“This isn’t street fighting,” I say, watching her shift weight between her feet. “It’s about control. Discipline.” I pause. “I used to think like you.”
“Right. Because you know all about real fights, preppy boy.”
She has no idea how much the fight means to me. How I crave it, every hit and point and chance to break free, to let loose, to lose control and have all that fire and energy centered onto something.
Even though the temper never fades and the touch of skin-to-skin contact is sometimes better than sword-to-sword, fencing is my lifeline. Old memories surface, unwanted but familiar.
“The anger you’re carrying? I recognize it,” I say.
“Sure you do. A trust fund baby with a movie star girlfriend.”
All week I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with Reese. Since the party last Saturday, she’s clicked back into her professionalism. My concern that I showed her too much of myself swells in my chest.
“Get your nose out of my personal life and focus on your form. Why are you here if you won’t take it seriously?”
Em rips off her mask, her saber hitting the ground with theatrical force. “Coach Lev said he could help me get out of this fucking state if I was good enough. Colleges love this fancy shit, apparently.”
“He’s right. I’ve seen plenty get full rides. But you won’t be applying for another year,” I remind her. “You got your sights set on something?”
“Columbia or Princeton.”
“Your grades good enough?”
She rolls her eyes. “Were yours? Oh wait—sorry, you had the big family name to help you get in.”
I realize it then. The bus is her daily transport, not the chauffeured rides I took for granted. Parents remain conspicuously absent from her stories. This place isn’t a choice, it’s her only option.
Coach said she joined the fencing club to have an excuse to hit something. But I’ve seen the way she moves.IfI can get through to her and help her get a scholarship somewhere, it’ll be another thing to add to my list of accomplishments for the disciplinary committee.
“You’ve got real skill,” I admit. “Way beyond most kids your age.”
“Whatever,” she sighs, stretching her arms above her head. The movement yanks the wrist of her jacket down, and a flash catches my eye. A watch—a couple grand on her wrist. Last practice, it was new headphones. I know she doesn’t have a job. There’s only one way she’s getting this stuff.
She’s stealing.
We all have our vices. Makes sense why Coach paired us together.
“You know, I hated fencing at first. When I was your age, I loved getting in trouble. Had nothing to work toward. Sound familiar?” I pause, aware of the weight of what I’m about to say. “The hard truth about the difference between you and me is that my parents could afford private-school solutions.”
“You want me to feel bad that your parents sent you off to some fancy private school?”
“They tried everything else first,” I say, remembering the endless parade of counselors and specialists, each promising answers. “But yeah, eventually. Boarding school became the solution after I got arrested…” I exhale slowly. “The school made me pick a sport. Fencing provided me structure. A way to channel all of this—”
“You got arrested?”Her eyes light up like she’s met a celebrity.
“Saber found me when nothing else could. It’s the rawest form of fencing—pure velocity and aggression compressed into technique. Your entire body becomes a target. Every slash, every movement has to mean something. When you’re carrying that much inside you, Saber teaches you to transform it. Not to extinguish the fire, but to give it purpose.”
“Sounds inspirational, but all we’re doing here are drills.”
“And if you stopped being lazy with your lunges, we’d be able to move on to the piste.”
“And if I don’t want to do stupid lunges? What are you going to do? Kick me out of the program? Pawn me off on someone else?” Her eyes dart between me and her discarded mask. “Like everyone else fucking does.”
Her words linger in the stale gym air.Everyone else fucking does.
It’s true. I could walk away. Ask Coach to give me a new kid to train. One that’s less of a pain in my ass. Let Em think she’s right about everyone bailing.
Yet there’s a crack in her that hits close to home. I’ve bailed on enough obligations to recognize it. Commitments and expectations that felt like they were suffocating me. Running away from shit has always been my go-to, my escape route.
