It had been. Everything about Harvard was nice. Harvard had been the tallest boy in class then, the same way he was now, and Aiden had been small and pathetic. He’d just wanted to follow Harvard around and had used the bear as an excuse, but then Harvard had smiled so warmly it made Aiden forget all the cold echoes of his vast empty home, and he offered Aiden the bear to keep for his own.
“Yeah.” Aiden’s smile returned, charmed by the memory. “It was. That’s why I called the bear Harvard Paw after him. The name is also a pun.”
After deep thought, the kid offered, “My bear is a panda. He is called Mr. Bear.”
“Well, that’s a good name, too,” said Aiden, standing. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, Harvard Paw!” the kid called after him, using their panda’s paw to wave after him.
The paw-waving operation was too intricate and met with immediate failure. The stuffed bear rolled right off the esplanade. The kid burst into tears. Aiden went to the edge of the walkway, to see if he could retrieve the toy from the sandy shore, but this was one of the points in the esplanade where there were only stone steps leading down into the sea. A black-and-white paw surfaced, buffeted by the tides, as though Mr. Bear were appealing for help.
Harvard was absorbed in his conversation with Arune and had noticed nothing, but Aiden knew what Harvard would have done, if a kid was crying.
So Aiden dropped Harvard Paw, pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, then dove into the sea.
He submerged for only a moment before surfacing. In the gathering dark of evening, it was difficult to find a single stuffed animal in an ocean of shadows. He snatched at a moving shape, ending up with a fistful of seaweed.
At the edge of the esplanade, a crowd was gathering, their whispering becoming another sea of murmurs. Aiden was able to distinguish, in French, the words “Did a child fall in?” “Is it a puppy?” and “Who is that beautiful merman?”
Then, always singular and distinct to Aiden no matter how many other voices there might be around him, one particular voice said, “Aiden, over there!”
Aiden had gone on a class hunt for Easter eggs when he was eight. He and Harvard had a whole system worked out, so they could find the most chocolate eggs. Aiden was smaller and could wiggle into little places or climb trees, and Harvard could run fast and reach up high. They made a good team.
A light shone on the waters, cast by the flashlight on Harvard’s phone. Aiden followed the beam trustingly, snatched at another dark shape, and found himself holding a sodden panda toy. Then he looked around for the source of light.
Harvard called in his captain’s voice, “Now over here!”
Aiden threw the bear. Then he had his hands free, and with the help of the flashlight, he found the stone steps leading out of the water.
His hair had gone loose, his hair tie lost to the waves. He had to shake the wet mass back as he climbed the stone steps out of the dark sea into the glittering lights of the esplanade.
Someone in the crowd said faintly, “Mon Dieu.”
Arune was holding Harvard Paw. Aiden snatched him back. That was Aiden’s bear, and Arune couldn’t have him.
“How many teddy bears are involved in this situation?” Arune asked.
Harvard, always to be relied upon, had already restored the wet panda toy to his owner. The kid was now clutching the panda, looking up at Harvard, and sniffling.
“Don’t cry, there’s a good boy,” said Harvard.
Oh, was the kid a boy? Okay.
The kid was still crying, but he stopped when Harvard kneeled down, enfolded him in his arms, and patted his back. Aiden glared down at his tiny head. Stupid, lucky children who couldn’t even keep hold of their toys.
“Where’s my shirt?” Aiden demanded.
Apparently, Arune had that, too. Aiden grabbed it back and put it on without thanking him.
The shirt was very little help. The material was soaked through and plastered to Aiden’s wet skin as soon as he shrugged it on. It was warm in Menton, between the Mediterranean and the mountains, but it was still October at night. Aiden shivered and hated the world.
“Oh, hey,” said Harvard, and unzipped his Kings Row hoodie.
Harvard always dressed sensibly for the weather, Aiden thought miserably, and then started when Harvard draped the hoodie around Aiden’s shoulders. Aiden clutched on to it by reflex.
“Come here,” Harvard continued.
“I won’t give it back, I need it,” protested Aiden, still clutching. “I’ll get a chill. I’ll die. How can you be so cruel and unfeeling? Don’t take it away.”
Harvard rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking it away. I’m doing it up, so the night air won’t get inside it. Idiot,” he added affectionately, and cuffed gently at Aiden’s head.
He bullied Aiden into putting his arms in the hoodie sleeves and then zipped it up. Aiden moved in closer. They had gone on exactly one date outside Kings Row, a practice date to the county fair. He and Harvard had gone on the Ferris wheel, and Harvard had put his arm around him. It felt like he might do the same thing now.
He could feel Harvard’s warmth through his wet clothes. Later that night, they had been caught in a rainstorm and kissed frantically up against the door of their dormitory.
I love your hair, Harvard had murmured in Aiden’s ear. For a couple of days after, whenever Aiden looked in the mirror, he’d thought of Harvard saying that, touched his own hair, and smiled.
He wasn’t smiling now. Harvard’s knuckles were resting against Aiden’s stomach. Aiden’s mind was filled with suddenly crucial math. Four points of contact. Two layers of fabric between them. Aiden’s heartbeats, gone too fast and wild to count. Harvard swallowed once.
Aiden startled back, in a movement like a wild bird held in someone’s hands. He couldn’t let himself be held when he wasn’t going to be kept.
“So, uh… you were in the ocean, Aiden?” asked Arune. “We all thought you’d be out on a date with that guy Bastien. He said you’d promised him a date if he won his match.”
“I hardly call beating Nicholas Cox a victory,” Aiden drawled.
“Didn’t Nicholas once beat you?” Harvard asked.
Aiden gave up on drawling and shoved him. “I’ve told you that was a fluke!”
They had discussed this extensively, and Harvard could quit teasing him about it anytime. Harvard knew Aiden had simply been caught off guard by Nicholas’s total imperviousness to psychological warfare. Usually Aiden could win a match, even against people who were technically better than he was, by zeroing in on their weak points. Nicholas was almost all weak points, but he didn’t seem to care about having that remarked on.
“It wasn’t a fluke. Nicholas is a great kid and has huge potential as a fencer,” Harvard told Arune earnestly.
“Ugh, I’ve told you to stop having whole-hearted belief in people,” complained Aiden, shoving him again. “You’re so gross.”
“Cool, okay, give me back my hoodie,” Harvard teased, and he reached out and pulled the zipper of the hoodie down.
Then Harvard froze.
Joking around was ruined, standing close was ruined, touching was ruined. Aiden stood on the edge of the sea, in the ruin of their friendship, staring up at Harvard with wide, desperate eyes.
“Sorry, I have to ask,” said Arune. “People had bets on it, even back in middle school. Did you guys ever date?”
Aiden had always hated Arune, and he’d been so right.
What the hell, Arune?! Why would someone ask that out of the blue, for literally no reason? After shooting Arune a single desperately enraged look, Aiden assumed an air of complete indifference.
Harvard coughed then receded like the tide, leaving Aiden alone.
“Uh, guys,” said Arune. “Is that a no?”
They’d agreed they would pass off their weekend of practice dating as just another one of Aiden’s flings.
“Yes, we did date briefly, but as you can imagine—” beg
an Aiden in a breezy tone.
“No,” said Harvard loudly. “We didn’t date. Not really. It was nothing. Right, Aiden?”
He met Aiden’s gaze. The reflections of electric lights on the water were growing brighter as the sea and sky grew darker, absinthe green and yellow, and dangerous red. The lights stretched onto the horizon, which was now very distant and very dark.
Aiden said, “You’re right, Harvard. It was nothing at all.”
22 NICHOLAS
Nicholas wasn’t exactly used to large gatherings. Plus, this was a French gathering, so it was super classy. Nicholas had gone to get-togethers at his old schools, held in beat-up gyms where Nicholas would much rather have been fencing. Loud, obnoxious music would play, and everyone would look sweaty without having exercised at all. The boys would stand on one side of the room, and the girls on the other. “How do we ask the girls to dance?” one guy had whispered in Nicholas’s ear. Nicholas had stared blankly and asked, “Why would we want to do that?”
Tonight, the music playing was tinkly but somehow sweet, as if someone had put big wind chimes up in the sky among the white clusters of stars. People were dressed up and mingling as though it was simple, with the graceful ease of adults.
It was still awkward. Nicholas would still much rather have been fencing. There were a lot fewer girls than at Nicholas’s old schools, but there were still some, and a couple of them were dancing with a few boys. Some boys were also dancing with other boys, and one girl with another girl. None of the Kings Row boys were dancing with anyone.
“Dancing under the stars would be fun,” Bobby said wistfully, hopping from foot to foot.
There were strings of white light threaded through the lemon trees, mirroring the stars and making curves like tiny galaxies captured in a net of leaves. The lights in the lemon trees caught red and white sparks off the sequins on Bobby’s shirt as he hopped.
Dante cleared his throat. “Let’s.”
Surprise touched Bobby’s face. “Really, will you? Aw, what a pal. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Dante didn’t answer in words, since that wasn’t Dante’s way. He led Bobby out onto the cleared space that was the dance floor and leaned back and forth like a tall tree bending slightly in a storm, while Bobby danced enthusiastically around him in a circle.
They left Nicholas and Seiji standing side by side in total silence.
“I dislike dancing,” Seiji offered eventually. “Sometimes I have to do it at my father’s parties.”
“Yeah, dancing sucks,” said Nicholas.
Faint satisfaction touched Seiji’s face, since they were in agreement. Seiji was a shade taller than Nicholas, which Nicholas kind of liked for some reason he couldn’t pin down. Nicholas tilted a grin up at him. It was far better to be silent and awkward with Seiji than to do anything else with anyone else.
Seiji had asked Nicholas to stick with him so Nicholas wouldn’t embarrass him any more than he’d already done. Nicholas was happy to do that. A few times people approached them and talked in French about fencing, and Seiji translated for Nicholas, which was helpful. The others seemed startled that Nicholas-of-the-dropped-épée was included in the conversation, but because Seiji was there, they were polite enough. This Seiji-the-social-butterfly stuff took some getting used to. Nicholas hoped it wasn’t too much of a nuisance for Seiji, having Nicholas around. Normally, he didn’t worry about bothering Seiji—he just went ahead and did it—but at Kings Row Seiji didn’t have all these glamorous European companions.
At Kings Row, there was no Jesse. The threat of Jesse Coste’s presence lurked behind the strings of light and the whispers of leaves, and what could have been a nice, awkward evening.
Just then, a silhouette appeared, moving soft-footed across the leaf-strewn ground, light slipping through the leaves to find his bright hair.
Nicholas went tense with dread, but it wasn’t Jesse. It was Aiden, wearing very fitted rich-person jeans and a dark crimson shirt with a scoop neck and long sleeves. Aiden, Nicholas reflected, fit in among French people. Nicholas unconsciously tugged on the blazer Dante had loaned him and tried to push a hand through his newly styled hair.
Nothing could go wrong for Aiden’s hair. It was bulletproof. Right now, it was loose and a bit ripply around his face, as though he’d gotten it wet and let it dry by itself, but that was probably on purpose. He pushed it back with a languid hand.
“Hello, freshmen. Why have you done your hair like Seiji does his hair, Nicholas?” Aiden inquired.
“To look cool, ’cause we’re in France,” Nicholas explained.
That was when Seiji turned to face Nicholas with his black eyes gone wide.
“Is that what I look like?” Seiji demanded.
“Nah, I look way better,” Nicholas replied.
A mischievous smile leaped onto Aiden’s face, reflecting the amusement Nicholas felt. Nicholas was expert enough in Seiji expressions to know by now that the tic at the side of Seiji’s mouth meant he was quietly appalled.
The French guy who’d beaten Nicholas, Bastien, approached their group.
Bastien glanced at Aiden, then at Nicholas, then back at Aiden, but Aiden was studying the trees as though he found them fascinating. Bastien opened his mouth but ultimately didn’t speak, only shrugged and slid back into the crowd. Nicholas wondered what his deal was. Other Camp Menton trainees glanced Nicholas’s way and snickered, no doubt imagining that Bastien had come over to taunt Nicholas for sucking. Maybe Bastien had. Everyone at Camp Menton seemed to find Nicholas’s ineptitude deeply humorous.
“I told that guy I’d go on a date with him if he won his match,” Aiden confessed.
Nicholas blinked. He guessed there was a bright side to losing the match after all. He didn’t want that prize.
“I… didn’t know Bastien’s match was against you,” said Aiden, eyes still on the trees.
“’Course not,” said Nicholas. “Why would you want to see me lose in front of everybody? You’re on my team.”
Aiden made a complicated little hook shape with his mouth. It was like Eugene was allergic to pineapples, and Aiden was allergic to being believed in.
Nicholas had no idea why Aiden got so many dates. He seemed like a lot to handle, honestly.
Yet at that moment, another admirer approached, blushing under his freckles. “I’m Colm,” he said in an Irish accent. “Aiden, isn’t it? You look amazing.”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “Every moment’s radiant o’clock for me. Get used to it.”
“I’d like to,” said the boy. “Will you dance with me?”
Wow, everyone was obsessed with dancing. Nicholas sneaked a look over at Seiji to share their dancing-related distaste and saw the captain approaching out of the corner of his eye. Nicholas perked up.
“Look, there’s Harvard. With his friend Arune. Do you know him, Aiden? Arune’s super nice.”
Aiden’s attention slid abruptly away from the trees. Something shifted in his demeanor, like a light being flipped on a stage to indicate, Everyone, look over here! though his expression didn’t change. He stepped forward and slipped an arm around Colm’s waist. Colm jumped and then relaxed, turning his head so their faces were very close together.
“I’d love to dance,” Aiden murmured.
They moved onto the dance floor before Harvard reached them, Aiden turning rather pointedly away. Harvard wasn’t looking at the dance floor. He was smiling at the rest of them, so clearly, he was fine with whoever Aiden was dating. Nicholas grinned back, and Eugene joined the group.
Nicholas and Eugene hugged, Eugene thumping Nicholas’s back with almost his usual terrifying strength.
“Thanks for the card, Seiji, my guy,” Eugene told him. “Really liked it. Very you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Seiji, clearly pleased.
Eugene turned to the rest of his teammates. “Hey, guys, I have a huge problem. Melodie says she loves to waltz.”
Nicholas shook his head in commiseration
. “Why does everyone like dancing?”
Eugene stared. “Dancing sounds awesome, bro! I’d love to waltz with her! But I don’t know how.”
That was a problem Nicholas couldn’t help him with. He wasn’t entirely sure what waltzing even looked like.
Then Seiji’s arm, set against Nicholas’s, went tense as sprung steel.
Through lemon trees and starlight walked Jesse Coste and Marcel Berré, the Leventis twins behind them. Jesse’s curling golden hair was swept back in a way that Nicholas thought of as a rich-boy style, but it suited him. Slightly dressed up with his hair done that way, Jesse looked indefinably more grown-up. He resembled their father even more than usual.
“Hello, Seiji,” he said.
The Leventis twins, Thomas and Aster, exchanged a look. Nicholas wasn’t sure which of the twins, with their identical brown mops of hair and mirror-bright blue eyes, was which. The only difference between them was that one twin usually frowned while the other usually wore a smile. The smiling one, surprisingly, was the one who led the way into the crowd and away from the Kings Row team.
Maybe they didn’t want to be near the Kings Row team, in case the other Camp Menton trainees would think they were losers, too.
“Hi, Jesse,” said Harvard. “There are other people here, you know.”
His voice was warm and not judgmental, but faint color stole into Jesse’s face. “Hello, everyone,” he said with a smile too sudden to be at all sincere. His gaze skipped over Nicholas.
Arune snorted with amusement. “Hey, Jesse. Hi, Marcel. Fun match we had against Exton the other day.”
“You’re still overextending when you lunge,” murmured Marcel.
Nicholas thought it sounded like constructive criticism—like Coach would give him. Or like Seiji would give him. He honestly didn’t think it was a mean comment. The Exton boys just knew what was best when it came to fencing and let everyone know they knew best.
Eugene eyed Jesse in the manner of a lion spotting a fresh antelope. “Hey, bro.”
Jesse stared, clearly finding it impossible to believe anyone would ever address him that way.
Eugene persisted. “Can you waltz?”
Fence: Disarmed Page 13