Page 9 of Oar Than Friends

But for the second time in as many minutes I did as I was told.

‘I’m reading classics. Third year,’ he said, once I’d laid my head on the soft ground.

‘You’re studying classics?’

‘Yes. You know, the fall of Rome and analyzing Ancient Greek literature in my spare time.Veni, vedi, viciand so forth.’

I frowned into the darkness. ‘Huh.’

‘That’s all you have to say?’

I shrugged to myself; he was not what came to mind when you thought of a classics student. I lumped classics students with those studying geography and history, wearing tweed with elbow patches while swirling brandy around a glass and talking about how great they were. No classics student I’d ever imagined looked like the one lying next to me.

The one who could easily pass as a quarterback for any NFL team, having fallen directly out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

‘What made you want to study classics?’

He paused, moving his hands underneath his head, his elbow brushing against my shoulder as he did. ‘Have you ever felt like you’re living your life to the beat of someone else’s drum? Like someone else has the strings and you’re just along for the ride? I guess I wanted to beat my own drum for once.’

I lay there in silence, absorbing his cryptic words, letting them really sink in and work their way through my body.

Since my brother had died suddenly, my life had taken itself on an unplanned trajectory – one I was only too happy to go along with at the time, because I wanted to do whatever I could to help my parents through their grief, make them proud. But recently I’d felt displaced, the equilibrium had been off, and I’d put it down to leaving home and travelling to a new country.

Except in the back of my head, I knew that hadn’t been it. That it wasn’t the explanation I’d been searching for.

Now this stranger next to me had summed up in thirty seconds what I’d been trying to figure out for the best part of the last few months.

It was like he was reading my mind, my heart and most likely my soul. Perhaps he knew exactly how I was feeling. Because he felt it, too.

Oz shot up like a rocket as I sniffed into the darkness. ‘Hey, Kate Astley, why are you crying?’

I shook my head, unable to form the words while he reached out, and with the soft pad of his thumb brushed away an errant tear escaping down my cheek.

‘My brother died a couple of years ago. He went to bed on the Wednesday and never woke up. He’d gone into cardiac arrest, and no one had been around to help him. Jake … that’s his name … he’s … hewasso smart, the brains of the family, and the day before he died he’d been offered a full scholarship to study here. My parents were so proud of him.’ I sat up, it was becoming harder to talk with the backlog of tears blocking my airways, and found myself almost face to face with Oz.

I took a deep breath. ‘In the autopsy they discovered his heart hadn’t been beating properly, and it faltered. I was sixteen, I didn’t know what to do. My big brother had died, my parents were grieving, and I was starting my sophomore year of high school. I found myself changing my courses to follow what Jake was going to do. I’d planned to stay in the States and study, because I never thought I’d ever get accepted here, plus it’s about ten times the cost. But I worked my butt off for three years, and somehow was awarded a scholarship, and now I’m here …’ my voice trailed off into the dark.

I wiped my sleeve across my face, then remembered the sleeve didn’t belong to me and offered an apologetic smile to Oz, who just looked sorrowful. The amused, borderline arrogant quirk of his lip which had been on permanent display since I’d met him was gone.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine how that must feel. Can I ask you a question?’

I chuckled quietly, ‘A question for a question, right?’

‘If he hadn’t died would you have still come here to study medicine?’

I shook my head. ‘No.’

‘What would you have done instead?’

My face screwed up in an obvious cringe, ‘It’s dumb.’

‘Nothing’s dumb, but now you have to tell me.’

I looked down at the half-empty bottle of gin. I could always blame my loose tongue on that, though I knew the alcohol had nothing to do with spilling my secrets to a stranger, or maybe only a little.

‘Okay, but don’t judge.’

He held his palms out to me, ‘I swear.’

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