11 AIDEN

In the dream, he was warm and happy. At first, Harvard’s voice seemed a natural part of the dream: Of course he was there. Hearing him tell a story was how Aiden slept best.

Then Aiden felt Harvard’s breath halt and his shoulder stiffen under his cheek. Ah, of course. Harvard must feel terribly uncomfortable snuggling with his buddy. Since that was all they were to each other. Obviously, Aiden had totally embarrassed them both, and shamed himself, by cuddling up to Harvard in his sleep.

He was tempted to feign slumber for an instant longer, hold on to that feeling of peace and not let go, but since that was pathetic Aiden pretended to stir awake. He pulled away from his best friend’s body, barely taking a moment to shoot Harvard a tight-lipped smile. Harvard immediately glanced away, avoiding his gaze.

Aiden’s chest tightened. So be it. It was better to just pretend nothing had happened, as if the position they were in was perfectly normal. As soon as the plane shuddered to a halt, Aiden jumped out of his seat so that he could get out of this metal tube and away from Harvard as quickly as he could.

It wasn’t Aiden’s most graceful exit.

Aiden wasn’t great at dealing with rejection. He’d had very little practice, because of being so good-looking. But the plain truth of the matter was that no one but Harvard had been able to hurt him in the past. He’d never loved anyone else.

“It’s good that you got some rest,” Seiji said in his cool, neutral voice as they waited to gather their luggage in the main terminal. “You can’t fence at your usual skill level when not rested. And your usual skill level isn’t that high.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “High enough to beat you that one time, as I recall.”

He’d done so by taunting Seiji about Seiji’s spectacular loss against Jesse Coste. It wasn’t nice of him to remind Seiji of that, but nobody ever said Aiden was nice.

“It won’t happen again,” said Seiji calmly.

Seiji had a chiaroscuro sort of face, to go with his personality. He was a handsome enough kid, Aiden supposed. He was so far from Aiden’s type he resided in a different type galaxy, but little Bobby Rodriguez clearly thought Seiji was the dreamiest. Aiden didn’t see the attraction in severe lines, with no warmth or pity to be found anywhere.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Seiji proceeded. “What Harvard said on the plane was correct. The training at Camp Menton will be rigorous. European fencers tend to be of higher caliber than Americans. I don’t want to be embarrassed for anyone from Kings Row, and your behavior has been embarrassing ever since you and Harvard stopped dating.”

Aiden’s voice almost failed him. “Excuse me?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that conclusions might be drawn about him and Harvard. When Aiden had agreed (far too eagerly) to teach Harvard the ropes of dating, he hadn’t imagined it would cause much comment. After all, Aiden had dated practically every hot guy in school. What was one more date?

Nobody knew that it had never been real. That Harvard would never date Aiden for real.

Clearly, Aiden was so transparent that Seiji Katayama, a guy who probably counted épées to send himself to sleep, knew what was going on.

Seiji’s merciless black eyes searched Aiden’s face, seeing too much again. “I think perhaps I should not have said that. I was thinking about fencing. I didn’t intend to hurt your feeli—”

“My feelings?” Aiden bit out. “Listen up, freshman. I don’t have those. Do you have any idea how many people I’ve dated? And I’ve never cared about any of them.”

Seiji, plainly unable to deal with this situation, looked around for his security idiot, Nicholas Cox. Nicholas and Eugene had gotten their bags first and wandered off while the others waited, only to return a few minutes later holding cardboard cartons of yellow ice cream. Nicholas offered Seiji his wooden spoon, and Seiji made a face.

“That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

Nicholas seemed pleased to have Seiji’s attention.

“Bro, we were looking for you to translate our French, but not to brag, we handled ourselves pretty well French-wise.” Eugene beamed proudly. “I take Spanish for the easy A,” he added.

“The ice cream was free,” said Nicholas, offering it again, as though the information the ice cream hadn’t been paid for would make Seiji think it was more appetizing.

Seiji waved the ice cream away irritably.

“We were slightly worried, since it’s yellow,” said Eugene. “Which, nice color! Cheerful. Good vibes. But I’m allergic to pineapples. So we had to check if it was pineapple flavor. We were like, comment flavor, my French bro?”

“Eugene said that, but I provided moral French support,” supplied Nicholas. “And he said something about perfume? And we were like, we don’t want any perfume. We eventually managed to convince him.”

“Parfum means flavor,” said Seiji.

“Oh,” said Nicholas. “Everything makes sense now. Well, we got the important part. The ice cream is ananas flavor, and ananas was obvious even to me. Banana ice cream! It doesn’t really taste like bananas, but honestly? Neither does banana-flavored gum.”

“Wait. Nicholas.” Seiji frowned.

Nicholas grinned. “Do you want some after all?”

Seiji recoiled from the persistent ice cream offering.

There was an important detail in Nicholas’s chattering, but Aiden couldn’t really hear over the humiliated pounding in his own head. If Seiji knew, then everyone knew. Everyone at Kings Row knew Aiden had feelings for Harvard, and they pitied him.

Thank God they were in France.

The connecting bus wound through narrow roads and chugged up steep hills to drop down into valleys that were dramatic scoops in the green earth. The sun sank lower and lower on the horizon, and Aiden stared out the window as the sunshine went from a blaze to a glow. In France, light lingered on the land with a glittering quality long after American land would have been dark.

Aiden heard Bobby murmuring something about wild debaucheries. He wouldn’t have expected that of Bobby, but wild debaucheries sounded good to Aiden right about now.

The bus was going through the town of Menton, almost at camp. The houses in Menton were as brightly colored as a box of candy, yellow and green and pink. They cast a multihued shimmer on the rippling turquoise waters, colors shifting on the waves like flags in a breeze. Nicholas Cox, who’d clearly been raised by rats in a gutter, had the tip of his nose pressed against the bus window. He seemed totally enraptured, dancing lights reflected in his eyes.

“Seiji, do you see? Seiji, this is so cool!”

Seiji, face impassive, looked at Nicholas.

“Yes,” said Seiji. “I like it, too.”

Nicholas and Seiji made Aiden feel sick. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were so stupid and young, or because they were happy.

Five minutes away from Menton proper lay Camp Menton, a collection of rambling gray stone buildings and more modern houses, built low with their vast windows facing the ocean. The motley assortment of buildings was held together by a ring of lemon trees and a short stone wall.

Ornate gates stood open to welcome them. Beside the gates, there were three people waiting. Aiden recognized one of them, because even though the setting sun reduced everyone to silhouettes, the sight of one silhouette made Seiji flinch.

Jesse Coste.

Seiji and Nicholas no longer seemed happy. Well, being hopeful and young had to end sometime.

“I don’t feel great,” mumbled Eugene as the bus rolled to a halt.

“Join the club,” Aiden snapped.

Harvard helped Aiden get his suitcase out of the baggage hold. The perfect captain and the perfect best friend. “You ready for Camp Menton, buddy?”

Harvard was calling Aiden that a lot lately. He was making himself clear, Aiden supposed. Maybe soon Harvard would take a leaf out of Eugene’s book and start calling Aiden bro.

Aiden gave Harvard a glittering smile. “Sure am. But ask yourself this, pal: Is Camp Menton ready for me?”