons in how to be a good boyfriend.
Harvard was a dating savant: He was a natural. There was no way to teach him anything, and Harvard would soon realize that himself.
He was so good at this, it was sickening, and now Aiden was literally sick.
Harvard also brought gossip, which was deeply interesting and a welcome distraction.
“Apparently…,” Harvard said once he’d taken away the dishes and come back, climbing onto the bed and sitting cross-legged in the dip just beside Aiden’s bed, where they often sat knee to knee when telling each other the news of the day. “And I heard this from Roy, who heard it from a Bon, who heard it right from Eugene’s mouth—a group of masked boys in Kings Row uniforms broke into the Kingstone Bank and stole all the money and the safety deposit boxes. One of the students in school currently has four dozen gold bars in a safe under their bed. Everybody’s on high alert!”
This information was so compelling, Aiden almost forgot he was dying so tragically young and attractive. He eased himself up on his pillows.
“Go back outside!” commanded Aiden. “Find Eugene! He’s our teammate; he should have brought this gossip directly to us! Discover who these thieves might be!”
Harvard went and returned, but sadly he did not come bearing updated information.
“I found Eugene,” he reported. “But he turned a funny color and said, ‘Please don’t make me say it to you, Captain.’ He seems more shaken by this than I would’ve thought.”
Aiden moaned with outrage, then started coughing and couldn’t stop. He was enraged by his own body, which didn’t happen a lot. Usually, Aiden felt he and his body were in this together, making each other look good.
In less than a week, Harvard was going to call on his darling Neil and explain how sorry he was for all his imaginary offenses, and Neil would say that he’d only been put off by Harvard’s awful best friend. Then Harvard would realize everything had been Aiden’s fault all along, and also Neil would tell Harvard that he missed him, and they would get back together. Aiden would have to pretend he was happy for them.
This was one of a very few, very precious days, like fairy gold turning to dust and leaves as they slipped through his fingers. And Aiden was wasting it by being sick and disgusting.