FenceStriking Distance - Sarah Rees Brennan Page 0,80
even more vigor than usual.
“Don’t sweat it, my dude. I mean, I almost had a nervous breakdown, and Seiji Katayama is genuinely out of his mind, but… anything for a true bro.”
Nicholas was filled with an emotion that seemed so huge it made him feel bigger, expanding so this much feeling could fit. It seemed as if he could wrap his arms all the way around the entirety of Kings Row. As if he might embrace every one of the absurdly huge redbrick buildings with the fancy windows and the shiny cabinets full of shinier trophies, and every one of the people inside those buildings.
He had to find Seiji.
27: AIDEN
Harvard had said he would come back, but he hadn’t. Aiden waited all night, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the moment when Harvard had gone still and said, This means nothing. Harvard had wrenched himself away from Aiden as though he might catch something.
The slam of the door had echoed throughout their room.
And now it was morning and time to go to class. Surely Harvard would come to class.
Before Aiden left the room, he picked up Harvard Paw and his new friend from where they lay tumbled together on the floor. He set Harvard Paw carefully down on his pillow.
Then Aiden tossed the new bear up and down so it hit the ceiling and back again. Aiden’s careless grin was reflected in its empty glass eyes.
He threw the fair bear, with extreme force, into the trash can by the door.
Harvard Paw looked a little forlorn there on the bed by himself.
“Sorry if you miss him,” Aiden told his bear. “But you’ll get over it. You’ll thank me one day. You were born to be a carefree bachelor.”
He swung by the salle but didn’t find Harvard there. He found Coach instead.
“Where’s Harvard?” Coach demanded.
“That’s what I want to know!” Aiden snapped back.
Coach tried to run her hands through her hair, visibly came to the realization her hair was up in a bun, and scowled. “He was supposed to come with me and do a fencing demonstration in the town hall this morning. My students evading their responsibilities is nothing new, but—”
“Harvard Lee?” said Aiden. “My Harvard? Impossible.”
Except perhaps it was possible. If Aiden had upset Harvard enough, though Aiden didn’t even know what he’d done wrong.
He’d done plenty wrong, obviously. But he didn’t know what he’d done specifically to cause that terrible look on Harvard’s face last night, or what he could possibly do to make it right.
“Have you written your essay, Aiden?” asked Coach sweetly.
After a pause, Aiden shook his head.
“Are you going to write your essay?”
Another pause, then Aiden shook his head again. He tried for a rakish grin, conveying to Coach, Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Coach gave him a look that indicated she had no time for the player.
“Do you want another roommate, then?”
Without a pause, Aiden shook his head. Maybe Harvard would want a new roommate after all this, but until Harvard told him to go, Aiden wouldn’t leave their room.
“Then I think you’re volunteering yourself for a fencing demonstration, aren’t you?” Coach asked brightly.
Aiden shrugged. “A display is more suited to my particular skill set.”
Everything else in his life had gone wrong. He wasn’t doing that essay.
The upkeep of the Kingstone town hall was endowed by several illustrious former Kings Row students. There was a large gold clock face set in the gray stone façade of the building, and in gold letters over the double doors was written the Latin legend QUI MALA COGITAT MALITUS EIUS. Inside was a gleaming walnut platform that could be set up as a stage for mayoral debates, civil ceremonies, and—apparently—fencing demonstrations. It could hold upward of a thousand people.
The fencing demonstration in the Kingstone town hall proved extremely popular. Aiden wasn’t as skilled a fencer as Harvard or Seiji, but he had better showmanship than either.
He demonstrated a few simple fencing moves, then opened his fencing jacket to show the body cord beneath to a murmur of increasing general interest and described the parts of his blade and the process of a match. He showed the cross-section blade and bell guard of the épée, while Coach sighed besottedly about sabers.
“We call the end the point both because it’s where the point would be if there was one, and it’s the only part of the blade with which we can score points,” Aiden explained. “Which is the point.”
When he laughed, an amused ripple went through the crowd.