The tough-looking boy in front of her—the one with rowdy long hair and the rocker look—was unmistakable by now. He had the same wicked grin and dark eyes as always. Ava studied the familiar details with an artist’s eye. He was tall and lean, with the body of a swimmer or a diver. His lanky arms only seemed that much longer with the blade in his hands, like now. Everything about his body, about his long arched back, about the loose-fitting white jacket that somehow covered and revealed just how powerful he was, all at once, seemed to belong to a warrior.
And then Tattoo Boy began to move.
He reached out and ripped a blade from the arm of an angry, red-faced boy, sending him flying.
The boy cursed and swung at him.
“Oh. My. God.” After that, even Oksana, who was not speechless, who was never speechless, could not speak.
In one fluid movement, Alexei hurled himself down the strip, uncoiling like a spring had set him off and thrown him across the room. He had dropped his blade, and it wasn’t so much that he was going for a touch, but that he was going for a kill.
That was what it looked like, predatory and beautiful, if such a thing was possible. As if such a thing was somehow meant to happen, and he himself was something meant to be—especially when he was in this kind of combat.
He’s a fighter all right.
Ava grabbed Oksana by the hand. “I know I’m not crazy.”
As she watched, it wasn’t even a question anymore. Now Alexei was being held back from the skirmish by two burly men, both of whom looked like they wanted to toss him out of the tournament.
Oksana frowned as she looked from the picture to the boy in front of her. “It’s incredible. Do you really think—?”
Ava nodded. She couldn’t speak. They both stared back at him.
“Not imaginary.” Ava couldn’t believe it.
“Wow.” Oksana’s mouth hung open. “Definitely not imaginary.”
“Right?” Ava looked at her friend. “You’re absolutely sure you see him too, right? He’s a hundred percent real?”
“Definitely real. Very, very real. And really, really—”
Just then, at that very moment, Alex turned their way. He was furious and embarrassed and upset—but both girls could see him, perfectly, for the very first time. And more embarrassing, Ava was almost certain that he could see them.
And that he was beautiful.
Oksana crossed herself as she grabbed Ava by the arm. “Really.”
“This can’t be a coincidence,” Ava said, not moving her eyes.
“What else can it be?”
Ava didn’t know how to answer, so she didn’t try. Finally she looked away. “I’m going over there.” She took a deep breath. “I have to, right?” Her heart was hammering in her chest like it was trying to get out.
“Don’t look now, but I think you’ve been spotted.” Oksana squeezed Ava’s arm.
Ava let her eyes flicker back in his direction. He must have seen her staring at him. Now he was standing in the middle of the convention center, looking right back at her with his wildly dark eyes and his even wilder shag of hair. The men who had held him back were nowhere in sight.
The pink in Ava’s cheeks turned to red, and she realized she was barely breathing. She let herself look at him—really look at him.
Alexei smiled at her, a bit awkwardly.
Let’s do this. We’re doing this. Here I am, doing this.
She forced herself to breathe.
She could feel him. She could feel his eyes exploring her, and she could feel the weight of their pull. She knew what he was doing. He was sizing her up the way Ava did when she waited for two fencers to finish a bout in class, knowing that she would fence the winner. Analyzing their strengths, their weaknesses, the patterns to their motion and their rhythm. As Nana liked to say, there was a kind of observation that was itself the overture to interaction. That was this, and Ava could feel it. What it meant or why he was doing it—that was a different story.
She had no idea.
Does he have them too? The dreams? Does he know me?
Ava felt so strange. Chemically, physiologically strange. Like there was some kind of crazy magnet pulling them together, which of course was what the dreams had always felt like, at least to Ava. Why else would she have imagined him into existence, right here in front of her?
She didn’t know what was going on, not exactly, but she found that the longer she stood in the same room with this boy, the less she seemed to care.
Ava didn’t realize her feet had actually begun to move until Oksana grabbed her by the arm.
“No, no. You can’t.”
“Why not?” The spell was broken, and Ava turned back to her friend.
“You’ll look like an idiot. What are you going to do, hand him your drawing? Like, hello, beautiful boy, I’m really not just a serial killer or a stalker or something? You’re going to scare him off.” Oksana had a point.
Ava frowned. “I’m not going to throw myself at him. I just want to talk to him. I want to figure this whole thing out.”
“This I-see-you-every-time-I-close-my-eyes thing? Yeah, that’s not creepy.” Oksana shook her head. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I know you have to play it cool. Normal rules still apply.”
Ava knew she was right. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“You need a plan.” Oksana looked at her. “And maybe a hairbrush.”
Ava hesitated.
Maybe this is the plan.
Maybe it took me seventeen years to get here, but now that I have, maybe I’m here for a reason.
Maybe this is what destiny feels like.
A horn blew.
Oksana grabbed a handful of battered and bent épées out of the old bag. “Either way, it will have to wait. I didn’t spend all those hours in a car with my father not to fence. He’s up in the stands now. Registration is going to close in ten minutes. We have to get our weapons checked.”
Ava knew it was true; even though this tournament was classified as open to the public, every fencer present still had to register—whether they came from Yale or the Y.
She looked across the room doubtfully. The boy who looked like Alexei was now deep in conversation with his friend, who also looked familiar. As she watched, she had to press her hand against her leg to stop it from shaking.
This is real. He’s real.
It was all so confusing. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but she also knew that some part of it had been happening for so long now that it would take more than any one person to stop it.
Strong as an ox. Be strong as an ox.
You have to think. You have to figure out what to do.
But it wasn’t that easy. There were too many people everywhere she looked, making too much noise. Her heart was pounding, and she was beginning to panic. Where was the clarity of a freezing-cold shower when you needed it?
Maybe there’s no shower, but at least—
Ava looked back to Oksana. “I’m going to find the locker room. I just need a minute. I’ll meet you at the weapons check after that.”
Oksana nodded, then grabbed Ava by both shoulders. “Breathe, myshka.”
“Breathing,” Ava said. “And I’m not a mouse.” She smiled.
Myshka had been Oksana’s pet name for her since they’d met in the rodent-ridden Dumpster alley behind the shelter.
Only a mouse would go hide in a locker room when the whole world had just opened in front of her.
And I’m not a mouse.
“We’ll see,” Oksana said as she disappeared into the crowd.
Ava slowly picked up her blades.
I’m not.
She turned in the direction of the boy and forced herself to start walking.
S.H.I.E.L.D. EYES ONLY
CLEARANCE LEVEL X
LINE-OF-DUTY [LODD] DEATH INVESTIGATION
REF: S.H.I.E.L.D. CASE 121A415
AGENT IN COMMAND [AIC]: PHILLIP COULSON
RE: AGENT NATASHA ROMANOFF A.K.A. BLACK WIDOW, A.K.A. NATASHA ROMANOVA
TRANSCRIPT: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, LODD INQUIRY HEARINGS
DOD: And the friend?
ROMANOFF: Oksana Davis.
DOD: Russian national?
ROMANOFF: American citizen.
DOD: Tell me, did her Russian and American names give you pause? Considering your history?
ROMANOFF: Every name gives me pause. Considering my history, sir.
DOD: Did you run a check on this friend?
ROMANOFF: I did not.
DOD: The father? The deceased mother? Stepsiblings? Living situation?
ROMANOFF: I wasn’t planning for a LODD inquiry hearing at the time, sir. And I didn’t think she mattered.
DOD: Everyone matters, Agent Romanoff--
ROMANOFF: I’m touched, sir.
DOD: Especially once the bullets begin to fly.
ROMANOFF: And the blame?
DOD: Even more so.
ROMANOFF: And when the bullets stop?
DOD: Here we are.
PHILADELPHIA CONVENTION CENTER—
DOWNTOWN PHILLY
THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE
“Do we know that girl?” Alex couldn’t help but notice the girl with hair the color of cinnamon who had been staring at him from across the gym. In a convention hall filled with thousands of people, she stood out.
“What girl? You mean, a girl who isn’t from our school, Sofi’s school, or the club?” Dante sighed, lacing up his last high-top Nike. “Probably not.”
But it hadn’t been Alex’s imagination. There was a girl, and she was staring at him. Why? Alex looked down; he was holding the black card that meant he wasn’t going to be doing any fencing today. In fact, he only had a few minutes to get his stuff together and get out of the gym. That normally would have been all he could think about. But none of those things was as distracting as the striking girl on the far strip.
Alex couldn’t bring himself to look away. He hadn’t realized he was smiling, but he was.
Dante shoved him. “Dude. Stop staring. Be cool. For once.”
Alex snorted. “I’m not staring. She’s staring. I’m being stared at.”
“Who cares? She’s…Wow. That is so not an eighth grader.” Dante looked up, and then looked back down again. “I said be cool.”
The horn sounded. The final warning.
“I gotta go.” Dante punched Alex in the arm, a little lamely. “Sorry about the black card. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me when I tell you to ignore Captain Underpants.”
Alex wasn’t listening. She was definitely looking at him, and when he met her eyes for the briefest of moments, they flashed with recognition. It was as if an electric current charged between them, and he felt his face going red. “Who is she?”
“A fencer, duh. Probably competing in Junior Women’s, since it starts when our event does.” Dante grinned. “I mean, when my event does.”
“Don’t tell my mom I got black-carded,” Alex said automatically.
“Don’t tell my dad, either. The noble Police Captain Guillermo Cruz already thinks you’re going to drag me down. I can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how far you’ve fallen already.”
“Me? Fallen?”
Dante laughed. “I gotta get to my strip.” He pulled his mask halfway onto his head and picked up his water bottle, a spare electrical cord, and three blades. “Wish me luck.”
As Alex looked back at the girl across the gym, he made up his mind. “Yeah, well. You wish me luck,” he said.
Dante saw where he was looking and whistled. “You’re going to need more than luck, compadre. What pretty girl would ever look at you?” he teased, holding up his fist, but Alex didn’t pound it.
Not in front of her.
By the time he had made it across the hall, the cinnamon-haired girl was on the move with a handful of blades.
Not just on the move. In fact, she was moving right toward him.
Alex tried to compose himself.
Be cool.
She’s just a girl.
He started to walk out to meet her, and that heady electric current—that magnetic charge between them—began to sizzle, sparking something inside him he’d never felt before.
Whoever she is, she isn’t just a girl.
“Hey.” Alex grinned, narrowly avoiding walking straight into a Gatorade-sponsored water cooler and knocking over the table that held it.
So much for cool.
“Hey.” The girl smiled back, stopping in front of him, hesitantly. Her unruly curls flew around her face like red-gold fire, and her brown eyes were dark and wild.
There’s something about her—but what?
She was beautiful, but it was more than just that.
It had to be.
There was a certain shadow to her face, something wistful and sad, that endeared her to Alex. Her smile may have been fragile, but there was a strength to her eyes as well. The way they sparked, he felt like there was something just barely kept in check, something that could explode at any moment—and he instantly understood. It was as familiar to him as looking in the mirror.
She was powerful, whether or not she or anyone else knew how powerful.
And probably a great fencer.
Alex didn’t wonder at how he knew all this. He was too busy wondering how he could get to know her even more—and as soon as possible.
Why were you staring at me? Could I be that lucky?
“Hey,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say, especially when what he really wanted to say couldn’t be said.
Who are you? What do you want with me? Why are your eyes so sad?
Want to go away together?
“Hey,” she echoed back. Now they were face-to-face in the center of the gym. All around them, blades were clanging as fencers thundered up and down metal strips—making the most of the last few minutes of warming up.
The silence was awkward, and Alex kicked himself for thinking this would be anything different from the way it usually went with girls his age. For all his confidence on the mat, he was shy. When it came to talking to most girls, he felt like he was trying to understand a whole different country, or even a different planet.
They stood there for another long minute.
Finally the girl spoke up. “So this will probably sound weird, but do I look familiar to you?”
He’d never seen her before in his life—he was certain of it. Still, she did seem almost familiar—if only in a way he couldn’t articulate.
“Sure,” Alex lied. “Totally.”
“Right?” She tilted her head, staring into his eyes. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
No idea.
Alex could feel the weight of her glance all the way down to his Nikes. He tried not to think about how much he was sweating—and he wasn’t even wearing his fencing jacket. It was tied around his waist.
When she looked at him, the whole rest of the room blurred out, like some fish-eye-camera-filter effect.
Crazy.
The longer he stood there, the more it seemed like she was waiting for him to say something, so he did. “We met at Nationals right? Did you go to Atlantic City?”
“Nope.” The girl shook her head. “That’s not it.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought she almost looked disappointed.
“You’re from New Jersey?” He tried again.
“Brooklyn. Before that, Ukraine. And Moscow.” She gave him an odd look. He was even more confused now.
“What’s your club?” Alex rubbed his hand through his tangle of hair. This wasn’t going as well as he had imagined.
Hoped.
“No club,” she said with a sigh.
“Ah, so you’re independent. That’s cool.”
“So cool,” she said with a laugh.
He smiled, relieved. “Yeah, I could tell. You know, you Brooklyn hipster types.” He nodded at her triple piercings that dotted one ear.
“That’s me.” She laughed again. “And you’re from Mountain Clear, right?”
“Montclair. Yeah. Close enough,” Alex said. Wait—“But how did you know that?”
She looked startled, then pointed at the logo on his sweatpants. “Because I know how to read.”
Alex forced himself to smile. “Duh.” Manor, you’re an idiot.
A buzzer sounded.
She shrugged, holding up her handful of blades. “I better go, or registration is going to close without me.”
“You better.”
She turned to go, but paused. “You really don’t know who I am?”
God, but I wish I did.
And I want to.
He pretended to think. “Of course I do. I think it was driver’s training. That’s it. We were probably in driver’s training together. With Mr. Marty? Big fat guy?”
“I don’t drive. But keep trying,” she said, pulling her blades to her chest. “I have to go.”
“I will. Keep trying, that is. And good luck,” Alex said.
“You too.” She nodded.
“Yeah, it’s a little late for that.” Alex gestured at his faded T-shirt and the jacket wrapped around his waist. He wasn’t suited up, which for a fencer only meant one of two things—that they’d been eliminated or that they weren’t competing at all.
“You’re not fencing?” A shadow flickered across her face. “Are you hurt—or something?”
“Only my pride. Black card,” Alex said. “I’m Mr. Black Card. It’s sort of a thing with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Ah. I think I saw that happening. I’ve never had one.”
“I’ve never not.”
“Really?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“So, yeah, see you around,” he said.
“See you around, Alex.” She smiled as she walked away.
Don’t go. Come back.
Crap.
You suck at this, Manor.
Dante is never going to let you live this down.
Alex stood there, frozen in place for a moment. Then he turned and shouted after her, into the crowded convention hall. “Wait—what’s your name?”
Black Widow: Forever Red Page 6