idiot didn’t know what to do with it. Now you know why I don’t like my students getting into tournaments too early. He wasn’t nearly ready.”
He was not nearly ready. Nearly ready would be almost ready. He was not ready at all.
When I go to report my win, I find that I am now in a pool of those who have a 2:1 record. Only eight are undefeated. I am feeling very tired now, but I do not want to disappoint Tom, so I do not withdraw.
My next match comes almost at once, with a tall dark woman. She wears a plain costume in dark blue and a conventional wire-front mask. She is not at all like the last man; she attacks instantly and after a few exchanges she gets the first touch. I get the second, she the third, and I the fourth. Her pattern is not easy to see. I hear voices from the margins; people are saying it is a good fight. I am feeling light again, and I am happy. Then I feel her blade on my chest and the bout is over. I do not mind. I am tired and sweaty; I can smell myself.
“Good fight!” she says, and clasps my arm.
“Thank you,” I say.
Tom is pleased with me; I can tell by his grin. Lucia is there, too; I did not see her come and watch.
They are arm in arm; I feel even happier. “Let’s see where this puts you in the rankings,” he says.
“Rankings?”
“All the fencers will be ranked by their results,” he says. “Novices get a separate rank. I expect you did fairly well. There are still some to go, but I think all the first-timers have finished by now.”
I did not know this. When we look at the big chart, my name is number nineteen, but down in the lower right-hand corner, where seven first-time fencers are listed, my name is at the top. “Thought so,” Tom says. “Claudia—” One of the women writing names on the board turns around. “Are all the first-timers finished?”
Yes—is this Lou Arrendale?“She glances at me.
“Yes,” I say. “I am Lou Arrendale."
“You did really well for a first-timer,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Here’s your medal,” she says, reaching under the table and pulling out a little leather sack with something in it. “Or you can wait and get it at the award ceremony.” I did not know I would get a medal; I thought only the person who won all the fights got a medal.
“We have to get back,” Tom says.
“Well, then—here it is.” She hands it to me. It feels like real leather. “Good luck next time.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I do not know if I am supposed to open the sack, but Tom says, “Let’s see…” and I take out the medal. It is a round piece of metal with a sword design molded into it and a little hole near the edge. I put it back in the bag.
On the way home, I replay each match in my mind. I can remember all of it and can even slow down the way Gunther moved, so that next time—I am surprised to know that there will be a next time, that I want to do this again—I can do better against him.
I begin to understand why Tom thought this would be good for me if I have to fight Mr. Crenshaw. I went where no one knew me and competed as a normal person would. I did not need to win the tournament to know that I had accomplished something.
When I get home, I take off the sweaty clothes Lucia loaned me. She said not to wash them, because they are special; she said to hang them up and bring them over to their house on Wednesday, when I come to fencing class. I do not like the way they smell; I would like to take them back tonight or tomorrow, but she said Wednesday. I hang them over the back of the couch in the living room while I shower.
The hot water feels very good; I can see little blue marks showing from some of the touches against me.
I take a long shower, until I feel completely clean, and then put on the softest sweatshirt and sweatpants I have. I feel very sleepy, but I need to see what the others e-mailed me about their talk.
I have e-mails from Cameron and Bailey both. Cameron says they talked but didn’t decide anything.