Page 31 of Oar Than Friends

‘Harder in the rain,’ I muttered, not noticing how Hannah had sat up a little straighter.

‘Tell me about it!’ he grinned wide. ‘I’m Will Norris. These two are Fletcher and Tubbs.’ Fletcher and Tubbs nodded, though neither seemed particularly interested in joining a conversation. To be fair to them it was eight thirty on a Monday morning and we’d all been awake three hours, something Tubbs was feeling seeing as it appeared he’d already fallen asleep.

‘We know. You’re seat six for the Blue Boat,’ came Hannah’s voice next to me, and he could have been Harry Styles for the way she sighed, just as I remembered this was the guy dating Mary Heston, the women’s president. ‘Congratulations on the Henley wins this summer, and on making President.’

‘Thanks.’

My body twisted around for a better look at him. I’d clearly been half asleep when he’d introduced himself, though he looked completely different to when I’d seen him raging about losing the oars. Less red in the face, for one thing.

I’d missed watching the Henley Regatta this year. Once I’d been accepted to Cambridge, I spent all my free time helping my dad on his fishing boat trying to earn as much money as possible. I was smart enough to know I couldn’t hold down work, traininganda job. I’d also completely missed the World Championships. Perhaps if I hadn’t, I’d have recognized Oz the second I’d seen him.

Since our interaction on Saturday I’d tried not to think about him, except not thinking about someone is hard when it’s all you’d been doing for the week prior. The turn of events was far too confusing for me to be able to wrap my head around so quickly. Too quickly in fact for me to also not spend my newly wide-open Saturday evening reading up on the Oxford president it appeared I’d been fraternizing with.

His rowing credentials were impressive. More than impressive. And as I’d hidden under my comforter like a kid at camp after lights-out, and read page after page and watched video after video brought up in Google’s search, my disappointment had sunk deeper and deeper. An Olympic medal, World Championship medals, Henley Regatta Cup winner, European Rowing Championships – you name it, Oz had competed in it. And won. He was a rowing prodigy.

I hadn’t had many people in my life I could talk to about rowing, beyond the bare minimum. But looking throughhis achievements made me long to pick up my phone and ask him what the Olympics had been like, how he’d trained, how he liked the World Championship course.

Or anything about the Boat Race.

But I couldn’t.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was his cold, icy stare pinning me with a level of anger which made his jaw clench. It had been harder to forget the hurt I’d also seen as I repeated what Imogen had told me, because that hurt did more to set doubt in my mind than his words of denial. In fact, if I’d had a list of qualities for the Oz I’d met and placed it side-by-side with a list from the guy Imogen had described, I’d swear they were two different people.

But it didn’t matter, because even if he was the guy I’d first thought, he was still Oxford President, and that waswayworse. Therefore, my interlude with Oz or Arthur Osbourne-Cloud or A.O.-C., or whatever his name is, would stay relegated to the week before term began.

I just wish I didn’t feel so confused about it.

‘What are you thinking about?’

My head shot up to find Imogen staring at me. ‘What?’

‘Your face, it’s all screwed up.’

‘She’s thinking about the cadaver you guys are hanging with later,’ laughed Hannah.

‘Are you taking medicine?’ asked Fletcher, whose legs were now stretched out so they almost went underneath Imogen’s seat diagonal to him.

I nodded. ‘Yep, Imogen and I are both first year. What about you?’

‘I’m fourth year med. Enjoy your first week! That means you have Professor Hull today. You need to payattention to her because she’ll call on you when you least expect it. Always look like you’re writing something down,’ he paused and snapped his finger, ‘oh, and she likes you to name your cadavers. She gives a prize to the most inventive name at the end of the term.’

I laughed, ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What was yours called?’ asked Imogen.

‘Mephistopheles,’ he grinned.

‘The demon?’ she replied with wide eyes, widening even more when he nodded in surprise. ‘That’s brave with a dead guy.’

‘Did you win?’

‘No, that honour went to Justin Finch who named his cadaver Marvellous Mary.’

I frowned, ‘Why was she marvellous?’

‘We’re all still trying to figure that one out.’ He chuckled.

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