“I’m worried about you,” said Coach.
“Me?” Harvard repeated, shocked. “But I’m—”
“All good?”
Coach raised a single eyebrow.
“Well…,” Harvard said. “Yeah. What’s this got to do with team bonding?”
“I’m glad you asked. Your special personal assignment is to remember there’s a me in team,” Coach told him.
Harvard blinked.
“Do you realize the only person on the team you’re not tenderly concerned about is you?”
“Oh right! I get it now. I could definitely get some more practice in,” Harvard suggested. “I’ll ask Seiji or Aiden—”
Coach held up a hand. Harvard felt seven years old again, confused and at a loss. The only thing he could be certain of was there must be something he could do to fix this and please her, but he couldn’t think what.
“No. Don’t think about fencing. Think about yourself.”
“Coach,” Harvard said helplessly, “I’m fine.”
“Yes,” said Coach. “But are you happy?”
“Well, of—”
“Don’t answer me right away,” said Coach. “Think about it. When was the last time you did something purely for yourself? Go on a date or something.”
Harvard’s head snapped back so hard Coach’s cool sword posters blurred in his vision.
“A date!” said Harvard. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the sweet fruit that’s a staple food in the Middle East.” Coach rolled her eyes. “I mean an outing, its intent entertainment and romance. You’re Aiden’s best friend. Surely you’ve become familiar with the concept of a date by osmosis? I’d understand if you didn’t know what a second date was.…”
She trailed off. Harvard must have looked slightly traumatized.
More gently, Coach said, “If you don’t have any interest in romance, that’s more than okay. It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to date. You can get ice cream or play a video game.”
“I do!” exclaimed Harvard. “Uh, that wasn’t an ‘I do’ to playing video games, though I do occasionally. With my little cousin. Some of those games are very violent. Never mind that,” he added hastily. “I mean—I do have an interest in romance. Dating. I mean, I always thought it might just—happen.…”
“Did you believe a date might fall out of a tree?” asked Coach. “Again, you may be thinking of the fruit.”
Harvard met many wonderful people and tended to get along with them pretty well. He’d had the hazy thought, now and then, that one day he’d meet someone great and feel what was described as a coup de foudre: a strike of lightning. Or a coup de maître: a masterstroke, someone delivering a strike that was both utterly recognizable and irresistible. He’d thought he would meet someone, and they would make sense to him in the same way fencing did. He’d want to be around them all the time.
That hadn’t happened so far. Harvard hadn’t worried about it. His mother said it was best to wait to get serious, and Harvard knew himself well enough to be aware he tended to get serious about everything. He’d probably meet someone in college. They’d get married and adopt a totally great dog. It would be…
All good, Coach’s voice said in his mind, cynically.
He’d been silent for too long, he realized. Coach was giving him a keen look, sympathetic but still uncomfortable to receive. Her eyes were searching for an answer he’d just realized he didn’t have.
“So that’s your teamwork assignment,” said Coach gently. “Go think about yourself.”
And dating, apparently. Harvard nodded and left the coach’s office, somewhat dazed.
There was always so much other stuff to do. He didn’t want to let anybody down. Like he’d told Coach, he was fine, and he wanted to make sure everybody else was fine, too. He wasn’t lonely. He had Aiden.
Usually.
He climbed the stairs, dark paneling on all sides. The stairs seemed narrower than normal today.
Maybe another reason Harvard hadn’t tried dating was Aiden. Romantic stuff came so easily to his best friend. When they went into the city, Aiden was constantly approached by admirers and modeling agency scouts. All Aiden had to do was smile at people, and they fell in love. Aiden had his own devoted fan club, a group of boys Aiden had nicknamed the Bons, who came to every fencing match. Trying to date with Aiden around would be like learning to play a keyboard around the world’s foremost concert pianist.
When Aiden was busy with a guy—which, in recent years, happened more and more—Harvard had his team, his family, and other friends. Kally and Tanner were good guys. Kings Row was a great place. Someone always needed help with fencing or homework. Harvard led a very full life.
Yes, Coach had said. But are you happy?
Harvard walked slowly down the hall to his dormitory, lost in thought.
When he opened the door, he found his roommate hunched over his laptop like a vexed cat brooding over an unsatisfactory dead mouse. His green eyes flashed with displeasure at being interrupted.
“Hey,” said Harvard. “You seemed off earlier. You okay? Want to talk?”
“I need quiet!” Aiden snapped.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Harvard gazed around. Something else was weird, besides his uncharacteristically cranky roommate. Their room was festooned with piles of flowers and chocolates. Aiden’s bed was covered in roses and ribbons and cake, as if an unscrupulous thief had robbed a wedding and abandoned their loot.
Harvard was used to such displays on Aiden’s birthday and Valentine’s Day, but both were months away.
“Where’d all this come from?” Harvard asked.
“All what?” Aiden made an impatient gesture with his finger, and then glanced around the room. “I don’t know. Some people wandered in with some stuff, I guess? There have been many interruptions during the past hour. Including you.”
The room really did remind Harvard of Valentine’s Day. Every Valentine’s Day, Aiden got such a deluge of cards and gifts that Harvard feared they might drown in candy waterfalls and storms of lace-edged cardboard hearts. Harvard had never received a valentine himself. Except from Aiden when they were little, in a cute, platonic way. But Aiden hadn’t given him one for years.
Harvard wandered uneasily over to his own bed, skirting around the suspicious lumps under the blanket of petals on the floor. His bed was also covered in presents. (Their beds were pushed together, and gifts seemed to have flooded in from Aiden’s side.) He made out several fruit baskets, but he couldn’t see his pillow, and he knew a pineapple wouldn’t be a good substitute. A pineapple pillow did not promise restful slumber.
He poked at the heap, wondering if there was any way he could shift the presents around so he could sleep comfortably tonight. The pile of offerings tilted like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, then a flood of chocolates splashed onto the floor. Harvard let out a squawk.
“Aiden!” said Harvard. “My bed’s a disaster!”
“Great,” murmured Aiden.
Harvard was receiving the impression Aiden wasn’t really listening.