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NOEL

It’s quiet when none of my teammates are here to fill the silence with threats and screaming matches.

I’m adjusting my white breeches and making sure my fencing gear is on correctly when I hear the door bang open. I turn and watch as Grady comes stalking in, his black bag high on his back. He notices me and waves cheerfully.

“What’s up, bro? Ready for today?” Grady smiles broadly, and I look away, avoiding his cheery attitude.

“Yeah. You?”

Grady plops down on a bench and removes his shirt. “I’m ready to kick some ass.”

I nod and stare down at my untied shoelaces. I’m not used to talking to my teammates, and Grady can sense my anxiety at making small talk, so he does his own thing and leaves me be.

I lace up my shoes, about ready to head out to the court when the rest of my team joins us all at once, slamming the door open with loud chatter and obnoxious laughs.

Ace and Levi head to their lockers quickly.

Levi looks upset, but that’s normal. In the corner of my vision, I spot Alex coming in last with a glimmer of amusement in his dead eyes.

“There was no reason for you to hit him!” Levi yells angrily, whipping his locker open. “He’s my girlfriend’s brother! What the fuck, Alex?”

Alex pretends to reflect on his answer before responding, “I didn’t like his smug face. Was that not a good enough reason?”

Levi growls, shooting Alex a death glare. “You’re going to end up in jail one day, jackass.”

“Coach, I’m being bullied,” Alex responds impassively. We can all pretty much hear Coach Sarah sigh heavily from inside her office down the hall, past our open locker room door.

I don’t care to listen to them anymore as I make my leave.

Today, our fencing club is having a local competition. Which, if I’m being honest, means it’s not very serious. But my club at school is low on the totem pole because of our ages.

Knight’s Valor Academy fencing club has students classified as either Cadet or Junior, which is based on our “fencing birthday.” The students’ ages range from fifteen to eighteen.

Fencing Divisions are another thing. They’re less about age and more about your ability. There’s also your fencing rating, which represents your skill level. We can earn ratings by competing at competitions. There are five categories of ratings in the US Fencing system: A (the highest), B, C, D, E, and U. U is for Unrated, which is how we all start out. Ratings are written along with the year they were last earned. Three factors go into deciding what ratings can be earned: the total number of fencers, the number of already rated fencers, and how well those rated fencers place, and all of that is during a competition.

So yeah, there’s a lot to the sport.

Coach Sarah teaches foil fencing, although there’s two other options: epee and saber.

I quickly grab my lamé and walk off, seeing the rest of the team on the massive court. It’s done up with large mats for the bouts. We’re using the basketball stadium since it’s bigger and can fit more people than our fencing room.

I turn around and spot a flock of people surrounding Alex since he’s come out of the locker room. A few girls in their uniforms fawn over him, and he regards them coolly, without giving them much of his attention. The fencing club has garnered a lot of attention since he joined, and because the event is open to the school to come watch, all the students are here. Basketball players, lacrosse players, football players—it’s packed.

Alex says a few words in reply, but otherwise it’s mostly one-sided. He doesn’t even smile. It’s a detached demeanor today. He’s not like that often; bored with a sprinkle of annoyance, unapologetically honest, telling people to fuck off while waving a hand in dismissal when he doesn’t feel like talking.

Most days he’s all smiles and sarcastic jabs. He’s like that a lot with me, specifically. Overly friendly and playful in that weird way he does where it sounds like he’s joking, but I can’t ever be sure.

I watch him put one glove on his dominant hand effortlessly and meticulously, gliding each finger through the holes in some sensual display that has the women drooling. I also find myself transfixed by the simple act, but I shake my head and practice lunging forward in my area of the mat that’s secluded from the others competing today while I wait for the rest of the team to arrive on the mats.

I can see my mom sitting off in the stands chatting with the other parents, excited because it’s her first time seeing me around my teammates.

Mom gives me a wave when she spots me, and I smile, waving back.

A loud giggle from a girl across the room has me shooting my gaze right back to Alex, and my mind pathetically wanders back to us at thirteen.

He catches me looking at him, and my heart sinks while I avert my gaze from those dangerous, sharp blue eyes.

“Stop thinking about him ,” I mumble, shaking my head and disregarding thoughts of him yet again. It’s been a rough time having him back when he doesn’t fucking remember me.

I distract myself by watching my classmates fill the basketball stadium; the sounds of people chatting are getting louder by the minute. The announcer speaks over the mic that we’ll be starting in ten minutes time.

“Noel! What’s up?” Someone yells, and I turn to find Ace, a tiny, loud teammate of mine. He laughs and pushes my shoulder lightly. “You’re always so stiff. Lighten up.” He pushes my shoulder in a gesture of good will.

“I’m fine. Just practicing.”

“You’ll do great! Are you nervous?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He looks down at his black shoes with green laces. Ace is always friendly, talking to me during our practices or sitting beside me at lunch when I’m alone. I can’t say I contribute much to the conversation, though. He’s peppy, with lots of energy to expel. And he’s kind, with an optimistic outlook on everything. I try to be nice, but I really just want to be left alone.

“Um. So anyway, I didn’t think anyone had mentioned it to you already, so I wanted to officially invite you to hang out with us next weekend. Us, as in me, Levi, and Grady. The senior crew. And, uh… Alex, too. I noticed you both sort of, like, hate one another? Well, you more than him, but it makes sense.” He chuckles lightly.

Right. Of course they can see the animosity. It’s not the first time Ace has tried to get me to hang out with him. He invites me to places all the time. I’ve never accepted an invite, though.

“Alex is a dick on a good day and a mega asshole on a bad day, so I get it.”

I’ve noticed Alex getting closer to them, talking to them during fencing club, and probably going to the parties that everyone at this school goes to. Ace has been trying to get me to join for so long, it’s like second nature to turn him down with a ‘ no thanks’.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I just want to hang out and get to know you better.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “I want to be friends. It’s our last year, and we should do things as a team, ya know?”

I squinted, trying to understand why. “Uh-huh. Right.”

“So, what do you say? Wanna come?”

“To what?”

“A house party.”

“No, thanks.”

“Aww, c’mon, Noel! You’ve been the loner Knight for far too long! Pleeeease,” he drags the desperate plea out. Ace puts his hands together as if to beg, wearing an amused expression. “Pretty please?”

Just then the announcer welcomes everyone, and our coach snaps her fingers at our group to get our attention.

“We’ll chat later,” Ace whispers, poking me in the side. We head to the sidelines of the court to wait for our names to be called. Coach goes over the list of our bouts.

“Noel, you’re up against Masen first,” Coach says, looking over the pools. Pool matchups are based on your “initial seeding,” or how you’re ranked in relation to the other fencers. I nod, popping in my soft earplugs that help to block out unnecessary noise. All the background chatter that distracts me. It only muffles it, but it helps me to focus.

For the next hour, I work through my teammates. I win some and lose some with no change in my attitude. Buzzing goes off around me, muffled shouts, and the clank of foils hitting together fills the room.

And then it is time for my bout with Alex.

I’m buzzing with renewed energy and a drive to beat him. I make my way to the strip, putting my mask back on. I check that my body cord is out of my glove, plugging the cord into the sword’s socket. Fencing uses an electric scoring system, which means I have to be plugged into the box that lights up our points. My cord is then clipped onto my lame’. I grab the reel cord that’s set up by the wall and insert my own, attaching the clip to the back of my D ring. Gripping my foil tightly in my gloved fist, I exhale with a burst of nervous energy as Alex saunters over sans his headgear and smirks at me with a playful attitude.

“Put your mask on already; we’re about to start,” I say forcefully, whispering so no one can hear me. He simply looks me up and down, taking in my attire—that’s exactly the same as his—and tilts his head.

“So angry. Use it to fuel this cute rivalry you’ve made up in your head and beat me, okay?” His playful attitude in contrast to his blank face has me clenching my stomach. I scold myself for my strange reaction. He puts his mask on and inspects his own foil, holding it with practiced ease. He attaches all his cords with quick efficiency.

“I am going to beat you.”

He inspects his foil with a bored stance. “You

think so?”

“Don’t be so cocky.”

“It comes so naturally though.”

“Because you’re an asshole,” I mutter.

“Up next we have Alex Madison vs Noel Hale,” the referee calls out and we listen for the words that will start the bout. The crowd in the stands cheers, but I have no idea if they’re cheering for other fencers or for us.

There are other bouts happening right now, but I don’t pay any mind to them. I’m in the zone, ready to win.

“En Garde,” our referee starts, and we both take our official stance on the line of the strip. We salute to one another using our foils and then to the announcer.

“Ready?” He pauses dramatically. “Fence!”

Alex flies forward blindingly fast as he attacks first, lunging at me with his foil. I parry his attack, attempting a riposte.

We engage in a series of moves: advances, parries, and attacks. It all happens very quickly. When I move forward, he shifts back, our legwork a dance in itself. Both our foils make contact with each other’s torso seemingly at the same time, and we hear buzzing. The box lights up red and green, and the referee halts us as we wait for them to tell us who has right of way, even though we both know it’s Alex. The referee says it’s Alex, and he’s rewarded with the point since Alex was attacking at the time the touch was made.

I exhale roughly under my mask. Our little tournament today consists of a nine-minute bout that’s split into three periods of three minutes, but it’s more about points needed to win rather than time given, so it’s rare for all three bouts to happen. A winner usually gets fifteen points/touches well before then.

The first period is up quickly, and we take a moment to gather ourselves. Alex happens to score five points, lighting up the score machine, while mine is two. I shake my arm that’s gripping my foil, releasing a deep breath. We have one minute until we start again.

“Hey, feisty boy, I thought you said you were going to beat me?” He taunts, and I turn my head towards him to watch his easy-going body language. “Your lunging is fucking awful. Positions suck too.” Even though we have on mesh face masks, I know he’s smiling. I ignore him. If our referee heard him speak this way to me, he’d get into serious trouble for unsportsmanlike conduct. Not like Alex would give a shit though.

In no time at all we’re back to fencing, and I advance on him, beating his foil with my own a little more aggressively than usual, trying my best as we clash, both our bodies straining to score a point.

We break again.

“My lunge is fine. It’s you who needs work, especially on that attitude.”

He laughs, and we’re back in en garde position at our mark line. I land a hit with my foil, lighting up the box again, but this time it’s me gaining a point. He falters.

“Halt!” the announcer calls out when the box lights up and a point is given. The announcer calls out a halt every time a point is landed. We go back into en garde position.

I attack first, and he parries, but I quickly gain another point when the tip of my foil meets his torso, bending the foil in an arch. I recover quickly, going back into en garde position.

“What are you doing?” I ask loudly.

“Baking a cake.” His face mask tilts to the left. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re being sloppy.”

I can hear his giggle of laughter over the other fencers around us, the buzzing of machines, and the sound of metal hitting metal. “And you’re just as charming as ever, stargazer.” Condescension drips from his smirking mouth like melting chocolate on a summer day. I can’t see his face to prove it, but I know he is. Smirking. Looking down on me. He’s used to spewing hate while making it sound like a compliment. Alex is full of talent that way.

He scores more points before our next break. I watch Alex standing still, gazing off to the side of the room like he’s deep in thought. To anyone else, he just looks bored. But I see it. Something is bothering him today. He’s still beating me, but his head isn’t in the game. He’d usually already have fifteen points by now. He’s my competition, and I need him at his very best so I can see him lose properly, while knowing we both fenced our asses off. I don’t necessarily want to be smug about winning, but it would take away some of the anger I feel towards him. Probably.

However, I lose miserably.

The score is fifteen-six.

Alex wins again.