Page 42 of Oar Than Friends

The two of them mimicked my movements, but less subtly.

I was small enough to be able to hide behind most of the taller girls, except I hadn’t banked on Lauren Hughes tripping over the leg of a bench right in front of me, having been knocked flying by someone rushing past, and subsequently falling into three second-year boys who crewed on Isis – the Oxford boys’ reserve boat. The brief ensuing commotion momentarily had every single person stop what they were doing and turn in the direction the noise was coming from, including Oz.

Lava may as well have been poured down my spine, the way my entire body flushed red and searing as his gaze locked into mine. The momentary flare of his blue eyes hit me straight in my core, and when a slow, lazy smile tipped the corner of his lips it suddenly felt like the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

Either that or I was having a panic attack.

Thankfully, my sharp gasp was drowned out by a couple of the other girls from the Cambridge team joining us along the wall, as well as ripping me out of the staring contest I’d briefly become an unwilling participant in.

I stood there in silence listening to them all speculate on what the meeting was about; theories ranged from Imogen’s suggested punch-up to the idea of joint training sessions by Jess Madeley, one of the senior girls, and we were almost inclined to agree with her, seeing as her seniority meant she probably knew better than we did.

I hummed and huhhed along, not really payingattention but trying to give off the impression I was doing exactly that, especially as I was currently looking up at Hannah as though she was telling me the most fascinating story I’d ever heard.

I could have won an Oscar for my performance.

My mind was elsewhere, however, as it mentally flicked through the text messages I’d read over and over this week, wondering if another would come. Or when it would come, because even though I’d not replied to a single one, the messages kept coming. He clearly didn’t take no for an answer. I tried to keep my cheeks from flaring when I remembered the message of congratulations he’d sent me after we’d won the race against Durham, my first as cox for Blondie. Or asking how my first week as a medical student had been. I tried even harder to ignore the way my belly sank every time I wondered if the latest message would be the final message.

For a second I’d forget he was the rival president, and my heart would thump hard at the thought he’d been interested enough to check up on me, and twice I’d almost lost my resolve not to reply.

But nothing good could come out of replying, and my list of why I shouldn’t have anything to do with Arthur Osbourne-Cloud lengthened by the day, because the more I found myself falling for his charm the more I wondered if this is what happened with every other girl. Until I wondered if perhaps there actuallyweren’tany other girls, something he had pointed out more than once, and I should probably believe him.

By my calculation I’d only thought about him for an hour and twenty-two minutes today, which was down onyesterday’s two hours and five. I’d given myself to the end of the week to achieve less than fifteen minutes’ thinking time, but I hadn’t banked on this evening’s meeting. In fact, I hadn’t expected to see him again at all. I’d checked and double checked the C.U.W.B.C. scheduled races for the season and there wasn’t another planned meet against Oxford until the Boat Race in March. Therefore, it was perfectly reasonable to assume that I could avoid him completely, and mostly erase him from my brain.

A shiver zipped across my skin; I didn’t need to look over to the corner to know Oz’s focus was now firmly trained on me. I could feel it. The power and heat of his gaze was curling around my bones, begging for me to look at him.

Thankfully, that was the moment the far double doors opened and in walked Coach Stephens, the C.U.W.B.C. coach, followed by Coach Westcott, the head coach of the men’s team. The two Oxford coaches followed, but between them a short, balding, rotund man walked through and sat down in the middle of the five chairs placed to face the room. The two sets of coaches took their places on either side, flanking him in a way that caused silence to descend on the room.

You could have heard a pin drop, or Imogen stage whisper, ‘Okay, I officially have no idea what this meeting is about.’

‘Who’s that?’ I whispered as quietly as I could.

‘That’s the chairman of British Rowing.’

She stopped talking as Coach Lassiter cleared his throat; the entire front row all leaned forward in sync, waiting for the show to begin.

‘Thank you for coming,’ began the chairman, in a voice which didn’t match his appearance. It wasn’t jolly or deep, it was hard and a little cold. ‘For those of you not already aware, or who haven’t yet caught up with the rumour mill, let me cut to the chase. This meeting is about the future of the mascot heist.’

My brows knotted together, because that explanation didn’t explain anything at all, especially when Imogen scoffed.

‘We’ve been very clear about the rules surrounding the mascot heist. While we all appreciate the spirit of this tradition, and the friendly competition it fosters in order to have a great race day come March, this year has already got out of hand and we’re only in October. On Saturday evening members of the Cambridge crew were caught trying to take back their mascot, and what ensued was a brawl of utterly unsportsman-like behaviour, which was only broken up because Coach Lassiter happened to pass by.’

Imogen turned to Hannah and me; while she didn’t verbalize it, her raised eyebrow said,‘I told you this was about the black eye.’

‘I shouldn’t have to remind you that rowers do not behave like this. You are serious athletes and academics, many of you represent your countries. This is not behaviour we encourage or accept. Fighting is for the ring or the pitch, and for this to occur so early in the academic year gives us no option but to cancel the heist. We cannot allow it to continue this season.’

A soft groan let out from many of the squad seated in the chairs in front of us, as the chairman paused for effect.

‘Seems a bit of overkill. They could have put this in an email,’ Hannah muttered.

But the chairman wasn’t done.

‘Due to the actions of the teams in question, it has been decided that your time will be better spent on the Tideway. You need to learn to appreciate the water your race is held on, and the privilege you have been given. For the final six weeks of this term your Saturdays will be spent cleaning up the Tideway, and serving our community as best we can.’

Once more, silence descended over the room, only this time it was thick with a heavy dose of shock as everyone tried to figure out if what they heard was what theyactuallyheard. Whispers of indignation began moving through the room, growing louder and louder. Mary Heston’s head whipped around to where Will Norris was standing.

‘We have to spend the next six weeks of winter clearing up the River Thames?!’ raged Imogen next to me. ‘We didn’t even have anything to do with this heist! It’s the boys’ stupid game. How are we going to do this, find the time to trainandstudy?’

I was inclined to agree with her, while also trying to mentally calculate my calendar, because she was right. How the hell would we find the time? Medicine was one of the busiest courses. It wasn’t like we could skip a class and write an essay. We had practicals; we had to learn about anatomy, and I had to dissect Leo. It wasn’t like I spent most of my time reading. No, that would be down to the students studying, say, classics.

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