Page 69 of You Float My Boat

Every time I saw Violet she seemed that little bit different; a priceless oil painting created from a palette of a thousand shades – the longer you stared, the more your eyes picked up. Something like that anyway. This is why I stuck to formulas, Shakespeare would be able to come up with a much better analogy. But my point is that I was starting to see Violet in a way I never had before, and I wanted to find out what else I’d been missing.

I wanted to know what she’d be like as a study partner, what she looked like when she was concentrating. Whether, for once, she was silent. If she wrote out revision cards, or used memory tests like Brooks which he forced us to help him with as part of his history degree, and at this point I knew more about Japanese Imperialism than I’d ever expected to.

I wondered how quickly she typed, or if she wentold-school and wrote out long-hand first, scribbling across a lined pad. I could imagine her doing that, there was something of a traditionalist about her. Though she’d call it something else – romantic, probably …‘Charlie, Shakespeare wrote long-hand. There’s something to be said for the romance of penmanship.’

I’d never cared about a girl’s handwriting before, but I pictured Violet’s from our list of rules. Her brother’s needed to come with an Enigma code – that’s how indecipherable it was – but Violet’s was clear and neat, with rounded vowels and loopy lettering.

‘Charlie?’

I was still smiling to myself as my head flicked up and I found Oz staring at me. ‘Yeah?’

‘Who are you texting?’ he repeated.

I shut the phone off and slipped it into my pocket. The sole problem with Violet that I’d figured out was her ability to be entirely distracting even when she wasn’t there. My brain seemed to be on hiatus.

‘Um … no one.’

‘That expression on your face says otherwise.’

I schooled my features to be as passive as possible. ‘I don’t have an expression.’

Oz’s eyes narrowed, and he added a head tilt that said he wasn’t sure if he was buying my flavour of bullshit today. ‘Are you being weird?’

That was debatable.

I pulled off my hoodie and threw it into the back of the locker. ‘Nope.’

‘Then tell me who you were texting. You’re being secretive.’

‘I’m not. I wasn’t texting anyone,’ I replied, immediately regretting it. I should have told him I was replying to Gordon. Why didn’t I tell him that?

Oh, right, because my mind only had room for Violet.

Oz dropped down onto the bench next to me. I could tell he was on the verge of asking something else I didn’t want to answer, but thankfully the door to the locker room flung open and in walked Marshy, our coxswain. Actually, it was more of a stomp, his heavy feet thudding with each step as he failed to acknowledge either of us sitting there watching him pass by, and he pushed through the set of doors leading into the gym with such force they clattered back against the wall.

I clearly wasn’t the only one with something on my mind. Though thankfully it provided me with the decent excuse to change the subject I’d desperately been hoping for.

‘What’s up with Marshy?’

Oz shook his head, ‘I dunno. He’s been in a bad mood for a while now.’

‘Huh,’ I muttered, switching out my trackpants for running shorts.

It might be freezing cold outside, but it was about to get very sweaty in the gym. My muscles were still feeling the burn from water training this morning, and I still hadn’t had nearly enough sleep for my liking.

The doors were still swinging when in walked Bitters, Joshi, Drake and Frank, followed by several of the junior crew all looking far too cheery. The smiles would soon be wiped off their faces once our training session began.

There was no time for smiling.

It would take all our concentration to keep our breathing steady and in sync through each tug on the rowing machines. We might not be out on the water, but we would still be pushing our bodies through the motions of being in the shell. Pushing them to their limits.

Twice a day, seven days a week until the Boat Race was over, and we’d be victorious again.

If I wasn’t such an overachiever, I’d wonder how I found time to think about Violet.

‘Where’s Brooks?’ asked Joshi, sitting down to switch out his trainers.

‘On the way, his lecture ran over,’ replied Oz just as the doors opened again and in ran the man himself, his face red from a combination of the cold and the exertion he’d clearly used to get here.

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