The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 (6 page)

“Point Tina,” Mr. Whitmann said with a whistle. “Mmm-hmmm. That was a fine attack.”

“Come on, Gregg!” said one of the boys. “Don’t go down like a sissy!”

Gregg attacked before Mr. Whitmann could even say “En guard,” sending Tina tumbling back as she tried to parry his wild stabbing motions. She tripped on her feet and fell right on her butt, much to the consternation of her classmates.

“No point,” Mr. Whitmann announced. “No touch.” He held out a hand to Tina. “Come on, girl. You’ve got this.”

Tina let him pull her up. She got into position again, holding out her foil.

“Now let me clear the mat this time,” Mr. Whitmann snapped at Gregg, waddling away from the two white-clad warriors. “En guard!”

They went at each other again. The boys were cheering for Gregg so I cheered louder for Tina. Edward joined in, encouraging Tina with a humorous chant. First one stabbed while the other parried, and then the dancers switched positions. Their foils clicked together again and again and again. The more Tina parried, the harder Gregg’s thrusts became. He was getting upset. Anxious. He’d begun trying to adjust his motions so Tina couldn’t stab at his left side again. Now was the perfect time to strike.

“Go right!” I called out. “Tina, go right!”

Tina did so, narrowly missing Gregg’s stab. She parried his foil, then quickly stabbed at his ribs.

I cheered. The boys laughed. “Winner!” Mr. Whitmann announced, grabbing Tina’s free hand. Gregg took of his mask and threw it on the ground.

“Part of earning a good grade,” Mr. Whitmann said, “is understanding how to lose. Gregg, you just failed that part of the class. Pick up the mask.”

There were more catcalls from the boys as Gregg sulked his way over toward Edward to pick up the mask, which had rolled to the edge of the mat. Mr. Whitmann was still holding Tina’s arm up. “The other part of earning a good grade is showing improvement,” he said. “And Tina aced that one.”

Edward and I cheered. The other boys clapped quietly.

“Next up is Edward and Alice,” Mr. Whitmann announced.

My heart sank. Oh no, I thought. Not him. Not now, while I was in this crazy mood. We hadn’t sparred since the first class, back when we’d only been dating for a few months, back when I still got butterflies in my stomach every time I saw him. Back when I thought he was the boy of my dreams. I still felt that way though … didn’t I?

He was still
glowing
.

“Same bet?” he asked me with a smile, grabbing the mask from Gregg.

I took Tina’s mask, smiling at her as she sat down beside me and wiped the sweat from her brow. “No,” I said.

“Last time we sparred, you won.”

I stood up, pulling my red glove tight before picking up my foil. “Last time, you let me win.”

“This time I won’t be so kind,” he said, following me to the mat. Maybe it was just my imagination—maybe it was the same craziness that was causing him to
glow
—but I could have sworn I heard something sinister in his voice.

We took our places. Through the mesh of the mask, I studied Edward’s posture. He carried himself with grace. His long legs bent at the knees like a panther ready to pounce. I looked down. The glowing trail had followed him to the mat.

“En guard!” Mr. Whitmann cried out. Immediately Edward lunged forward, stabbing at me with precise movements. I parried, stepping back, trying to read his shoulders to see where he would strike next. He hid his next move, stepping forward, stepping back, shifting his posture ever so slightly so when I began attacking I was immediately off-balance and had to adjust my weight.

The tip of his foil came at me again and again and I parried as best I could. His movements began to blur together in my vision. Then I felt it: the tip pressed against my chest.

“Point for Edward,” Mr. Whitmann announced.

The boys cheered. “Regain our honor, dude!” one of them cried out.

“You can do it, Alice!” Tina said.

“En guard!” came Mr. Whitmann’s war cry once again.

I stepped forward, trying to take the offensive, but Edward slipped by, side-stepping his way around the mat as he parried my blows. The boys made a unanimous “Oooooooh” sound through pursed lips. No one side-stepped. We hadn’t been taught that. He was using the entire mat.

“No fair,” I muttered through the black mesh, trying my best to turn my feet while still keeping pressure on him. Even if he didn’t parry my attacks at all, the tip of my foil wouldn’t touch his jacket. He was moving too quickly, too fluidly, his legs carefully following a complex dance routine that only he knew.

We made a complete circle. I shouted in frustration, trying once more to press the attack. My shoulder was becoming sore. I could feel my lungs aching. I could smell my peppermint-scented breath inside the mask.

Then he attacked again. Suddenly, my weight was back on my heels. I parried as hard as I could, angrily deflecting each precise stab.

“Fight back!” Tina shouted.

“Get her!” the boys responded.

I took another step back and felt the ground give way as my foot slipped off the mat. I fell backward, landing gracelessly on the weight room’s carpeted floor. Right on my butt.

“Ring out,” Mr. Whitmann said. “Point to Edward.” He took off his mask, the usual stern expression replaced by surprise. “Excellent job. The both of you.”

Edward took off his mask, smiling. The glow was still there, just underneath his skin.

We took Seth and Tricia home once again, only this time I was in the front seat. I’d made a deliberate point of looking over my shoulder on the way out of school, curious to see if the trail would follow us. It did. More specifically, it followed Edward.

Now, it was following us behind the car. And my stomach felt worse.

“I can’t believe the literature test Mr. David gave us,” Tricia said from the back seat. “I’m so glad I don’t have to see that scumbucket for three months. Seriously? Who the hell memorizes every single character from
A Tale of Two Cities?”

“It’s a good book,” I said to her. “Did you actually read it?”

Tricia, ever the cosmopolitan, shook her head as she responded to an incoming text message on her phone. “Well, a little.”

“It’s really a good book.”

“She’s right,” said Edward. “If you get halfway through, you’ll want to finish the rest in one sitting.”

“I doubt that,” Tricia muttered.

“Does it come in text form?” Seth asked, laughing. “Because then Trish could definitely finish it.”

I laughed. “I’ll text her one line at a time.”

Trish looked up from her phone, glaring at us. “Please do
not
.”

“All right, kids,” Edward said. “Let’s take it easy.”

“Right, right,” Seth said. I felt his leg press up against the back of my seat. “Are you guys going to Bruiser’s party this weekend?”

Edward shrugged. “He does throw fun parties. It’s up to Alice.”

“I start my volunteering for real tomorrow,” I said. “I’m not up to it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” Tricia said. She put her phone in her purse. “Some of the people there don’t drink.”

“Yeah but they’re kinda losers,” Seth added.

Tricia slapped him on the arm. “Don’t call Alice a loser.”

“I didn’t!” he said. “I just pointed out a shared quality among those who refuse to indulge in libations.”

“Since when are you all wordy?” Tricia asked with a frown.

“Hey, I’m going to college in another year. I gotta start faking it now.”

“Have you applied anywhere, Edward?” Tricia asked.

He shook his head, turning into the subdivision I shared with Seth. “Hasn’t really occurred to me just yet.”

“Come to Grant College,” Seth told him. “That’s where me and Alice are going for sure. It’s perfect. It’s out in New York, so you’re away from family. But it’s still a short flight home, too. Plus it’s New York.”

“Alice is too smart for Grant College,” Tricia said. “She’ll go to NYU with me.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t know …”

“Grant College is fine,” Seth said defensively. “Lots of smart people go there.”

“No,” Tricia said. “No they don’t, dear.”

“Grant College has a pretty campus,” I said. “I like that.”

“No,” Tricia said. “You’re
not
going there.”

“We’ll see.”

Edward parked at Seth’s house. “Off you go.”

I turned and gave them a wave goodbye. Seth looked dour. He
wanted
to go to Grant College. He wanted to go to a lot of colleges, but Grant was the only one he’d be able to get into.

“They’re going to be in a fight all weekend,” Edward said. His hand found my leg and began rubbing it. I could feel the strange golden heat emanating from the tips of his fingers. Stop it, I told myself—just enjoy the moment.

“Why do they have to do that?” I asked. “They always press each other’s buttons. It’s like they like it or something.”

“Relationships require work,” Edward said simply.

I turned to him. “Why doesn’t ours?”

He smiled, rubbing his hand up my leg. “Because what we have is perfect.”

I crossed my legs before he could get to my waist. “I have to go home today.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“For what?” I asked.

“For beating you at fencing.”

“What?” Yes! “No. No! Not that mad, at least. More mad at myself than anything.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Edward said. “I used to take it up as a hobby back when I was a young angst-filled boy.”

“When was this?” I asked. “You’re only eighteen.”

He smiled. “Listen. Forget all that. Are you
sure
you don’t want to come over tonight?”

“Definitely. Yup. I have to get to the library early tomorrow.”

“The library,” he muttered, pulling his hand away. “The library. I have a feeling that’s going to take up a lot of your time this summer.”

I suddenly felt guilty. Here I was, going crazy, and I’d completely forgotten about Edward’s feelings! Looking back, I could have killed myself. “Look,” I said, turning to him. “I promise we’ll get together tomorrow night.”

“The track boys are putting together an end-of-the-semester party on the beach, remember? We’re invited.”

“
You
are or
we
are?” I asked.

He smiled. “It doesn’t matter, darling.” His soft fingers caressed my cheek. “Stay the night tomorrow. Tell your mother you’re staying over at Tricia’s.”

“Maybe,” I said.

He took a deep breath and sighed, pulling out of the driveway.

“Don’t be annoyed,” I told him. “Please. I’m just … a little frazzled, that’s all.”

Edward was silent a moment, weaving the car around the twisting road that led to the other side of the little subdivision. “I can wait,” he said finally. “I can be as patient as you need me to. But I feel like this is right. Don’t you?”

I didn’t know. I mumbled a less-than-encouraging “Yes.”

My house was coming up on the right. I unbuckled, anxious to escape the car. I felt like I was completely losing it now. I knew for a fact that if I turned and looked out the rear window, that same glowing trail would be sitting on the road, leading back from Seth’s house. So what did all this mean?

“Should I pick you up tomorrow evening?” he asked, pulling into the empty driveway.

“Sure. Yes.” I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He returned the gesture, opening his mouth. When our tongues touched, I didn’t get that warm tingly feeling that I usually got—and that was an understatement. “Morbid disgust” would be more precise … it took every ounce of control to keep from throwing up in his car. What the heck was going on?

“What’s wrong?” Edward asked.

“I just don’t feel well,” I told him quickly. “It’s a girl thing.”

He nodded. “Do you want me to run to the store and get you anything?”

“No. No. That’s so sweet, but I’m OK. I’ll be ready tomorrow by six.”

“Six-thirty,” he said. “Good?”

“Good.” I leaned over and forced myself to kiss him once more. Quickly. No tongue. Get a hold of yourself, Alice. Guys like this
never
come along.

Inside the house, I locked the door, watching him pull away from the driveway through the little diamond-shaped window in the door. It was a nice car. He didn’t act spoiled, though. I think that probably would have turned me off a little early on in the relationship. I like to think that now, at least. Maybe it wouldn’t. Oh, who am I kidding? I fell head over heels for him. Before he started
glowing
like some sort of McDonald’s sign, before that last kiss almost made me puke, I was ready to marry the damned guy.

“That you, dear?” my dad called from the living room.

“Who else?” I asked, walking through the hallway. Our living room was not like anything you might find in Edward’s house. There were no statues, no ancient books, no paintings that could buy four years at Harvard. All we had was a cream-colored couch, a glass coffee table, a small TV and a big bookshelf. The bookshelf was full of books, family pictures, old clay models I made in middle school, and just about every magazine any of us had read over the past three years.