Page 2 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

The English countryside zoomed past, blurring together in various shades of green, its vastness disrupted only by tiny hamlets and sheep. He had started the day with every intention to prepare for the upcoming term, but his friends had other plans—knocking on his door bright and early that April morning, train tickets already purchased. Knowing he had no real reason to stay home, he pulled on a dark blue jumper and a pair of trainers he seldom painted in, and left the sanctity of his flat.

Midway through the trip, his frustrations had bubbled over. Oliver thumped his forehead against the train table at his front. “I can’t believe I’m wasting a perfectly good Sunday for this. I should be working on my exhibition.”

“Well, I can’t believe you’d rather hole up with your paints instead of watching hot men work their muscles all day. You’ve seen what those rowers look like; all three of us will be drooling.” A dulled smack sounded across the table, and Oliver smirked. Even without lifting his head, he knew Isaac had been backhanded by his twin sister.

Oliver sat up as Isaac began rubbing his arm. “Ouch! No need for violence, Rach.”

Rachel rolled her eyes at her brother’s dramatics. “Behave, would you?”

Oliver met Isaac in their fresher year. At first glance, Oliver hadn’t been sure what to make of Isaac. Dressed in men’s streetwear—ripped jeans, paired with a hoodie and jean jacket—he seemed cool and confident, naturally setting himself apart from the other students. Oliver, by comparison, had felt confined and frumpy in his wool jumper, tugging on his sleeves nervously as he had silently assessed the common room.

At the start of university, Oliver had made the decision to finally forgo wearing glasses in favor of contacts, and he was acutely aware that his eyes were red from how often he rubbed them. With just one glance at Isaac, he had known immediately that the other man was clearly too cool to befriend. Instead, he vowed to find someone more unassuming to aid him on his journey through uni.

He’d finally worked up the courage to approach a quiet group of girls sitting on the other side of the joint common room, when Isaac cut him off his path. He was about the same height as Oliver, and his hair was braided into crisp rows against his scalp. “Hey, I’m Isaac. Are you hungry?”

Oliver would have appreciated the lack of pretense if Isaac’s accent hadn’t sent him careening into a memory. He had done his best to keep his composure, lest he scare Isaac off, and stuck out his hand in greeting. “Oliver. You’re from America?” he asked, hoping it was a decent enough opener.

Isaac’s grin had stretched from ear to ear as he returned the handshake. “Chicago. Have you heard of it?”

The pair had then ventured through the streets of Oxford looking for food, later meeting up with Isaac’s sister at the local chippy. Like her brother, there were no formalities. When they met, she instantly pulled him in for a hug and demanded to know his life story. Now, nearly four years later, the three were almost inseparable.

Rachel reached across the train table to push Oliver’s hair out of his face. He was overdue for a haircut, and his sandy-brown hair was beginning to flop over his pale forehead and into his eyes.

“You were tied in knots last term over your final essay, and now you’re already stressed about the exhibition. The new term hasn’t even started,” she admonished, a look of concern etched in her rich brown eyes.

Oliver tried to ignore the dread steadily creeping up his spine as he thought of starting his final term at Oxford. He had applied to the university’s Master of Fine Arts program, hoping the additional training would help develop his skills so that he might one day be taken seriously as a painter. However, as his education was coming to a close, he worried he was slipping behind.

The program was intense and selective, and when he stacked his talents against the other students there, he was sure he firmly belonged at the bottom of the pack. He was mere months away from leaving Oxford, and he was terrified that all he had done was produce a series of quasi-disappointing exhibitions, obtain some knowledge of obscure art history, and develop a nasty case of acid reflux.

He envied his friends who had it all figured out. After they left Oxford, the twins had grand aspirations of starting the next great fashion house. Isaac would fill the role of creative designer, while Rachel was the brain and future business executive.

Isaac roughly poked Oliver in the cheek right where he knew his dimple was. “Bro, lighten up. The sun is shining. The city is calling. Let’s try to have a good day.”

Rachel flipped her beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder before taking a gentler approach. “Well, I appreciate you coming. It’s our last race as students, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

He gave his friends a half-hearted smile before he closed his eyes and leaned his temple against the window. There were forty minutes left of the train ride, so he forced himself to relax. They were right. There were only a few days until they were set to return to classes. There was no reason he couldn’t have some fun before getting back to work.

The train’s speaker system signaled their approaching stop, which triggered an immediate uptick in chatter by the large group of students preparing to exit onto the platform. As she gathered her things, Rachel’s melodic voice added to the fray. “Are you sure we can’t stay overnight? We haven’t been to the city in ages, and I don’t want to rush back.”

Oliver groaned. Staying overnight meant staying in his parents’ townhome in Chelsea, and Oliver had no intention of calling them to ask if they could. There was no such thing as hospitality with Charles and Patricia. He was already apprehensive about seeing them at his final exhibition showcase in a few months—if they decided to show, that was.

“The trains run late, Rach.”

Rachel gave him a sympathetic wince and dropped the subject, grasping his hand as they joined the crowd exiting the train.

The English weather was unpredictable on the best of days, and in early April, one might encounter anything from sun, to rain, to snow, in any particular year. Today, it was the former, and the crowds buzzed with more energy thanks to the added sunshine and warmth of the day.

As always, the twins were stylishly dressed. Isaac wore a navy t-shirt that stopped midway down his biceps, which nearly erred on the side of too small, with a form fitting pair of jeans. Rachel, meanwhile, had slipped into a blue polo dress laced with white stitching that popped against the dark fabric. Both fits were perfect, no doubt tailored by Isaac. One look at them said they were here to support Oxford, but without having to wear something gaudy from the Varsity Shop.

Unlike Oliver, they had clearly checked the weather forecast for the day. Annoyed, he pushed up the sleeves of his jumper and bemoaned the fact that he had left his sunglasses at home.

The trio had decided to participate in the fanfare that took place at the start of the course before they found a spot to watch the actual race. Wandering around, they stopped at some of the booths that had been set up near the boathouses, which housed the athletes until the race started. After getting a bite to eat and seeing that the crowds were starting to pick up, they made their way closer to the water where the rowers had begun to congregate.

Rachel prattled off random facts about the race while Oliver and Isaac shamelessly perused the men as they stretched and shook out their muscles. Who knew that men in wellies could be such a turn on? Not Oliver. Not until then, at least.

His attention was focused on the Oxford crew when Isaac elbowed him lightly. “Do you know that guy from Cambridge?”

Brows furrowed, he scanned the team and noted that he did recognize one rower—a certified prick who had been in his year at Eton. He pointed him out to his friends, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, him right there. We went to Eton together, and he used to kick my arse for being gay.”