Acquired Tastes

Chapter Five

The weapons event the next day brought Neil to a part of Emery, the building that also had the shooting range in it. Neil stood on the outskirts of the congregating group of students, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the chaos of a group waiting for instruction. He stepped a little farther away and knelt to retie his bootlaces, his already unsteady heartbeat jumping uncomfortably as worn-out converse appeared beside him. Neil didn't glance up until he finished double-knotting his laces, then pushed himself to his feet. Roman wasn't looking at him, just standing, eyes on some indiscernible point in the distance, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans, absentmindedly chewing gum. His black eye was still pretty dark, even though the scratches across his face and eyebrow had begun to lighten.

Grant clicked his megaphone a few times, quieting the crowd. Once the murmuring had died down, Grant laid out the premise of the competition. "Now that we've introduced you to guns, we're gonna get started on some knives." Neil's chest tightened, his breath catching in his lungs. "For today, we're going to start off pretty simply, with some basic target work. Obviously, this has some safety risks, so let me put it this way: don't be stupid. If you walk into the range while people are throwing, your partner's probably going to have to abandon this challenge and carry you over to the clinic. Okay. You'll find a selection of knives at each station, two of each kind. Go ahead and find your way over, and you can begin on the whistle."

Neil's head was spinning, stomach trying to work its way up his throat. When he didn't move, Roman took the lead, and Neil followed him through the crowd, over to their lane. He felt vaguely aware that he'd, perhaps, brought this on himself. Avoiding the knives had done nothing but forced him to have his reunion with them here, in a competition, for points, in front of Roman and among everyone else. He tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his throat, his eyes following Roman's hands as Roman lifted one of the knives, weighing it in his hand, long fingers wrapping around the handle. Neil crossed his arms, fingers of each hand wrapping tightly around the opposite bicep, as if squeezing hard enough would stop their shaking. He felt Roman's eyes on him, but Roman said nothing, setting the knife down and picking up another one.

The whistles sounded, and Roman hesitated, clearing his throat. "You want to go first?"

Neil shook his head, not meeting Roman's eyes. Roman nodded slowly, then stepped up to the line, hesitating, feeling out his balance, his grip on the knife. After several seconds, he sent it flying towards the target, where it stuck in the outside circle. He reached back, picking up the next one, and sized up the target once again, jaw moving slightly as he shifted the gum in his mouth. Eyebrows lowering, he pulled back and threw the knife, sticking this one in the outside ring as well.

He glanced back, eyes momentarily meeting Neil's, the small grin on his lips vaporizing when he did so. He picked up the next knife, stretched his arm once, and sunk it in the second ring. He pushed his hair out of his face, glancing at Neil. "You want me to keep going?"

Neil nodded, and Roman did, sticking about two thirds of his knives. When he'd thrown his final one, he stepped back, flexing his fingers, and Neil took a hesitant step forward, eyes running over the selection of knives. He wrapped his shaking fingers around the handle of the most unfamiliar-looking one, hating its weight in his palm as he lifted it. His arm was already going numb, and he didn't realize he was chewing his lip until the taste of blood snapped him back to reality, and he became aware that he'd been standing, frozen, for a small eternity. A brief glance over at Roman assured him that this had not gone unnoticed; Roman was standing, watching him through narrowed eyes, arms half crossed with one hand raised and absentmindedly messing with the scab on his lip, left from the fight the day before. Neil swallowed hard, stepping forward, and drew his arm back. His hands, still shaking uncontrollably, barely cooperated enough to send the knife flying across the room and missing the target altogether. Biting his lip again, he leaned back over to the table, careful to avoid Roman's eyes.