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Ari:
Then, I wish you’d just let me lend you the money you need to pay for the penalty and fight your stepmom.
Ari:
Seriously, you can pay me back little by little.
You know my family can afford it.
Farrow:
I know.
But it’s my journey.
Farrow:
I really appreciate it. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that.
Ari:
Ugh. I hate you.
Farrow:
I love you.
Ari:
Fine.
Ari:
Love you, too.
Farrow:
Say hi to Hae-in for me.
I glanced at the overhead clock suspended above the old blue tiles.
7:02 a.m.
Fuck.
With a huff, I collected my hair into a tight ponytail, gathering it all the way inside my fencing mask.
I double-checked the mirror for flyaways, tucked them each beneath the tongue, and shimmied my gloves on, collecting my gear from the floor.
The hallway had emptied in the past ten minutes. I forced myself to take leisured steps. To decelerate my heart rate.
A uniformed teen pushed open the door for me. I flexed my fingers beneath my gloves, soaking in the scene.
A dozen fencers in full gear danced on pistes planted all over the massive room. Swords clinked in a unique symphony that never failed to send goosebumps down my spine.
A week had passed since our last lesson.
Six days since the soirée.
