Aiden swiveled in his chair as he took in the full extent of the situation. Their room was a vortex of paper hearts and flowers and chocolate boxes. It looked as though someone had eaten Valentine’s Day and thrown up everywhere. Aiden didn’t even like Valentine’s Day.
He squinted at his own bed with sudden outrage. He leaped up and began to toss garbage onto the floor until a way was cleared and he could rescue his stuffed bear from the wreckage. Aiden pulled his bear free and began to pick out the cream-cheese frosting matted in his fur. What had possessed some idiot to put red velvet cupcakes spelling out U R SEXY on Aiden’s bed? Aiden already knew he was sexy. There was no need to assault a helpless stuffed animal.
He carried his bear back to the desk with him, and typed: On my first day of school, I met my best friend, Harvard.
Simple as that, the first true thing Aiden had written.
Aiden’s clearest memory of early childhood was his first day of kindergarten.
Some of the other kids had cried. Aiden hadn’t. Crying was better done alone. It felt much worse to cry when there were people around and see them not care. Aiden hadn’t been around other kids much, and hadn’t known exactly what to do with them, but they were more interesting than the toys. Aiden had toys at home. He’d hung back and watched the crying, the teacher trying to calm the riot, and the kid who was trying to help the teacher.
Harvard had been the tallest kid there—and the kindest. He’d gone to every crying kid and told them this was a big change, but he knew they would be brave. He’d had a stuffed bear under his arm and when a tiny girl couldn’t stop sobbing, he’d pretended the bear was giving her a kiss, bumping the little plastic nose against her tearstained cheek. He’d given the girl a smile, warm as the sun, and she’d been helpless to do anything but smile back.
Harvard was the biggest person in any room, even when he was small.
Aiden had followed him around, trailing so close that when Harvard stopped unexpectedly, Aiden walked right into him. Harvard turned, looked down at Aiden’s face, and came immediately to a beautiful but entirely wrong conclusion.
“Oh hey,” were Harvard’s first words to Aiden. “If you like the bear so much, you can have it.”
He’d placed his teddy bear in Aiden’s arms, and then patted Aiden on the shoulder. Aiden had reflexively clutched the bear and stared up in panic at this marvelous boy. He’d tried frantically to think of some way to keep the warm, steady light of Harvard’s attention, and found himself frozen with fear by the impossible magnitude of his ambition. He’d known, he’d known, that Harvard would turn away.
Harvard hadn’t. He’d kept looking at Aiden, then for no good reason at all thrown an arm around Aiden’s skinny shoulders.
“I’m Harvard,” he’d said. “What’s your name?”
“Aiden,” Aiden had squeaked.
“You stay by me, Aiden,” Harvard had told him.
Aiden always had.
He’d kept the bear, too. Good thing he had, since it couldn’t run off and desert him like everyone else.
The door opened, and Harvard returned, sliding his phone into his pocket and looking just—not the same as when they were kids, but essentially the same. Mature and responsible for his age, no matter what that age was. Aiden relaxed fractionally. In a world of blackmail and inexplicable cupcakes, Harvard made sense.
“Where did you go?” Aiden demanded. “Why did you go?”
“You told me to leave you alone,” Harvard answered. “So I went out.”
Aiden held up the hand that wasn’t holding his bear in protest. “That’s a very strange interpretation of my words.”
Leave me alone obviously didn’t mean Go away and actually leave me all alone. It meant Your supportive presence is always welcome, but please don’t talk to me about the fencing team right now. Harvard had heartlessly and senselessly abandoned Aiden in his time of greatest need.
Since Harvard had come back, Aiden was prepared to be forgiving.
“Can’t believe we were abandoned like this,” Aiden told his bear loudly. “You’re my only friend now, Harvard Paw.”
He used the bear’s little paw to hit Harvard in the arm as punishment for his crimes.
Harvard rolled his eyes. “I stepped out for ten minutes and called my mom.”
“Okay, you’re off the hook,” said Aiden. “Please explain life’s mysteries to me. Is there a reason my bed is covered in cake? Are the students of Kings Row doing a reenactment of the French Revolution?”
Perhaps the entire school had got high on paint fumes today.
“Marie Antoinette didn’t actually say ‘Let them eat cake’ about the starving peasants,” Harvard said conscientiously. “That was just something people said to feel okay about cutting off her head. You can’t trust surface reports of history.”
“Can’t trust much in this life,” drawled Aiden. “Can you unravel the cake mystery?”
“My bed is covered in gifts for you,” said Harvard slowly. “Gifts that, since they are on my bed, I am keeping.”
Aiden fussed with Harvard Paw, who still had remnants of frosting on him. “Sure, sure.”
He always let Harvard eat the Valentine’s Day chocolates Aiden got, partly to make his best friend happy. Partly out of guilt.
“There are notes everywhere from random students asking you to consider them as your new roommate,” Harvard continued, a strange note in his voice.
Aiden hugged his bear to his chest and recalled he deserved to be showered in sympathy. “Right! You won’t believe the horror of the day I’m having! Coach threatened me.”
No sympathy was forthcoming. The world remained unjust.
Harvard was frowning at him. “What are you talking about?”
Aiden made a face. “Coach said that if I didn’t do this imbecilic team bonding exercise, she’d make me switch rooms. Now I have to write an essay.”
“Oh,” said Harvard. “Yeah, that’s… about what I thought must’ve happened. So that’s what you’re doing.”
Sympathy was forthcoming at last—Harvard was off his game today—when Harvard slung his arm around Aiden’s shoulders and tugged him close. It was the same old gesture, though Harvard’s arms were far bigger and stronger now, and Aiden’s shoulders thankfully less skinny. Aiden let himself lean in.
Harvard’s face was clear now, free of whatever had been preoccupying him. He was even smiling a little. “Aw. Would you miss me?”
Aiden elbowed Harvard in the ribs. “Hardly. But imagine the hideous consequences if I had to switch rooms. Either I have to put up with some miscreant like Nicholas Cox, or my roommate falls in love with me, and you know what happens next. Scenes. Tears. Unreasonable demands like ‘Why can’t you remember my name?’ Besides, it would disrupt my elaborate scheme to kill you and have the only single room in Kings Row. Imagine the trouble I could get into with my own room! I couldn’t let anyone get in the way of that.”
Harvard shrugged comfortably. “Yeah, yeah.”
“You should be on your knees,” said Aiden. “Thanking me. If I wasn’t writing this essay, you’d have to room with Eugene.”