The building behind us lights him up, his dark blond hair glowing like a halo, and I can’t help but think about the song some more. Not that I’m arguing with his creative experience, but it didn’t seem very fragile to me. Kind of the opposite. More solid. Sturdy even. And loud. Incredibly loud.
‘I’d love to see the lyrics,’ I tell him, quickly adding, ‘because it’s a poem, right? Like you said. Not that I didn’t appreciate listening to them, but I’d love to see it written down.’
Oliver immediately shakes his head. ‘I don’t believe in writing my lyrics down. Words are wild, living things. Putting them on paper would be like putting them in a cage. Once the song is done, it has to go free. Every listener has their own interpretation, it’s not up to me to tell people how to feel about my art.’
‘Oh. That makes sense. I guess.’
Only it doesn’t, at least not to me, but I’m not a poet or a lyricist or even a writer. I watch him as we walk, tall and confident, and try to imagine what it must feel like, to be so sure of your place in the world. One less than stellar grade from Dr Quinn and I wasa snivelling mess. Not Oliver. He’s already moved on, walking around, quoting H. G. Wells, sharing his personal philosophies with me. Who gave him the right? When I got my acceptance letter from Hemden, I wrote a list of everything I wanted in a man, and when I look at Oliver, I wonder if the TikTok witch was right and you truly can manifest something into your life if you want it badly enough. He’s so close to the man I fantasized about, it’s almost as though I created him myself. Meyer-stein’s monster. If only he would make a move.
‘I hear your football friend is joining us tonight.’
His hand jerks away from mine and a flash of last night in Ethan’s room almost sends me stumbling into a tree.
‘Turns out he’s a big classical music guy,’ I say weakly as I right myself. ‘Who knew?’
‘Classical? That one? I assumed it was some sort of care in the community thing.’ He glances my way, and all my words disappear. ‘He fancies you, you know?’
‘What?’
My voice is so shrill, I swear a flock of birds fly out from a nearby tree at the sound of it.
‘You’re way off base,’ I insist, pushing all thoughts of last night way, way down. ‘Back home, Ethan is a huge deal. He didn’t even know I existed until we got here, he literally didn’t even know my name.’
‘He knows it now. I can tell by the way he looks at you.’
‘He doesn’t look at me,’ I argue. ‘Not unless I’m the only person in the room.’ I think back to Alice’s advice, about how some men need it all spelled out for them, then add, ‘It wouldn’t matter anyway, he’s not the guy I fancy.’
Oliver’s hand brushes against mine again and this time he doesn’tpull it away. Instead, his little finger locks around mine and just like that, we’re together. No one around us seems to notice this seismic change in our relationship, but all at once, I can’t quite breathe.
‘I’ve never understood people like that, the ones who live for school,’ he says as I steal a sideways glance at him. ‘Fine, you’re popular now, kicking your little ball around, but what happens after university? What are you going to do when the rest of your life is an anticlimax?’
‘Maybe,’ I semi-agree, momentarily debating with myself before jumping to Ethan’s defence.
‘I know people assume athletes aren’t intelligent but he’s smarter than people give him credit for. He’s doing great in his psych classes, he got a 72 on his first paper today.’
‘The first essay doesn’t mean anything. You failed yours.’
It’s almost like a slap. My fingers flex and Oliver’s hand slips out of my grip.
‘Not that failing an essay is a big deal,’ he adds as I blink myself back into the moment. ‘I’ve failed so many classes. It shows independent thinking, that’s what my dad says. Schools like this, they’re all about structure and rules. Someone has to be the first person to challenge the status quo. Failing that essay means you’re pushing his boundaries, I meant it as a good thing.’
A warm grip takes my clammy palm, and this time when Oliver holds my hand, he really holds it.
‘Quinn has a chip on his shoulder about a beautiful American girl coming in and challenging his preconceptions. What a wanker.’
Wait, did he just call me beautiful?
‘I’m pretty worried about theBleak Housepaper,’ I admit, trying and failing to relax. ‘It’s due a week from Wednesday and the book is a beast. You said you took this class last year, right?’
‘For my sins.’
‘Do you still have your course notes? It doesn’t matter how much I study, it feels like I’m getting everything wrong. It might help to see someone else’s perspective.’
‘They’re around somewhere, I’ll see if I can dig them up.’
He’s vague as we turn the corner towards the Goldbeck Theatre, grand and majestic, floodlights positioned all around the landmark building to cast it in a romantic, honeyed hue. Right outside the front door, I see Alice, Jenna, Michael and Ethan. There’s a dissonance to seeing them together; Ethan belongs in one basket and my friends in another. Ethan is Marshall and biscuits and everything I’ve been trying to leave behind. Alice and the others are all the things I want from my future. Mixing them together feels like a bad idea. He could be telling them anything. He could be telling them I’m a friendless loser who hooked up with his awful teammate even though I didn’t. He could be telling them I hooked up with him.
‘Evening all.’ Michael raises a hand to greet us as Oliver releases my hand and jogs up the front steps. I follow, a couple of steps behind, feeling nauseous.
