Chapter Text
Diego and Ava wait until it's dark before they sneak back down to the kitchens.
"It's not even stealing," Ava reasons. "It's my cake."
But she's whispering, and avoiding all the creaky spots on the floor, so he knows she’s not convinced that her argument would fly with Mother Superion.
The halls of St Michael’s are still and cold and silent around them, as if the building itself is keeping watch as they head off on their adventure. Their last adventure here together, because tomorrow, Ava is leaving the orphanage for good.
They make it to the kitchens without incident. He hoists himself up onto the counter while Ava goes digging in the fridge for the remnants of the cake leftover from her farewell party.
"Aha!" She flashes him a triumphant grin. "Got it."
There's only a small slab of it, with the letters GO and AV still legible in green icing. Originally, it read GOOD LUCK AVA, but Ava had insisted that they eat the piece that said LUCK first: to absorb its powers, obviously.
The cake is the exact sort of novelty that Sister Frances deemed an unnecessary and unaffordable indulgence while she was in charge, but since Mother Superion replaced her, the money for small celebrations has somehow turned up.
Ava cuts a slice for him and then for herself, and holds hers in the air until he bumps his own against it, as if they’re clinking champagne glasses.
"Are you nervous?" he asks Ava.
"For sure. It's kind of scary to think about leaving." She licks a bit of icing off her lip. "It's funny. For so long, I wanted to get out of this place more than anything. But it's not so bad now. Mother Superion's pretty cool."
"She is."
"I mean, can you imagine Sister Frances hooking me up with that housing program? Or helping me write a resume? No fucking way."
He swallows another mouthful of cake. "I'll miss you," he says.
Ava's expression shifts, goes so sad and warm that he has to look away, or maybe it'll hit him too hard and he'll actually cry. And he's managed not to cry about this at all so far.
"Oh, bud. I'll miss you too. Loads. And you know that if Frances was still around, I'd be busting you out of here the second I had ten bucks. But I talked to Mother Superion about it, and she said that it would be hard for me to get any legal right to you, cos, you know, we're not technically family, and the government isn’t jazzed about letting broke eighteen-year-olds adopt kids. That’s paraphrasing," Ava jokes, bumping her shoulder to his. "But she’ll look after you, and she said I can come visit whenever. And I'll be able to take you places, as long as I sign you out."
Diego perks up a bit at this. They've never been allowed on excursions without a supervising Sister before. Maybe Ava becoming an adult does have some benefits. "Really?"
"Yup! Hello, gelato and beaches and movies! We'll do all kinds of awesome stuff."
And he knows they will. Diego's met a lot of grown-ups who liked to promise things, only to disappear or change their minds or decide that it's too much, too hard. But Ava has never once broken a promise to him.
They don’t talk much after that, instead focusing their energy on finishing off the cake.
"When she finds out, tell Mother Superion I acted alone," Ava says as they make their way back up to their beds. "I can't get put on dish duty when I don't live here anymore."
"Doesn't living by yourself mean that you're always on dish duty?"
"Ah, fuck, I hadn't thought of that."
Ava's apartment is awesome. Well, okay, it's very tiny, just three rooms: one with a kitchen and a beanbag and a beat-up television, one with a bed, and a cramped bathroom off to the side, but it's hers.
"Whaddaya think?" she asks, gesturing grandly around. "Pretty sweet, right?"
"Extremely epic," he agrees, giving a decisive nod. The beanbag, in particular, is epic, and according to Ava, was the very first thing she bought for herself.
"And I've got some cool neighbours, too. Okay, one cool neighbour. But Camila is great! Super nice. We can go say hi to her later, if you want."
The rest of the tenants in Ava's building are also recent leavers of the foster system. He remembers her explaining it all to him — it's some sort of social services program to help them find their feet and adjust to life outside the system — but most of it went over his head.
"Are there lots of rules?" he asks.
"Not really. I can't stay out too late, or get too crazy, but apart from a few check-ins and stuff, I get to do whatever I want."
She tells him all about her job at the bar, which he isn't allowed to visit, but apparently is lots of fun. She's bought a whole bunch of different sodas and lined them up on the counter so she can make him nonalcoholic versions of the new drinks she's learned. The first few are very good, but eventually they just start mixing together the weirdest soda combinations they can think of, and give themselves stomach aches.
Ava walks him back to St Michael’s by five o'clock.
"Can't I stay with you a bit longer?" He's trying not to sound like he's begging. It's just — he misses her, and everything feels unbalanced now that she's gone.
Ava pulls him into a hug. "I'll come by and see you after school on Tuesday, okay? I reckon that once we've shown Mother Superion that I can be a responsible adult and return you in one piece, we'll get more time."
He hugs her back tightly, and pastes on a smile when he steps back, because Ava's got that guilty frown, and he doesn't want her to feel guilty.
Eventually, Diego starts to get used to life without Ava just across the room. They see each other at least twice a week, and she's always there when he needs her, just like she said she'd be.
For the first few months, he still struggles to ask for things. It's Ava's money, and he knows she's worked hard for it, that she needs it, and he doesn't really need anything. But when his ninth birthday rolls around, she's insistent.
"I am absolutely getting you a present, whether you like it or not," she tells him. She's got her determined face on. The No Arguing with Ava face.
They both know that toys have a short lifespan in a place loaded with too many kids and not enough to go round. Anything she buys him will inevitably be broken or stolen or lost in the shuffle.
So he asks for something else, something one of the boys at school mentioned weeks ago that lodged in his head: "My friend Joseph does aikido classes. He says they’re really cool. Maybe I could try one of those?"
She tilts her head. "What’s aikido?"
"It’s a martial art." It’s actually the kind of thing he imagines Ava would’ve liked to do at his age, but she was still in physical therapy then, still relearning how to walk under the painful press of Sister Frances’ vicious care.
"Ooh, that sounds awesome! As long as you promise to never use your powers for evil. Unless it’s funny."
Diego is thrumming with excitement when the day finally rolls around. School lasted approximately eighteen hours longer than usual and he’s dying .
He hurtles out the front door and collides with Ava in a hug the second she lets herself through the gate.
"Can we go now?" he asks.
"Whoa! One sec, I gotta sign you out," she laughs.
Signing him out also takes a million minutes, because Mother Superion wants to ask how Ava's doing, monologue a little bit about responsibility, and resolutely ignore the way Diego is tugging on Ava's hand, attempting to bodily drag her back outside.
Ava takes him to the same class that Joseph goes to. It's in a large, tidy room that's very well lit. There’s a small crowd of other kids around his age milling about, talking to their friends, settling in.
"I didn't realise we were supposed to, like, get you a uniform, or something," Ava mutters, gaze flicking over the other students — they're all wearing the same white outfit.
"It's not compulsory," someone behind them says. The voice is soft and lightly accented.
Diego and Ava spin around.
The woman standing there is tall and straight-backed, and probably about Ava’s age, although he finds it hard to tell with adults. Her hair is up in a tight bun and she's wearing a uniform too: white and black.
Diego waits for Ava to say something. He doesn't know what compulsory means.
Ava opens her mouth, but doesn't get any further than that. Maybe she doesn't know what compulsory means either.
"We do have spares you can borrow, though, if you like," the woman offers. Her expression is impassive, although not unfriendly. "But it's up to you."
Ava blinks, then turns to him. "Um, Diego? Do you want to borrow one?"
"Yes, please."
The woman nods. "I'm Beatrice," she says, leading them towards a small rack at the back. "I'll be teaching you today."
"Have you been doing this long?" Ava asks.
Beatrice tilts her head. "Teaching, or aikido?"
"Either?"
"I started learning when I was just a bit younger than you," Beatrice says to Diego, although her gaze flicks back up to Ava. "And I’ve only recently started teaching here. But I can assure you that he's in safe hands."
"Oh, I didn't mean that question in, like, a doubting way. I'm sure you've got great hands," Ava corrects herself, and then freezes.
Beatrice stares at her for a second before she turns back towards the rack, pulling a uniform off and holding it up. "This should fit. There's a change room back there."
By the time he gets back, Ava has unfrozen herself enough to keep talking to Beatrice. She's bouncing a little on her toes, all enthusiasm, and Beatrice appears to be listening intently, even if her face gives nothing else away.
Diego loves aikido.
Fortunately, Ava also loves taking him to aikido.
It's perhaps a slightly disproportionate level of excitement for someone who has to stand in the back with the parents and watch for an hour, but Ava's a pretty upbeat person, so Diego doesn't think much of it, at first.
And then he notices how often Ava finds herself in conversations with his instructor. Ava, who is chronically a little bit (or a lot) late to everything, but manages to consistently time their arrival for after Beatrice's previous class lets out but before Diego's class really starts to trickle in.
He mostly does his stretches on the mat while they talk. One time, he stuck around long enough for Ava to start asking questions about a paper for a translation course that Beatrice is apparently taking, and no offence to either of them, but it was horribly boring. He wouldn't guess they're discussing lame stuff by looking at them, though: Ava is riveted, and Beatrice — well, okay, Beatrice is kind of unreadable. But he hears Ava make her laugh once, and he's never heard Beatrice laugh before, so that can only be a good thing.
After the rest of the class is dismissed, Beatrice waves him down. "Diego? Do you have a second?"
He shuffles over to her, not quite nervous, but close. She’s never called him back before; he wonders if he did something wrong.
"Your last drill with Joseph just now —"
"Sorry I didn’t get it right," Diego says quickly. "I’m trying really hard."
She smiles at him. He’s learning that Beatrice isn’t one for big, wide smiles, not like Ava, but the little upturns of her mouth mean the same thing. "I can see that. It’s very commendable, how much you apply yourself. I was just going to say that you were really close, and I think if we practise it together a few more times, you’ll have it."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Let’s run through it again, okay?"
Beatrice takes him through each step, gently correcting his form, modelling the flow of the movements herself. She’s a great instructor to the whole class, but something about having her attention and confidence focused solely on him makes him feel like he really can do it, that he’s capable of things he sets his mind to, the same way she is.
"Alright, now we’re going to do it in real time," Beatrice says.
And he does. He actually manages it, mirroring Beatrice, twisting, and landing solidly on his feet.
When he looks back at Ava, she shoots him a double thumbs up.
"Did you know Beatrice is on YouTube?" Diego says, as they're walking through the park together. He's still working on his first hot dog, but Ava's already finishing her second.
She laughs. "Um, no way is Beatrice a YouTuber."
"Not like a YouTuber ," he sighs, rolling his eyes. "Like her tournaments. Joseph showed me. It's way different from what we do in class. Give me your phone — I'll show you."
They drop down in the shade under a large tree and Diego cues up the same clip that Joseph showed him. It's Beatrice at some event two years ago. Joseph says she doesn’t do competitions anymore; he doesn’t know why.
"Holy shit," Ava exclaims, as Beatrice sweeps the other girl clean onto the mat in an improbably short amount of time. "Beatrice is such a fucking badass."
"We're not allowed to swear at aikido."
"I think I should be allowed one swear."
"We're not allowed any swears. Beatrice has a rule."
"Well, Beatrice isn't here right now."
By far one of the best activities available to them since Ava left St Michael's is grocery shopping. Ava's technically adult supervision — it's why he's allowed to be here with her, after all — but she certainly doesn't act like it. She'll buy anything in a brightly coloured packet or with a funny name if either of them wants to try it.
Right now, their grocery cart is loaded with pancake mix and sweets and a microwaveable lasagne so that they can eat more of the sweets without throwing up.
Diego's focused on inspecting biscuit options when Ava nudges him.
"Hey, isn't that Beatrice?" She jerks her head in the direction of the produce section to their left.
He realises that she's right — that's Beatrice — although Ava's managed to recognise her from impressively far away, especially since she walked right into another shopper without seeing them not five minutes ago.
He's so used to Beatrice in her uniform that it's weird to catch a glimpse of her in slacks and a buttoned shirt. If he'd ever stopped to consider it, of course he would've realised she doesn't wear her aikido outfit all the time, but still.
"Yeah! Can we go say hi?"
"Sure."
He hesitates. "Is it okay to just go up to her here? We’re not at aikido."
"Well, I mean, I’m not all up on my grocery store etiquette, but it’s probably okay to say hi. Probably not okay to throw a melon at her," Ava teases.
"I think she could dodge a melon," he says, with absolute confidence.
"Definitely."
Beatrice spots them while they’re walking over and gives a small, contained wave.
"Hi," he and Ava say, at almost the exact same time, which makes him blush but makes Ava laugh.
"Hello," Beatrice replies. He thinks she's smiling a little. He's almost sure of it.
"Fancy seeing you here," Ava says.
He watches Ava clock the contents of Beatrice's basket — leafy greens, strawberries, a dark multigrain loaf — and quickly sweep six capsicums into their own basket. This appears to have little to do with how much either of them likes capsicums (he certainly doesn't, and he's not sure Ava's ever tried one) and more to do with the fact that they’re the closest vegetable.
"Gotta save the best for last," Ava jokes, patting one of the capsicums gently, as if that’s a normal thing to do.
"Indeed," Beatrice agrees. "Are you — making something with a lot of capsicum?"
Ava slaps a hand down on Diego's shoulder. "Yup. They're Diego's favourite. So."
He isn't sure why they're lying to Beatrice, but Ava must have a good reason, so he nods loyally. As long as he doesn’t have to take a bite out of one to prove anything, he’s on board.
A woman walks over from the next aisle; she's tall, brunette, and has a cool tattoo running up her left arm.
The woman drops an odd-shaped squash into Beatrice's basket and pulls to a stop beside her, their shoulders brushing. "Hey, who's this?"
"Shannon, this is Diego, my student. He's doing very well, especially at Kosadori. And this is Ava."
Diego is almost flattened with pride. He's not sure he's done especially well at anything before. And Beatrice doesn't lie or embellish; she likes the truth, and she wouldn't have said it if it wasn't the truth. She'd have found a different way to be kind.
"Are you an aikido teacher as well?" Diego asks Shannon.
"No. I used to practise it, though," she tells him. "Not so much now. But that's how I met Beatrice, way back when. She was even younger than you. Like, this big." Shannon holds her hand out in the air at a height around Diego's chest. "And she could beat me."
"That's an exaggeration. I was not that small."
Shannon lowers her hand. "This small?"
Beatrice pulls an expression that isn't rolling her eyes, but might be as close as Beatrice ever gets.
Ava looks delighted by this, even as her gaze flicks between Beatrice and Shannon curiously.
"I was an average-sized child for my age," Beatrice informs them both.
Shannon's phone buzzes and she slips it out of her pocket. "And that's Lilith, threatening to leave without us," she sighs. "We'd better go. It was nice to meet you guys."
"Yeah, you too."
"I'll see you both on Tuesday," Beatrice says, and this time she definitely does smile at them, then follows after Shannon as they head to the checkout.
Once they're out of sight, Ava stacks the capsicums back on the display: all except one.
"I mean," she says, "we could at least try it."
Diego chats with Joseph by the door in the lobby until Joseph has to go, ushered out into the parking lot by his mother. He heads back inside the studio to find Ava exactly where he left her: helping Beatrice wipe down and roll up the mats, a task she seems to get slower and slower at each week.
He goes to join them, but stops when he sees Lilith slumped on one of the benches nearby. She’s imposing and elegant, even slouched back against the wall, and gives off the vibe of someone who took up aikido so that she’d have an excuse to hit something.
Diego’s never actually spoken to Lilith. He knows that she runs some of the adult classes offered by the studio, and he’s pretty sure she was in one of those YouTube videos he and Ava watched, but other than that, Lilith is a complete mystery to him. A scary mystery.
But maybe she’s glaring into space for a reason, and maybe he should check on her, just quickly, from a safe distance.
He edges as close as he dares. “Are you okay?” Asking feels a bit like reaching into a dark space and hoping that nothing bites.
She glances over at him. Her frown becomes a few degrees less intense. "Bored. My car’s at the mechanic and Beatrice is my ride, so I’m stuck here until she’s done with your sister."
She's not my sister, Diego nearly says, means to say, but doesn't.
It's just that — well, Ava's the only family he has, the only family he's had since he was five years old, and it kind of sucks that there's no word for that, for what she is to him.
Sister is pretty close, though.
"You could help them, if you want it to go faster," he points out.
"I have no desire to be any closer to whatever that is." Lilith waves a hand vaguely in Ava and Beatrice’s direction. "They get five more minutes of cute crap before I’m going over there and busting it up. It's been fu— freaking ages."
"You can swear in front of me," Diego assures her, catching the slip. "I don't mind. I know all of them."
"All of them?"
He considers. "I think so? Ava uses them a lot."
"I bet I know some that you don't know."
"Really? What are they?"
"Lilith."
Even though Beatrice has only said Lilith's name, both of them snap around. He was dead sure that she was out of earshot, but maybe he just hadn’t seen them finish up, or more likely, Beatrice has a psychic sense for when someone’s breaking the no-swearing-at-aikido rule.
Beatrice doesn't continue speaking, but the raised eyebrow seems to have the same effect on Lilith that it does on Diego's entire class: namely, that anyone considering misbehaving reconsiders it.
"I mean, I kinda wanna learn the extra swears," Ava pipes up from beside her, knocking the back of her hand against Beatrice's.
Lilith bares her teeth in a smile that's not a smile. "You’ll know them when you hear them." And then, as if Ava has ceased to exist, or at least Lilith is committed to ignoring her on an ongoing basis, she turns to Beatrice: "Ready?"
They leave the studio all together, with Beatrice locking up behind them. There's a stretched moment in the parking lot where both Ava and Beatrice turn to one another but nothing gets said, and Lilith huffs out a long-suffering breath before grabbing Beatrice's arm and hauling her away.
"Hey, Diego. What do you call an expert bandit who’s called upon to give their opinions?” Ava is obviously gearing up for a bad joke. He’s well acquainted with the warning signs.
He doesn’t humour her only because she just pushed him on the swings for, like, half an hour, but that doesn’t not factor into it. "What?"
"A pundit." She waits, but he doesn’t laugh. "See? It works on two levels, because it’s a pun and it has the word pun, and — come on, at least pretend to be impressed. That took me half my shift to come up with."
"Ava, I don’t know what a pundit is."
Ava takes him to the zoo. She says that she went once, when she was small, too long ago to remember anything but the fact of it.
It occurs to him as they watch the penguins toddle out of their enclosure that they’ve been doing a lot of stuff he’s never done — normal kid stuff that has always been out of reach. Like Ava’s kept track of everything he’s missed out on and is slowly catching him up as best she can.
Ava stretches up on her toes to get a better view of the tiny penguin that’s stealing fish from a larger one. "If you were gonna be an animal, what would you be?" she asks.
It would’ve been an easier question yesterday, before he’d seen so many of them up close, before he’d read so many facts and heard from so many trainers and realised how every single one is incredible in its own way.
"They’re all amazing," he says. "I’d want to be all of them."
Anyone else would think that’s a cop-out, but Ava just nods like it’s a perfectly valid answer, like she understands wanting everything at once.
And she does. Of course, she does. They’re both children of St Michael’s, they both lost out on having regular homes and regular lives; the only difference between them is that he has someone who can take him to the zoo, and she never did.
The rain starts in the last five minutes of class. It doesn't occur to him to worry about it until he's standing in front of Ava, taking in the slightly sheepish expression on her face.
"That's the last time I believe the stupid app when it says it's not going to storm," she laments. "We can put my jacket over your head, but I think it's going to be kind of a gross walk back. I'd suggest we wait it out, but we've gotta get you back early tonight for that church thing, remember?"
Beatrice must hear them from where she's filling out paperwork a few steps away, because she pauses and says, "I don't mean to overstep, but I could give you a lift wherever you're going, if you like? It’s raining quite heavily."
He can tell that Ava would be more than happy to take her up on it, but she still looks to him to make sure he's alright with it. If he isn't, they'll walk home, wet and miserable, and Ava won't complain at all.
Diego wishes he could communicate with her telepathically, but he can’t, so he tugs her sleeve, willing her to get the message.
"Sorry, one sec," Ava says, and Beatrice nods, disappearing off to get her kit bag. "You okay?"
"I don't want her to know I live at St Michael's," he admits in a whisper.
Whenever someone finds out, there's an unavoidable shift in how they see him, how they act around him: some pity or discomfort or secondhand despair that sets in and never budges again.
And — Beatrice is so nice and so cool and he can't bear the idea of her feeling sorry for him, treating him more softly than the others.
"Bud, we had to put your address down when we enrolled you online, remember?"
"Oh." Which means that Beatrice has always known. Which means that how she is with him now is how she's going to be, that nothing’s going to change, and if she gives them a ride, then all that will happen is that they won't get rained on. "Okay, then."
They head over to where Beatrice is packing her things with far less efficiency than usual.
"A lift would be amazing, thank you," Ava says. "And also I would love to see your car."
"Don't get too excited. It's a very ordinary car."
"But I feel like cars tell you so much about a person, you know? Like, whether they have fluffy dice or bumper stickers or old McDonalds wrappers in the dividers."
Beatrice seems mildly horrified. "I don't have any of those things."
"Not even fluffy dice?"
"It seems foolish to have anything that could impede your vision."
"And you think they're tacky."
"Everyone thinks they're tacky, Ava."
"That's the charm of them."
"If I had a car, I'd put a shark fin on top of it," Diego says. "That it'd look awesome in traffic."
He's pleased to see that Beatrice appears quite amused by this idea, even if he doubts she'd ever actually do it herself.
Beatrice locks up the studio and they cross the parking lot quickly, rain hammering down.
He slides into the back seat and Ava gets in the passenger side, twisting around to check he's put his seatbelt on. He rolls his eyes at her; he might get in cars basically never, but he knows how they work.
"Yeah, yeah, make your faces. I'm the one who'd have to explain to Mother Superion if I returned you with a single scratch."
Ava gives Beatrice a few directions and then they're pulling out onto the road.
"So, Ava," Beatrice says. "What does my car tell you, exactly?"
Ava's out of luck, from what Diego can see. The inside of Beatrice's car is spotless, and completely devoid of anything personal or decorative.
"Hmm. Well, that you're very tidy, but we already knew that. And that you're road safe. You've that whole ten-and-two thing going on." Ava pauses, glances around, scouring for anything else that might be as revealing as she promised. "Okay. I'm not Carmen Sandiego. I'm out."
"Wasn't she a criminal, not a detective?"
"And therefore cooler."
The drive to St Michael's is brief, even in the storm. The water is so thick in the air that the orphanage is only a dark shape when Beatrice parks by the curb out front.
"Is here okay?"
"Here's great," Ava nods.
"Do you have a way to get home as well?"
"I only live, like, fifteen minutes from here, and a bit of rain won't kill me."
"You're little," Diego pipes up. "You might get washed away."
"He's got a point," Beatrice says, and her voice sounds the same, but he can tell she's being funny when she glances over at him and the corner of her mouth turns up.
"Beatrice, you are at best two inches taller than me."
"I would estimate three."
"Well, there’s no way to know unless we stand back to back."
"Surely taking separate measurements is the most accurate means of determining the difference."
"Yeah, but that's not how you do it! Didn't you ever stand back to back with your friends as a kid? To see who was taller?"
"No," Beatrice replies, in a tone that doesn't invite further questioning, and for a second she seems abruptly closed. Then she softens again. "I'm happy to drive you home, Ava."
Ava hovers in place, maybe unsure of whether she's upset Beatrice somehow: there's the start of a small, confused frown on Ava's face. But she clears it away, smiles, and nods. "Okay, sure. Yeah. Thanks. That’d be great. I'll just be a couple minutes."
Ava unbuckles her seatbelt and he follows suit.
"Bye, Diego." Beatrice says.
"Bye, Beatrice! Thanks for driving me!"
He and Ava rush through the rain and up the steps, slipping on the tiles of the foyer.
Mother Superion is passing by with Abby and Lucy, two of the youngest girls at St Michael's — both of whom worship Ava, instantly turning shy as soon as she appears — and all three of them stop as he and Ava skid inside.
"On time," Ava declares, presenting him to Mother Superion. "As promised."
"And soaked."
Ava brushes a few droplets off his collar. "Maybe a little damp. Definitely not soaked."
She grins brilliantly, not discouraged in the slightest, and Mother Superion only sighs. "I'll see you on Friday, Ava."
"Sure will!"
Mother Superion has finally agreed to allow Diego to sleep over at Ava's place, and it's going to be awesome . He'll get to have pizza and chocolate and stay up late and do all the things he isn't allowed to do at St Michael's.
"I better go," Ava says. She gives him a hug, waves at Mother Superion and Abby and Lucy, and darts back out into the storm.
The next week after class, he spots them as he's leaving the change rooms. They’re talking by the water cooler, but from where he’s standing, Beatrice is obscured from view, leaving only Ava, who is bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, hands behind her back.
"I make a mean cuba libre," Ava says. "And it's a good vibe. You should come by."
"I don't drink," Beatrice replies evenly.
"Oh. Right, I —"
"But I can still come by," she adds.
Ava beams, a swoop of energy passing through her whole body. "I can also make a mean virgin cuba libre. Or — or whatever you do like to drink."
"Wouldn't a virgin cuba libre be just cola and lime juice?"
"It’s special, how I do it."
"I suppose I’ll have to try it for myself, then, won’t I?"
He's always tired after aikido, properly worn out, but Ava invariably leaves with even more energy than she came in with.
Camila's nice. He's glad Ava has a friend living next door, someone who can help her if she needs it.
Right now, they think he's asleep. Which, in their defence, he definitely did accidentally pass out halfway through the movie, but he's awake now.
He can hear them moving around in the kitchen, plates and cups clinking as they make lunch.
He'll get up and help. He will. But he's warm and still a bit tired, and it's so easy to keep lying there, face pressed into the beanbag.
"So?" Camila says.
"So, what?"
"Don't be cute."
"I can't help being cute."
"Did she come by the bar?"
"Yep." Ava pops the P. "And I didn't spill anything on her, so I think it went well. At least, it went okay."
"Only okay?"
"I just — she's so together, Cam, you know? She's getting her degree, and she's a badass, and gorgeous, and she knows so much stuff. Like, she told me that vodka dates back to the ninth century." She makes a small sound that isn’t a sigh but isn’t not. "And I’m not totally convinced she isn’t legit royalty. I doubt I’m the kind of friend she'd be looking for."
Diego feels bad for eavesdropping now; Ava probably wouldn't say any of that if she knew he was listening.
"I happen to think you're an excellent friend," Camila answers firmly. "Plus, you said she doesn’t drink. Kind of notable that she’s up to date on her random alcohol facts, then, huh?"
"Trust me, that’s very on-brand. She’s just genuinely into learning about everything."
"Maybe. Or maybe she thought it would interest you, seeing as you’re a bartender." There’s a pause. "And she wouldn’t have taken you up on your invitation if she didn’t want to hang out with you. I mean, if I could flip a grown man to the ground, I'd never do anything I didn't want to do."
"She can flip a grown man. It's hot."
Sometimes, Ava lets him use her phone for games. She says that she downloaded all of them for him, but he's not falling for it — the apps aren’t completing new levels by themselves.
He's playing one where he has to swing from rope to rope when the text comes through as an overhead banner.
Beatrice (12:12pm)
I do not agree that a crocodile would win in that scenario. Your argument assumes that the shark would...
He's almost curious enough about crocodiles and sharks to click to see the whole message, but he doesn't snoop.
"Ava!" he calls.
"Just a sec!"
She steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered after their ill-fated excursion to the park. Diego has no idea how she managed to fall into that mud while he stayed on his feet, but that's Ava for you. "What's up?"
"Beatrice is texting you."
He holds out the phone and she snags it from him quickly, lip caught between her teeth. And then she's grinning, typing off a reply and sending it, before she turns her attention back to him.
"Is that Beatrice from aikido?" He doesn't think she knows anyone else named Beatrice, but Ava manages to meet people everywhere, so he's never sure.
She nods. "Yeah. We — we're, like, friends now. Does that bother you?"
"Why would that bother me?"
"Because she's your teacher."
"Only sometimes. And she's a really good teacher. I bet she's a really good friend, too."
"She is."
Joseph invites him to go for pizza on a Thursday afternoon. It’s not the first time he’s been asked to hang out with someone from school, but it’s the first time he’s felt confident enough to say yes. Ava is proud of him for it, and he doesn’t point out that it’s dumb, that everyone else his age has already done it a million times, because it’s hard to protest in the face of Ava’s enthusiasm.
Joseph’s mother, Marie, picks them up right after the final bell and takes them into town to a small restaurant that offers what feels like every topping imaginable. Marie is nice, and Joseph seems very pleased to have him along, and eventually, he relaxes into it.
He nearly does a double take, though, when he sees Ava across the street, outside of the gelato place. That, in itself, is far from unusual — Ava eats an inadvisable amount of gelato — but what is unusual is Beatrice walking up and Ava immediately reaching out and pulling her into a hug.
Beatrice is evidently unsure about what to do, how to return the gesture: her hand hovers in the air for a long moment before finally settling between Ava’s shoulders.
When Ava steps back, she doesn't go very far; she grabs Beatrice's hand and drags her into the gelato shop.
"Are you okay?" Joseph's mother asks him.
"Yeah," he says. "I just saw my friend over there."
"Do you want to go say hi?"
He shakes his head. He knows Ava would be happy to see him, like she always is, but he’s enjoying his time with Joseph, and he thinks Ava is probably enjoying her time with Beatrice as well.
Diego knows he shouldn't have done it.
He should've woken up one of the other kids, or gone to see Mother Superion, or one of the Sisters, or just tried to go back to sleep. Anything but sneaking out the window and walking the ten blocks to Ava's apartment.
He knocks and knocks, still sniffling, but she doesn't answer. "Ava?" he calls through the door.
Maybe he's got her schedule wrong, or she had to stay late at the bar, and she’s not here after all.
The door to the next apartment opens, and Camila steps out, dressed in her pyjamas. "Diego?"
He scrubs the tears off his cheeks, embarrassed. "Hi, Camila. Is Ava here?"
"She's at Beatrice's. Let me call her for you, okay?"
And now he's got in Camila's way, and he's ruining Ava's evening with her friend, and — "Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll just —"
Camila reaches out and tentatively sets a hand on his arm. "It's okay," she says.
The phone's ringing. Ava takes a little while to pick up, but when she does, and Camila tells her that Diego's here, the phone is getting handed to him immediately.
"Hey, D. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? Like, fifteen minutes. We're not far away. Are you going to be alright with Cam?"
"Yeah."
Diego gives the phone back to Camila, who promises Ava that she'll watch him until she gets back.
Camila's got a key to Ava's apartment, so they let themselves in. It really is only fifteen minutes before Ava's bursting through the door, trailed by Beatrice — Beatrice, who is arguably the coolest person he’s ever met (she can do a backflip), and who now knows that he's still a baby about nightmares.
He cares a bit less about that when Ava scoops him into a tight hug. Vaguely, he's aware of Camila and Beatrice drifting off together, giving them space, but he's more focused on answering Ava's questions about how he got here and the dream that upset him.
After he's cried a bit more and let Ava pat him on the back for a while, he's feeling more like himself.
The front door opens and Beatrice steps back inside, holding a backpack he recognises as Ava's. She sets it down on a nearby chair.
"Ava?" she says quietly. "Sorry to interrupt, but should you call St Michael’s?"
"Oh, shit, right. Don't want them to start a manhunt for ya, hey?" Ava chuckles, smoothing his sweaty hair from his forehead. "Give me one sec, alright?"
She ducks off to her bedroom, leaving him with Beatrice.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Beatrice asks.
She looks different, in normal clothes, late at night. Less like the other versions of Beatrice he’s seen — the teacher, the shopper, the awkward hugger — and more gentle, softer. Her expression is open and free of judgement, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel weird anymore about her having seen him cry.
"Okay," he agrees.
She seems to know where everything is in the kitchen, although she does hesitate when grabbing mugs, asking if he has a favourite.
"I'm sorry if you were busy," he tells her, while they're waiting for the water to boil. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't interrupt," Beatrice promises, leaning back against the counter. "You know, I used to do a very similar thing when I was about your age. I had horrible nightmares, and sometimes, back when we lived in Italy, I went wandering around the city at night."
"Were you trying to find your parents?" he asks.
Beatrice frowns. "No, they were in the house. I just didn't think to go to them," she admits. "I don't know what I was looking for."
A brief flicker of melancholy passes over her, but she blinks it away, and gives him a warm smile. Understanding and empathy, without pity.
"Okay, so no one's in trouble," Ava announces, bounding into the kitchen. "I mean, I think you're probably in for a lecture from Mother Superion, but who hasn't had one of those before? And since you haven't got school tomorrow, she said you can stay here tonight, and I can bring you back in the morning." She glances between him and Beatrice, and then the kettle goes off.
Beatrice pours the hot water into the mugs.
Ava pouts at her. "Just two mugs? Do I mean nothing to you, Bea? You would leave me tea-less?"
"This one’s for you," Beatrice points out dryly, tapping the mug that isn't Diego's pick. "I’ll head off now; I don’t want to intrude."
"I don't mind," Diego says. And he doesn’t. It would be nice if Beatrice stayed. She's one of the only adults who's ever been consistently kind to him — who praises him when he gets something right, who reassures him when he's stuck, who lets him try again without berating him, who repeats something patiently when he doesn't understand. He likes her, and she makes Ava happy.
Ava eyes him, checking that he means it, satisfied that he does. "See? Diego doesn't mind. We can watch a movie."
Beatrice hesitates, but Ava must see an opening of some kind, because she moves swiftly into Beatrice's space, slinging an arm over her shoulder.
"Please?" Ava entreats.
It's a bit funny how fast Beatrice's expression changes, but she doesn't actually say yes. She closes her eyes for a second, then turns back to Diego. "Are you sure?" she asks. "You've had a long night."
He bobs his head. "You can pick the movie," he adds generously, to seal the deal.
Beatrice's eyes widen. "Oh, I don't know any age-appropriate films. I don't watch a lot of television —"
"It's not an exam, Bea." Ava still hasn't let go of her, even though she’s got what she wanted: Beatrice isn’t going anywhere.
Ava recently snagged an old couch from someone who was moving out of the building, and they all pile onto it: Diego leaning into Ava, Ava leaning into Beatrice. Beatrice is sitting so stiffly that it can't be that comfortable for either her or Ava, but Ava persists, and eventually Beatrice starts to relax, settling back into the sofa cushions.
Diego falls asleep like that, his head against Ava's arm, listening to Lilo describe Stitch's badness level, listening to Ava ask Beatrice what she thinks her badness level is, listening to Beatrice question whether Ava is hungry in this hypothetical scenario, because that changes things.
He wakes up briefly, hours later: it’s dark, the movie’s over, and Beatrice has gone; Ava’s tucked a blanket over him on the couch and is passed out on the beanbag a few feet away.
His eyes are only open for a few seconds, but it’s enough for him to realise that he hasn’t had another nightmare, and enough for him to be sure he won’t.
After that, Ava takes to inviting Beatrice along with them more often. She always asks Diego first, always promises it's okay if he says no, and there are still always times when it's just the two of them.
But he likes Beatrice, and Ava really likes Beatrice, and it’s kind of strangely easy to slot her into things.
He can always tell which adventures were planned by Ava, and which ones Beatrice contributed to.
For example, the time they go to the cinema and eat so much chocolate his jaw hurts? Definitely an Ava plan.
The time they go to the mediaeval section of the museum and Diego leaves with a new obsession with jousting and a surprising amount of facts that weren't on any of the placards? Definitely a Beatrice plan.
"Okay, then hold the ruler there — exactly." Beatrice nods approvingly. "And then a sharp fold."
Diego follows this instruction with as much precision as possible, and at last, his paper plane is complete.
He hands Ava the ruler so she can finish her own plane. She’s a few steps behind him and Beatrice, which makes him wonder whether she’s been actually listening or just tuning out and watching Beatrice talk.
He picks his plane up and throws it, watching as it glides up and then crashes down on the other side of the couch. "Awesome!"
"If you want it to go further," Beatrice says, "you can tip your hand like this, and follow through from the shoulder." She demonstrates the same way she does in aikido class: slowly, so he can see each step, and then in real time, so he can see the effect. "If you keep it level, then it won't arc towards the ground."
Diego tries again, and this time, the plane flies so smoothly that it collides straight into the opposite wall. "Did you see how far that went? This is the best one I’ve ever made. We have to try this in the parking lot!"
"Wait, wait, I’m not done —" Ava tries, but he’s already hurtling towards the door.
It’s not often that Diego is called to Mother Superion’s office, and he spends the walk there trying to remember what he might’ve done, or not done.
Mother Superion isn’t one to give anything away; her face is impassive as he closes the door quietly behind him and slips into the chair in front of her desk. She could be furious. She could be bored. She could be thinking about lunch, although he’s not completely convinced that she even eats.
"Am I in trouble?" he blurts, his fingers fidgeting together in his lap.
Her eyebrow arches. "Should you be?"
"I don’t think so."
"Then no," she answers. Unlike him, she doesn’t fidget; her whole body is purposeful and contained, as though she wouldn’t move an inch without first deliberating it. "This is not a reprimand, Diego. You’ve been doing very well,” she assures him, and he wriggles a little straighter in his seat, pleased. "I intend for this to be a check-in. It’s been several weeks since your — excursion," she says tactfully. "And while we’ve discussed it previously, I wanted to give you another opportunity, now that you’ve had some distance from it."
"Um. Okay?"
"I only mean to ask, Diego, whether there’s anything you need that we can give you."
"Oh." Maybe a few months ago, he would’ve been tempted to ask for something impossible, for Ava to come back, but he finds he doesn’t want that anymore: he likes all the new parts of his life, all the other things he gets to do and have — pancakes and movies and sleepovers and aikido and always Ava there to help him, to listen to him, and somehow Beatrice now too, slowly becoming less of a novelty and more his new normal. "I think I’m good. Thanks, though."
Ava slaps her palms together in a prayer pose. "Come on, Bea. Teach me how to do a flip. Just one. Any."
They're in the living room of Ava's apartment, the beanbag and the ratty couch pushed to the side because Diego begged Beatrice to demonstrate one of the manoeuvres he saw her do in a YouTube video, and it turns out that Beatrice isn't really much better at saying no to him than she is at saying no to Ava.
"They're not called flips, Ava," Diego tells her seriously.
"Diego's right," Beatrice nods, expression solemn, but he can tell she's amused. He's getting quite good at reading her, at figuring out when she thinks something is funny or unwise or when she’s just about to cave. "That's not the proper terminology."
"And I'll carry the shame of that with me until I die, obviously. But, come on . You taught Diego how to do flips."
"Diego did all the foundation work. And he’s very skilled."
He preens, a little. A lot. "Thanks, Beatrice."
"I'm skilled. Super skilled. Well, okay, I'm not. But I could be! Cos you're such a great teacher."
"Lilith teaches the adult classes," Beatrice reminds her. "I can sign you up —"
"Fuck no."
"Language."
"Sorry. But, come on. Lilith? She scares me."
"Me too," Diego chimes in.
"She's a bit severe and closed-off," Beatrice concedes. "But so am I. It's just how we were raised, I suppose."
"You're not severe," Ava says. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, without Diego noticing, she's managed to grab onto both of Beatrice's hands. "You're — maybe a bit reserved. But I like that about you. I like everything about you. And reserved is, like, mysterious. And that's se— cool. That's cool."
Beatrice looks a bit bemused — or flustered, maybe — but shakes it off. "You don't have a mat here, Ava. I wouldn't attempt to teach you anything without the appropriate safety precautions."
"Ava needs a lot of safety precautions," Diego says wisely. "One time, she rolled her ankle by —"
Ava's picked him up and dumped him onto the beanbag before he can get the rest of the story out. "I don't think Bea needs to hear about all the embarrassing bullshit I've done."
But Ava is smiling at him, and Beatrice is laughing — language, Ava — and he tells the story anyway.
The next time Mother Superion calls him into her office is so that he can use the phone.
"Hey, bud."
"Is everything okay?" he asks, because Ava doesn't usually call him.
"I can't pick you up tomorrow afternoon," she says, her voice thick and croaky. "I'm sick, and I don't want you to catch anything from me."
There's a tug of disappointment in his stomach — they were going to make burgers, which they've never done before, because Ava claims she was worried about giving him food poisoning, but she’s confident that Beatrice won't. "Are you alright?"
"It's just the flu."
"You're all by yourself."
"It's not too bad. I'm just sleeping a lot. And Beatrice came to check on me."
"Oh, good. She's probably really good at taking care of people."
"Yeah," Ava agrees. "She is."
For one week in the middle of summer, Beatrice goes to stay with her parents.
Ava is resolutely totally not bummed about it, so unconvincingly that he feels sorry for her.
"Come on, it's Saturday! Perk up," Ava tells him, as though he’s the one who just spaced out, gazing sorrowfully into the distance. "What do you want to do?"
"We could go to the museum?"
"Sold!"
They wander in through the new exhibit, and Ava takes a selfie of them pulling stupid faces next to a suit of armour.
"You should send that to Beatrice," he says. "She probably misses you too."
Ava's cheeks go a little pink.
Beatrice comes back three days early from her trip.
Lilith takes over her classes that week, and Ava is moody when he sees her, like she's caught somewhere between helpless and frustrated and sad and trying not to show him any of it.
"Did something bad happen?" he asks. "Is Beatrice hurt?"
"Just — complicated family stuff," she hedges, her hands drawing into fists and then releasing as she walks him back from aikido, which isn’t nearly as fun when it isn’t taught by Beatrice.
Ava won't give him any details, and he's too chicken to ask Lilith, so he resigns himself to it being none of his business.
When they next hang out all together, Beatrice seems mostly the same, if a little more closed-off. He’s used to Ava's hanging off her, tangling their fingers, hip-checking her, but all of a sudden, Ava’s more careful, keeping her hands to herself more often than not, and those rarer touches are newly tentative.
He tries not to worry about it, but he does. Maybe because Ava seems to be slightly off-kilter too, and he picks up on it, can't parse her anxiety from his own.
But by the time they go to the beach together a week later, whatever it was appears to have passed. Ava is spinning a soccer ball with one hand and clutching Beatrice's hand with the other, and they're both relaxed and easy with each other again.
Ava has spent half the summer teaching him to swim at the local community centre, and he's desperate to jump in the waves now that he won’t drown — to know whether it feels the same as a pool or different.
He and Ava kick the ball back and forth between themselves on the sand while they wait for the sun to heat the water up. Beatrice opts out of soccer — "I do martial arts and fencing," she says. "I don't do ball sports." This, for some reason, makes Ava choke on a laugh — and reads her book instead.
After about half an hour, Beatrice evidently decides that the water's going to be warm enough, because she tugs off the shirt she's wearing over her swimsuit and walks into the ocean.
Ava looks over at her, and Diego kicks the ball, fully expecting Ava's attention to return to their game in time for her to catch it.
Only she keeps looking, and the soccer ball hits her right in the face, toppling her onto the sand.
"Ah, fuck!"
"I'm sorry!" he yells. "I'm sorry!"
"It's okay," Ava assures him, holding her hand to her nose. "I'm fine."
"I'm getting Beatrice."
"I'm —"
"Beatrice!" he hollers, twisting around.
Beatrice must've heard Ava curse, because she's already making her way over to them. "Oh, Ava," she murmurs, turning Ava’s name into a sigh, exasperated and fond.
"I’m fine," Ava starts again, but goes silent when Beatrice gently cups her face in her hands, inspecting the damage to her nose carefully. Her thumbs sweep over Ava’s cheeks as she tilts her head just a little, and Ava’s gaze stays locked on Beatrice.
"I think you’ll live," Beatrice determines, but lingers for an extra second before she lets Ava go.
"Maybe you should be more thorough."
"You said you were fine."
"No, I’m definitely in terrible, horrible pain. Or something’s broken."
"You’re ridiculous," Beatrice says, shaking her head, but her fingers come up to brush Ava’s jaw again. "You’ll feel better in a minute."
Beatrice pulls Ava to her feet, and Ava lets the momentum carry her straight into Beatrice’s space. She kisses Beatrice on the cheek. "Thanks."
"How’s your nose?" he asks, later, when they’re lying on the sand, watching the birds.
"You didn’t hurt me. I’m really okay," Ava promises, wrinkling her nose a few times, as if to double-check that what she’s saying is true. "Although I’m starting to wonder if maybe we should’ve signed you up for football instead of aikido. You’ve got a real kick."
She doesn’t seem to think anything of it, turning in the direction of the shop to see whether Beatrice is on her way back yet — maybe because she’s hungry, maybe because Ava always turns in her direction — but her words stick in Diego’s mind.
"What if I quit aikido?" he says abruptly.
Ava’s brow furrows lightly. "Do you want to quit aikido?"
"No! I like it."
"Okay." Ava’s still got that same frown; he can see her trying to follow the thread to the source of his question, but Diego can’t help her when even he has no idea where it leads. There’s just a sudden, urgent feeling in his chest, like he needs to know something, something important. "Do you want to start playing soccer?" she guesses. "We could look into that."
"No. I just — I don’t — but what if I did want to quit aikido? Or I got bad at it? Or I broke my leg and couldn’t do it anymore? Would it still be like this?" He gestures around, not sure what he’s pointing at, wishing there was a way he could grab the feeling of the day and hold it up to her. Like this , he means, but there’s nothing they can touch or keep.
Understanding ticks over in her eyes. "Oh. You mean, like, would Beatrice still be friends with us, if we didn’t go to class every week?"
And yes: that’s it: or that’s close enough to it. His life feels abruptly precarious, like any carelessness could send them sliding back to the way it was — the two of them, locked away, Sister Frances making them smaller and smaller and smaller.
He nods.
"Well, that’s easy. She would definitely still be friends with us. One hundred percent. We’re pretty charming, you and I. Did you know that she’d never seen Lilo and Stitch before we showed it to her? And she’d never eaten gummy bears or had orange soda. And yes, to be fair, she didn’t like either of them, but she liked trying them, and she wouldn’t have done that without us. She’d never built a blanket fort or hung upside down on monkey bars — that’s stuff you showed her, dude. We are a nonstop coolness factory, just like Bea is. That’s why we’re all so awesome together. And you could quit aikido tomorrow and it wouldn’t change anything for her or for me."
Maybe it’s what Ava says, or maybe it’s the conviction with which she says it. Maybe it’s how Beatrice comes back from the shop with three ice blocks — Diego’s favourite kind — and Ava immediately lights up.
"I thought sugar in the late afternoon disrupts sleep ," Ava quotes, accepting the ice block that Beatrice hands her. "Allegedly."
It’s not verbatim what Beatrice said to them last time they got sweets after four o’clock and she refused to eat any, but it’s pretty close.
Diego rips the packet off his and bites the top right off, even though he knows it’ll give him brainfreeze.
"It does," Beatrice replies. The sun is bright behind her, and she shines at the edges. "I’m making an exception."
"Hey, Bea? What do you call a bomb that makes everything shrink?"
They’ve just watched Honey I Shrunk the Kids because it was airing, and Ava’s been going Honey, I at every possible opportunity. Honey, I need the salt. Honey, I can reach that shelf, actually. Honey, can you please reach that shelf. Evidently, she’s found herself a new way to amuse herself, though: she’s paused in chopping up a carrot and is waiting, impatient, for Beatrice to respond.
Beatrice finishes washing another plate — she subscribes to a clean up as you go philosophy when cooking that Ava typically does not — and hands it to Diego to dry. "Like a shrink ray, but a bomb?"
"Yeah. Glad we clarified that, but it’s a joke, so you have to guess."
"A weapon of mass reduction."
"Oh." Ava grabs a piece of carrot and pops it into her mouth. "Nevermind, that’s better than mine."
"I want to hear yours."
"Nope!" Ava declares. "Can’t make me."
Beatrice flicks some soapy water at her. It’s not the sort of thing he’d have ever pictured Beatrice doing back when he met her. "I could," she says.
Ava swallows and leans back against the counter. "Yeah?"
"We promised never to use our aikido powers for evil, though," Diego points out. "That includes beating up Ava when she’s being annoying."
"So it does," Beatrice agrees.
He finishes his first full year of aikido, and as promised, receives a certificate with his name on it in Beatrice’s perfectly neat script. It’s the first certificate he’s ever had, and it thrills him more than he wants it to.
"It’s just a piece of paper," he tells Ava, shrugging, nonchalant, even as he holds it carefully so that it won’t crease.
"Excuse you, it’s a massive accomplishment," Ava replies. "Sticking with something for a year is a big deal! I’ve never stuck with anything for a year. Well, bartending, I guess, but they pay me to do that."
Beatrice is still finishing off her paperwork by the time he’s all packed up and ready to go. He and Ava wait by the counter until she’s done, and then they head out to her car. They’re going to get gelato, per his specific request; Ava had said anything you like.
"What did you do to celebrate your first year of aikido?" he asks Beatrice as they pull out into traffic.
Only a sliver of her face is visible to him in the rearview mirror, so he can’t make out her expression. There’s a silent beat, then she says, "It was too long ago to remember. But I think gelato is the exact appropriate marker for the occasion."
"Literally name a single occasion that gelato isn’t perfect for, I dare you," Ava replies, in a bright tone, but he doesn’t miss the way her hand darts across the gear shift to rest — lightly, briefly, just for a second — on Beatrice’s knee.
"A funeral," Diego suggests.
"Think again, dude. Gelato is for sure a funeral food. When I die, they can bury me in gelato."
"Ava, that is entirely disgusting."
"Obviously, they should pick a good flavour. Duh."
"That’s not what I was taking issue with."
Another dojo in the city is hosting a tournament.
Diego doesn't want to compete, and no one's going to make him. He loves his classes, but something wrenches tightly inside him at the thought of having to spar in front of people who aren't Beatrice and Ava and his fellow students.
Beatrice is competing, though, for the first time in years, and it takes literally no convincing on Diego's part to get Ava to take him along to watch.
"Of course you can come if you want," she agrees, ruffling his hair.
"It's on Saturday, though, and I know you're working —"
"Hans already agreed to take my shift for me so I could go," Ava admits, her cheeks a little pink. "He owed me one."
"Oh. Okay, cool."
It's not until Saturday morning that he starts to feel nervous. What if the reason she stopped competing was that she got injured last time? What if someone better than Beatrice shows up to the tournament, and she gets hurt again? Diego's not sure if there actually is better than she is, but it's theoretically possible.
He doesn't voice his concerns to Ava, though, in case it comes across like he’s doubting Beatrice, or thinks she’s been out of the game too long. Which he isn’t! He doesn’t! It's just — he wants her to win.
"You okay?" Ava asks him, when they're nudging through the small crowd of spectators to get a good view of the mats.
He nods, scanning the room for Beatrice — there she is, over in the corner, stretching and talking to Lilith.
Lilith, who still scares him, but maybe marginally less than she used to. Beatrice wouldn't like her if she was as mean as she seems, so she must be nice, somewhere under all her glaring.
Plus, Ava’s encountered Lilith at the bar, and lived to tell the tale, so that counts for something. Maybe they’re even kind of friends, in an unfriendly way; at least, Lilith’s comfortable enough to be rude to her, even though Ava is a paying customer of the aikido studio.
The tournament itself is riveting. Everything is so much faster and harder than he's used to; it's almost impossible to actually make out every hit — they move so quickly, and it can be brutal.
Lilith is the first fighter he recognises to go on. She gets dropped once with a well-placed kick to the stomach, but retialites harshly and turns the match around. After a terse handshake with her opponent, Lilith stalks off to the side, not far from where they're standing, to watch the others compete.
He watches the loser from Lilith's round slink off the mat and to a guy waiting on the sidelines. The guy wraps his arms around the girl and kisses her, murmurs something that makes her perk back up.
He wrinkles his nose, and Ava laughs at him.
"Oh, come on," she says. "It's not that gross."
"It is," Lilith chimes in, regarding her former opponent with great disdain.
This puts Diego in the odd position of siding with Lilith: not something that's ever happened to him before.
"You already threw her into the floor," Ava points out. "You can't let her have this?"
"I could've thrown her to the floor a lot harder."
Diego glances across at the couple again. He doesn't recognise either of them, but it does get him thinking.
Apart from when Ava was in high school and that exchange student JC trailed her around for a few weeks, he's never really seen her date anyone.
It's probably for the best that she doesn't. Ava spends all her time working or hanging out with him or Beatrice or both of them together, and he doubts that there's any room in her schedule to fit a boyfriend in.
But what if that's why? What if she's so busy looking after him, and making sure he's taken care of, that she doesn't get to do the stuff other nineteen-year-olds get to do? Or worse, if she does have time, but boys don't want to date a girl who's got a pseudo-little brother constantly hanging around?
He elbows Ava lightly in the side to get her attention. "Ava? How come you don't have a boyfriend?" he asks.
"Huh?" There's a pause, and he can almost see Ava's brain stutter into stillness before lurching back to life. "Well, um, Diego, it's like — I'm not really — I wouldn't — if I thought that — not that I would push — that —"
He hears Lilith scoff and turns towards her. "What's with the word salad? It's not that hard. Kid, Ava's down bad for —"
"Shut up, Lilith," Ava grinds out, cutting her off.
Lilith's eyes widen mockingly, and he's not sure if she's being actually mean or mean in the way that's supposed to be funny. "What? Were you being subtle?"
"I just — why are you like this?"
Lilith grins. "Fun, mostly. And because while you've somehow convinced Beatrice that you're amazing, or whatever, you've yet to impress me."
That was definitely mean. "Ava's impressive!" he defends, loyal to the last, looking up at Ava to make sure that she’s alright.
Ava actually looks better than alright. Looks pretty pleased, in fact. "Did she tell you that she thinks I'm amazing?"
This earns an eye roll from Lilith. "Jesus Christ, Ava, she didn't have to."
Ava goes to say something else, but then Beatrice is up to the mat, and all of them go quiet.
He's not sure if Beatrice has seen them, but he decides not to wave, in case it distracts her. Ava is tense beside him, resting on the balls of her feet. He's not sure he's ever seen her this still.
Beatrice’s match is over quickly: she moves so fluidly that it’s almost difficult to distinguish one move from the next, and she’s unrelenting. Diego’s so used to her carefully demonstrating sets with them, straightforward and unhurried, that it almost gives him whiplash to see her in real action.
Her opponent manages to land one hit to her jaw — he expects her to block or dodge, but she doesn’t, just absorbs the impact and follows it all the way through to the opening that’s been left. And maybe that’s the difference: Diego avoids pain wherever he can, but Beatrice steps into the path of it, takes it on as if she’s supposed to carry it, and turns it into something else.
She comes to find them afterwards.
"That was incredible," Ava says. "You’re a certified badass."
Beatrice considers her, and Diego thinks she’s probably debating whether badass counts as a swear. She must decide it doesn’t, or that she’s giving Ava a pass today, because she just smiles. "Thanks."
"How’s your jaw?" Ava’s got her hands on Beatrice’s arms, then her neck. "That must’ve hurt."
"Right," Lilith drawls. "I get a roundhouse to the guts but a little tap on Beatrice is a four alarm fire."
But Lilith seems to have lost her power to irritate Ava, who only smirks at her. "Do you want me to check on you, Lilith?"
Lilith grumbles something unintelligible, then: "No."
"That’s what I thought."
Diego notices that Beatrice apparently doesn’t get a choice in being checked on, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
Afterwards, they get dinner at a restaurant nearby. Ava and Lilith head up to the bar — to scope out the competition, obviously, Bea and I’m not doing this without alcohol — so it’s just the two of them sitting at the table, rearranging the silverware so that Ava has only forks and Lilith has only knives.
In a quiet moment, he asks Beatrice why she gave up going to tournaments years ago, if only to get the buzzing thought of her being horribly injured out of his mind. He knows accidents are very rare, but lots of things are very rare and happen regardless.
She meditates on it for a moment. That’s something Diego appreciates about Beatrice; whenever he asks a question, she treats it like it’s important, like the things he wants to know matter, even if sometimes she can’t give him an answer in the end.
"Back then, I was only doing it because I thought I had to win," she explains. She’s frowning, puzzling it out. "I didn't enjoy it anymore. So I stopped competing and started teaching instead. To — to go back to when I last remembered loving it, in a way, I suppose."
"And you like teaching, right?"
"Very much."
"But you did compete today."
"I did. I’m not really sure why. It just — it felt like something I could do again. That I wanted to do again."
He nods, satisfied. "And you had fun this time?"
"Yes. But to tell you the truth, this is the most fun part, right now. I used to go right home after a tournament, or back to the studio."
"And instead you’re here with us."
"Exactly." She smiles at him, and he smiles back.
A moment later, Ava and Lilith return with their drinks. "Lemonade for Diego, virgin cuba libre for Bea," Ava announces, setting their glasses down in front of them. She’s bought a vibrantly coloured concoction for herself; it looks suspiciously radioactive, but Ava always orders something she hasn’t tried before when she goes out, and she insists the risk is part of it.
Ava watches expectantly until Beatrice takes a sip of her cuba libre. "Yours is better," Beatrice confirms.
"Ha! Knew it." Ava preens, dropping down into her seat with a distinct air of triumph.
"It’s cola with lime in it," Lilith complains. "They’re all the exact fucking same."
"Language. And Ava’s is better," she repeats, shrugging. He's never seen her do that before. It's, like, the most formal shrug he's ever seen, but it still counts; she must've picked it up from him or Ava. He feels warm.
Lilith rolls her eyes. "Of course, it is."
He does, in fact, learn a new curse word from what she mutters under her breath, too quietly for either Beatrice or Ava to hear.