We reset to the garde lines. Raise our blades.
Then I lower mine.
“You okay?”
Cal breaks, adjusts his glove. “I’m fine.” He goes en garde again, slaps his thigh to signal start.
“Tournament?” I ask, taking two quick advances that Cal matches with retreats. “You nervous?”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll be fine,” I reassure him. He really will. The Candlemas Invitational is honestly the easiest matchup on our schedule. Caliburn hosts, two other schools come and do theirbest…but usually lose. This year it’s Mountstuart College and Villa Loyola, neither one a particular threat, especially if you’re me, the alternate, and therefore extraordinarily unlikely to do anything during the tournament itself. At least we get to do to the formal dinner this time, since it’s sort of religious in nature, although I can’t remember exactly what it celebrates. We’re probably notsupposedto stay for the dancing part afterwards, but no one’s ever really stopped us, so.
Cal half-retreats, sword arm raised, and I seize the opening, lunging forward to bury my bladepoint in the crook of his elbow.
Bzzt.Green light.
I straighten up and search his face. “Hey, look alive.” I give my hand a little wave between us. “You practically stood still and let me run at you.”
Cal shakes his head. “Moving kind of slowly. I didn’t really sleep,” he points out.
Oh. Right. He took the night shift.
With Gwenna.
“Yeah,” I say to Cal. “Right. How’d that…go for you?”
You probably didn’t blurt out anything life-alteringly embarrassing, I’m guessing.
She hates us. It is so, so apparent. She didn’t say as much, but I could feel it coming off of her those whole six hours. The whole time I wanted so desperately to explain, while simultaneously knowing nothing I could tell her would really make anything any better.
For his part, Cal shrugs. He feints left, then dives into a lunge at my right thigh that I parry cleanly, and doesn’t retreat in time to avoid my riposte.
Bzzt.
I look up at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“What?”
Cal shakes his head. “Nothing.”
He’s a terrible liar. Always has been. His face gets that flush—bright red patches on both cheeks. Same as when he…
Anyway.
“What?” I insist, and lunge at his foot. He retreats, just in time.
Then he clears his throat, and focuses his eyes on where the foibles of our blades just barely cross. When he does speak, it’s so soft I can barely make out the words.
“Sorry?” I say
“I said I saw her in the shower,” Cal says, a touch louder.
“What?” I stop dead in my tracks, which gives Cal the opportunity to lunge forward and bend his blade dead center in my chest.
Bzzt. The red light flicks on this time. Cal retreats and resets to the en garde line, but I don’t.
“In the shower?” I repeat. “Like…naked?”
