13 HARVARD

Coach Arquette showed Harvard to a quaint cottage that Harvard’s mom would’ve called a bijou belle demeure, then left him on the doorstep while she showed Nicholas and Seiji to their room. Dying roses twined up the crumbling stone cottage, nestled in among the trees. Harvard headed down a narrow hall, walking softly on the uneven flagstones of the floor so as not to disturb anyone sleeping, and trying not to wonder where Aiden had disappeared to.

He and Aiden were going to be sharing a room here. The thought made Harvard’s stomach shift, a thrilled and uncomfortable flutter wanting to be born there. Harvard told himself he was being ridiculous. He’d had sleepovers with Aiden a thousand times. He and Aiden had been sharing a room for their entire school life. This couldn’t be any different. He wouldn’t let it be different.

Coach Arquette had said their room was upstairs on the right. Harvard went up a narrow stone staircase with a very strange picture halfway up that portrayed several cats, several nuns, and a swing. Upstairs was a whitewashed hall with a tapestry on the farthest wall. One of the heavy oak-and-metal doors was open, and someone was hanging off the iron ring that was the door handle, a grin plastered all over his face.

A revelation came to Harvard, bright as the stars in the night sky over Menton. He’d forgotten Kings Row and Exton weren’t the only Americans at Camp Menton. MLC was here as well.

Here was Arune Singh, his old friend from elementary school. They’d reconnected at the match between MLC and Kings Row and had been texting since then. Mostly memes, but friendly ones. Arune hadn’t begrudged Kings Row their victory against his school. Arune was like that: a good sport and a better friend.

“Arune,” breathed Harvard, and threw himself into his arms for a bro hug. Arune returned the bro hug with enthusiasm.

“Hey there, Harvard. Great to see you, too. Where’s the pip-squeak?”

“Uh…,” said Harvard.

It had been a while since Arune had seen Aiden. Back when Aiden was ten, he was still kind of short and slight and shy and didn’t get as much attention as he did now. He’d always had Harvard’s attention, of course. Harvard had never seen Aiden growing up as Aiden changing, but instead as the world reacting to Aiden correctly at last. The world was finally giving Aiden his due.

Still, he knew Arune would be surprised when he saw Aiden. And for the first time in his life, Harvard wished that he and Aiden weren’t sharing a room.

Aiden had made it so clear that he had far better things to do than hang out with Harvard.

“You know what? I’m beat. Let’s catch up tomorrow, Arune, okay?” said Harvard. “And let’s train together. I’ll show you some moves.”

“Maybe I’ll show you some of my own,” said Arune. “Can’t wait.”

They fist-bumped, and Harvard went into his room. It was nice, far bigger than the room he and Aiden shared back at Kings Row, with a pitched ceiling and rafters high above Harvard’s head. There was a dried sprig of lavender, tied with twine, hanging in the casement window. And there were two narrow white beds with intricate iron headboards pretty close together.

On instinct, Harvard crossed the room and began to push the two beds together, the way he always would have before. Then he realized what he was doing, bit his lip hard, and began to hastily move the beds farther apart.

“Great idea,” Aiden said from the doorway, and Harvard started.

Aiden’s hair and face were wet, as though he’d been splashing water on them. His eyes were wide open and poison green.

“Let me help,” Aiden continued, and shoved the other bed against the farthest wall, into the darkest corner of the room. “Much better.”

“There’s no need to be childish,” Harvard told him.

Since Aiden had done it first, Harvard pushed his own bed against the opposite wall. That way, at least they were even.

“If you’d rather be farther apart, I’m sure you could share with Arune,” Aiden bit out. “Saw that touching reunion in the hallway.”

“There’s no talking to you at all,” Harvard said, exhausted. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Aiden agreed in a silky voice.

Aiden hadn’t spent the night in his and Harvard’s dorm since the night they kissed and Harvard had said he wanted it to go further before realizing they had to stop their charade. No doubt Aiden had been avoiding the awkwardness. Now the awkwardness was here in France.

Worse than feeling awkward, Harvard also felt so guity.

Normally, they would have pushed the beds together. Harvard would have invited Aiden onto his bed, or Aiden would have simply crawled onto Harvard’s blankets, smug and as certain of his welcome as a much-beloved cat. They would have spent their first night in Camp Menton talking until dawn lit a path over the sea, Aiden making mean jokes that Harvard laughed at and sharp observations that Harvard used to navigate the world. Aiden would have said Harvard was a great captain, and, with Aiden beside him, Harvard could have believed it was true. In the mornings, Harvard used to coax Aiden awake. Aiden always wanted to cuddle closer and sleep in.

Harvard sighed and unzipped his suitcase, then glanced over his shoulder and caught Aiden stripping his shirt off, a bar of moonlight across the arched line of Aiden’s back. Harvard looked away fast.

They couldn’t pull the covers over their heads and talk the night away, forgetting everybody else in the world. If they were under the covers, close and warm, it would be far worse than Aiden sleeping nestled against him on the plane. Now only a glimpse of Aiden by moonlight made vivid memory flash inescapably across Harvard’s brain, Aiden’s hair loose on a white pillow, every treacherous instinct in Harvard’s body forgetting reason and only understanding desire. There had been no doubt in Harvard’s mind what he’d wanted when Aiden asked if he was sure. His whole body had said: Yes, I want to; yes, I want everything.

He still wanted.

That was awful of him, Harvard thought miserably. Maybe it was creepy, even, to stay near Aiden when he felt that way. But they were best friends: What else was he supposed to do?

Even the bright moment of recognizing a familiar face in a new place felt spoiled somehow, turned bitter by Aiden’s acid tongue. If things were different, Harvard wouldn’t have been so delighted to see Arune. Harvard was secure in possession of a best friend; Aiden so supremely the best Harvard didn’t truly need any others. That was how it had always been.

At least it was before Harvard ruined everything between them. He’d tried to fix things, the day after that night. He’d promised that he and Aiden would be friends as they always had been, that friendship was what he wanted. He’d done what he had to do to fix them, the unit that was Harvard-and-Aiden, the most important relationship in Harvard’s life.

Only they were still broken.

Harvard slept uneasily that first night in France, with the moon’s rays searchlight bright in his eyes, and when he dreamed, he dreamed that he was hiding and didn’t want to be found out.

When he woke, Aiden’s bed was empty. He got out of bed, forcing himself to smile and remembering his promise with Arune. Even if Aiden didn’t think Harvard was worth hanging out with anymore, someone else did.

He made his way down a narrow path toward the orchard dining area. In Menton, on the border of Italy and in a pocket of ultra-Mediterranean sunshine between the mountains and the sea, the weather was almost always gorgeous.

Arune was at a table crowded with MLC students and their friends, and he waved Harvard over and introduced him to everyone. They seemed like great guys and girls. A couple were Italian, so Harvard tried out his few sentences of lousy Italian and laughed as a girl named Chiara taught him how to pronounce the words correctly.

Then Chiara’s face slackened in awe, as though she’d suddenly experienced transcendence.

Said transcendence was Aiden, moving gracefully around the picnic tables toward them. Harvard willed himself to look away. Everybody in the orchard watched as Aiden went by. Harvard had promised himself that he wouldn’t be just like everybody else. He failed to look away, all the same.

For a moment, with the shadow of leaves, he thought Aiden looked sad, and Harvard’s heart clenched, feeling for an instant as though they were back in elementary school, when Aiden was so much smaller and Harvard always wanted to protect him. Aiden, has something made you unhappy?

Then Aiden reached their table. Sunlight poured gold onto his face and his hair, and it was clear there was nothing wrong with him at all.

“Well, whoa,” said Arune. “Harvard wasn’t kidding when he said you’d changed at our match together. This is a glow up like a supernova. Hey, Aiden. Nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

Aiden arched an eyebrow and regarded Arune without speaking. The whole table hushed as they waited for a reply that clearly wasn’t coming.

Harvard dropped a pebble of conversation into the pool of awkward silence: “You remember Arune? From elementary school.”

“Oh, right, Armand,” drawled Aiden.

Aiden was often carelessly rude to people, while Harvard felt he should be carefully polite. Harvard didn’t approve of Aiden’s behavior or anything, but often it made him smile and relax a little.

Harvard didn’t feel like smiling or relaxing now. No matter how often Harvard told himself that this was normal, that nothing had changed, he wasn’t sure he believed it.