“I like Eugene,” contributed Harvard.
“More than me?”
“What do you think, idiot?” asked Harvard fondly.
He gave Aiden’s shoulders a last squeeze and let him go. Aiden’s side where Harvard had been was now colder than Aiden preferred. Aiden flicked a last bit of frosting from Harvard Paw’s ear.
“How’s everything at home?”
“Good,” said Harvard. “Mom’s setting me up on a date.”
That surprised an uneasy laugh out of Aiden. “What put that wild idea into her head? Don’t worry, I’ll handle—”
“I put the idea into her head,” Harvard said mildly. “Coach suggested I should try dating.”
Wow—how was Harvard dating in any way relevant to team bonding? This was nonsense. It was beginning to seem more and more as if Coach Williams was on a campaign to ruin Aiden’s life! What had Aiden ever done to her, other than add a touch of class to the fencing team and, admittedly, never show up for matches?
Ruining Aiden’s life still seemed like an overreaction.
“I’ll talk to Coach,” Aiden suggested. “This lunacy can’t continue. She’s high on victory and maybe paint fumes.”
“Aiden,” said Harvard. “I want to.”
Since when?
Harvard had never been interested in dating before. Aiden should know. He’d been there the whole time.
Every year, when they were younger, Aiden used to timidly proffer a Valentine’s Day card. Every year, his heart pounding so hard he thought his ribs would be smashed to dust, he’d think this time Harvard would understand. Harvard had always put his arm around Aiden’s neck and said, “Aw, thanks, buddy.” Harvard had never talked about wanting to date anybody.
To this day, Aiden got rid of Harvard’s other valentines. Harvard didn’t want to be bothered with valentines. His mind was on schoolwork and friendship and family and fencing. Aiden was doing him a favor.
And Aiden was doing himself a favor, putting those days of hope and humiliation far behind them.
Very occasionally, Aiden thought about maybe trying something, hinting, seeing if Harvard might be open to the possibility of dating. Every time, he remembered how he used to act around Harvard, and he wished to die of shame.
He couldn’t endure ever being that pathetically transparent again. Bad enough that Coach knew and could use that knowledge anytime she wanted.
Only now, everything Aiden was certain of had turned out to be wrong.
“You on a date.” Aiden tried to put the words together in a way that wasn’t horrifying. “You dating.”
“Yeah, dating. The thing you do practically every night?” Harvard reminded him.
Obviously, Aiden had to clarify his meaning.
“You’re going on a date?”
“Yeah, I am,” Harvard said, with uncharacteristic sharpness. “You’re not the only one who gets to date, Aiden!”
Aiden shook his head, lost for words. Harvard had stranded them both in unfamiliar territory. Aiden was always the one with sharp retorts. Harvard never got impatient with Aiden.
“Mom says this girl is really nice,” Harvard added.
“A girl?” Aiden said. “Oh.”
He’d thought… no. Obviously not. That had just been Aiden, seeing what he wanted to see. Harvard had never shown interest in anyone, because he was sensible and waiting until he felt ready to date.
Which, apparently, he did now.
Harvard was beginning to look suspicious. “Why are you being weird about this?”
“No reason!” Aiden responded, fast as a snake. “Just surprised! Aw, my little Harvard. They grow up so fast. I’m tired of trying to write my essay. What do you say you and I go have a practice bout?”
He patted Harvard’s head, the texture of Harvard’s close-cropped hair pleasantly soft under his palm. Then Aiden stepped back and put down his bear.
Harvard agreed with gratified surprise, as Aiden had known he would. Usually, Harvard was the one who had to bug Aiden to practice. It wasn’t that Aiden didn’t want to fence, but he liked when Harvard fussed.
They ran together down the broad back staircases, past the study halls that Aiden, for one, never entered, then across the evening-gray lawn toward the salle. It was dark and echoing in the gym before Harvard flipped on the lights and the floor stretched out in front of them, suddenly golden wood rather than shadows. Aiden put on his fencing mask with some relief, protected from the world and Harvard’s gaze by the beehive mesh of metal. They lowered and extended their blades, mirroring each other’s movements.
After that, Aiden broke pattern and twirled his épée, playing around. He caught the flash of Harvard’s white teeth through the mesh of his own mask. Harvard let the weight of the world rest on his shoulders. It was Aiden’s job to help him have some fun.
Harvard dipped the point of his blade twice, inviting attack, but Aiden didn’t take the bait, so Harvard moved back a little.
Aiden followed, beginning to step. In that split second of opening, Harvard’s épée flashed suddenly into attack.
It was so unexpected, Aiden wavered and let his point drop slightly as his grip on his épée went unsteady.
“Arrêt,” Harvard murmured instantly. “What was that? Have you hurt yourself?”
“I was just thinking about writing my essay,” Aiden admitted. “I think I’m allergic to doing things I don’t want to do.”
Arrêt. The term meant stop, putting an end to any fencing bout. Harvard always said it, never seemed to feel embarrassed about his ready surrender. He would always surrender rather than risk hurting Aiden.
Harvard wouldn’t give up in a real match—that would be letting down the team. But whenever they were practicing, all Aiden had to do was show a moment of vulnerability and Harvard would throw down both his weapon and his guard, unconcerned with protecting himself. Only concerned with Aiden.
That was just who Harvard was. That was why he was the only person Aiden was close to. He could allow Harvard within striking distance, because Harvard would never hurt anybody.
All those years ago, little-kid Harvard had felt sorry for little-kid Aiden. That was understandable. Little-kid Aiden was a sorry specimen. Harvard had never got out of the habit of feeling bad for him. If Aiden—his best friend—asked Harvard not to go out on a date with some random girl, Harvard wouldn’t do it.
Only Aiden couldn’t ask him.
If this was something Harvard actually wanted, something that would make him happy, Aiden couldn’t stand in the way.
There was a Greek legend about a hooded figure named Nemesis that pursued a man, slowly but surely coming closer to him. When Nemesis reached him, he would be destroyed. Aiden had always been uneasily aware of the shadow of the future, coming for him. They couldn’t always live together at Kings Row. They wouldn’t always be on the same fencing team.
One day, Harvard would leave. Like everybody else.
Aiden had been living on borrowed time for more than half his life. The most he could hope for was that someone would call a brief halt to inexorable progress, and he could avoid being hurt for a little longer.
“Are you really going on a date?” Aiden asked as casually as possible. Still hoping against hope that this might be a joke.