The New Apprentice

Chapter 1: The Empty Strip

I found Miles's mask on the bench and his place on the strip empty.

My own mask was tucked under my arm, its wire pressing a dent into my hip as I stood beside the practice floor. There were six strips at Ashcombe Fencing House, each marked by narrow white lines, and Miles had always taken the one nearest the windows. He said the late-morning light made it easier to read an opponent's shoulder. I said he liked having an excuse to avoid the fluorescent lights.

Today, he was on the far strip with Graham Pike, our coach, while the rest of the advanced group paired off.

"You're with Tessa," Coach called.

I glanced toward the beginner's strip. Tessa had been fencing for four months and still flinched when someone advanced too fast.

"I thought Miles and I were working on the regional trials routine."

"Change of plan."

Coach didn't look up from his clipboard. Miles did. He caught my eye for a fraction of a second, then turned his mask over in his hands.

I crossed the floor. "Did you ask to switch?"

"No."

The answer came too quickly. I waited for more, but he was already tightening his glove.

"Then why?"

"Ask Graham."

I knew what a refusal sounded like. Miles had used that tone on tournament officials and overconfident opponents, never on me.

"I just did."

"Then you've got your answer."

He stepped onto the strip. The match began before I could find a reply.

For the next hour, I worked with Tessa. I corrected her distance and showed her how to recover after a missed lunge. I kept my attention on her blade, her footwork, the space between us. I did not look toward the windows, even when Miles laughed at something Graham said.

At the end of practice, he packed his gear while I rewound the cord on my weapon.

"Are we still meeting at the pier tomorrow?" I asked.

The question came out as if nothing had changed. We'd planned to run there before practice, as we did twice a week.

"I'm busy."

"With what?"

"Things."

I stared at him. "That's not an answer."

"It's the one I've got."

He slung his bag over his shoulder. For a moment, I thought he might add something. Instead, he walked past me and pushed through the front door.

Tessa came to stand beside me. "Did I miss something?"

"I have no idea."

That was true. It was also the part I couldn't stop thinking about.

*****

The next morning, I ran to the pier alone.

Ashcombe sat above the harbor at the edge of Bellwether, a town of steep streets, wind-bent pines, and salt-stained clapboard houses. The pier was half a mile downhill, and Miles and I usually finished our run there, leaning on the rail with our breathing ragged and our shoes damp from the spray.

I waited until my watch beeped at the turnaround.

He didn't come.

At practice, he took the far strip again. I let Coach assign me a partner without asking whether the change was temporary.

During drills, my attention kept snagging on Miles. I watched him demonstrate a counterattack, then watched him step away when I joined the line. I saw him pause before he spoke to me, as if he'd almost said something, and then speak to Graham instead.

By the end of the week, I'd stopped asking.

At least, I told myself I had.