Chapter Four
Chapter Four
George
Jemima says it doesn’t mean anything that she came to Cambridge. She works for the London office of the global sports agency which signed me after my modelling campaign. She’s one of those posh British girls who never brushes her hair and is always having a good time. She didn’t make it to the Boat Race – too busy doing promo with Emma Raducanu. But when the Telegraph article landed, she immediately arranged to come and see me. She’s taken me out to lunch at Brown’s, a fancy chain restaurant on King’s Parade, Cambridge’s main tourist drag. She might be about to drop me, but this place does an awesome steak. So it’s win win, if you think about it.
‘Stonking Chardonnay for the price,’ says Jemima. ‘Do you want to try?’
‘I have a lecture after this.’
‘Never stopped me! Did I ever tell you I was the inventor of a cocktail called the Nipple Tipple? Don’t ask.’
Jemima snorts and tops up her own glass almost to the rim.
‘Look, George, I don’t need to tell you how unusual it is for a company like us to represent a rower. A student rower. Opportunities like this don’t come along very often.’
I was approached by Jemima shortly after my modelling campaign went viral. At the time, I was feeling burned by having the whole world staring at my crotch, and Jemima made clear that one of the benefits of signing with her was that she’d be on hand for any future jobs to make sure I wasn’t exploited. All I was hoping for was another campaign that my mom could be proud of, maybe modelling watches, something like that. But Jemima had bigger ideas. Apparently they’re always looking for growth areas in niche sports. That’s when she started calling me the Tom Brady of rowing. We plotted out a path which involved winning the Boat Race, then getting selected for the US Olympic team. I know when Jemima’s excited about my career because she lets us pose for a selfie to post on the official agency account. No selfie so far today. Maybe after dessert?
‘Do you remember Anna Kournikova?’ asks Jemima.
I look blank.
‘Too young. She was a tennis player. Massive hottie. Never won a tournament, but she was the most searched woman on Google back in the day. FHM Sexiest Woman. Huge star. Or look at Adam Rippon. Came tenth at the Olympics, but my god, the way he maximised his media profile.’
Her admiring tone suggests that she sees this as the ultimate victory.
‘Do you see what I’m saying? The sports side of things isn’t necessarily that important.’
She chugs her glass of wine and tops it back up immediately.
‘But .?.?. I thought it was all part of the vision,’ I protest.
‘It was. But then you lost. If you want to be a winner, you need to win things. That’s why I’m worried about these exams.’
‘What’s the alternative?’
Jemima doesn’t miss a beat.
‘Drop out now. Transfer to a US college. I can find one who’ll give you a degree for writing your name on the exam paper. Take every modelling job you can get and forget about the other stuff. Voilà.’
I put down my fork. ‘I’m two months away from finishing a degree I’ve been working on for three years!’
Jemima raises an eyebrow.
‘OK, fine,’ I admit, ‘maybe not working —’
‘Exactly,’ says Jemima, ‘which is an issue at Cambridge. So glad they rejected me. I did fuck all for three years at Exeter!’
She snort laughs so loudly that the family on the next table look over.
‘Jemima,’ I say firmly, ‘I want everything you want. The brand sponsorships. Olympic gold. But I also want a Cambridge degree.’
‘That’s great, George. We all want those things. So did Kournikova, I’m sure. But you can’t have everything. You need to decide what matters most. The woman is married to Enrique Iglesias.’
She snaps her fingers at a passing man who definitely isn’t a waiter.
‘Mate, can we get another bottle?’
I’m choosing to see that meeting as a success. First and foremost, Jemima didn’t drop me as a client. She even agreed to pose for a selfie, although she hasn’t yet posted it on the agency account. But she must be so busy. True, the general tone of the meeting wasn’t ideal, but Jemima’s only asking me to choose between two things that are equally awesome. This is like the time my family went to Michigan’s Adventure and there was so much traffic on the way that we only had time to stand in line for one big ride. I took so long to decide between Thunderhawk and Shivering Timbers that in the end, I didn’t get to go on either. But I did get a really cool baseball cap from the gift shop.
I’m not sure what the baseball cap is in this scenario, but I suppose the lesson is I need to make my mind up before it’s made for me. Most people probably assume that my Cambridge degree is a means to a rowing career, but it’s not that simple. I only got into rowing because a guy playing golf at the country club saw me carrying a crate of lobsters and said I had the physique for it. He was a dude in his thirties who turned out to be a rowing coach. I’m pretty sure he was hoping I had the physique for other things, but I showed up at the rowing club, avoided his advances, and never looked back. I guess you could say it fell into my lap, a bit like modelling and Cambridge. That happens a lot with me. But it’s not like I haven’t embraced all three. I’m planning to row at the Olympics. And I’ve loved being at Cambridge. I’d hate to quit now.
More than anything, I’d hate to have to tell my parents. Maybe they’ll have some advice. We haven’t spoken since before the Boat Race, which is weird, now that I think about it. I message them to arrange a Zoom.
Until then, it’s all systems go on my deal with Lucas. He’s promised to meet me after his lecture to get started, but I figure why not attend the lecture to show I’m committed. It’ll be the first lecture I’ve made it to all year, but hey – better late than never.
The economics faculty is on the Sidgwick site, a cluster of 1950s arts and humanities buildings that someone once described to me as a brutalist masterpiece. I guess there’s something cool about the way the various faculties are housed in a rectangular quad raised on stilts around a grass courtyard. But it’s basically just a load of concrete.
Today’s lecture is on global capitalism. Nice! I forgot I’d even chosen that paper. The lecture is being held in a cavernous hall with enough scratched old benches to seat the entire year group of two hundred. I walk in and take a seat next to two students I don’t recognise.
‘I’m George,’ I say, offering my hand.
The first boy looks at my hand, then glances at his friend and turns back to me.
‘David.’
‘Hi, David. So great to meet you!’
I smile at the guy next to him.
‘I’m George.’
‘Rav.’
‘Hi, Rav. Likewise!’
They share a look.
‘So what’s your favourite currency, you guys?’
David and Rav stare at me.
‘Our what?’ asks David.
‘Your favourite currency.’
Why are they looking at me so weirdly? Hello, we’re studying global capitalism?
‘Mine’s probably the yen,’ I say. ‘Because damn, Japan is one impressive economy.’
‘The yen is doing terribly,’ says Rav.
‘Is it? That sucks. How do we feel about the euro?’
I glance up and see Lucas enter the lecture hall. He spots me and crosses over, looking mortified.
‘What are you doing here?’
I do a double take at his annoyance. ‘We said we’d meet here.’
‘We said we’d meet after the lecture.’
‘Yeah, but I thought it was dumb not to attend. I saved you a seat.’
As Lucas looks around to see if there are any other seats available, I’m seriously confused. Surely it’s a good thing I’m taking the initiative? The room settles down as the lecturer arrives. Dr Bastian Keller is a junior academic whose online bio I read on the way here. Now I feel equipped to talk to him about his primary research interests of industrial organisation and regulatory governance. Well, maybe not equipped. But I can at least mention them. Show him how eager I am. I walk up to him proudly.
‘Hello,’ I say, offering my hand. ‘I’m George.’
Dr Keller looks at me in confusion.
‘Right. Can I help you?’
‘Sure can! Tell me everything you know about global capitalism.’
Dr Keller stares at me.
‘Is it OK if I start the lecture?’
‘Yes,’ says Lucas, dashing up and yanking me towards my seat. ‘Ignore him.’
I’m determined to absorb every word of this lecture. But from the start, Dr Keller is making it hard for me. He keeps waving a book in the air and telling the class he’s giving us a précis of marks. A what? Marks is what British people call grades, but what’s a précis? The number of marks you need in order to pass?
The more Dr Keller talks, the more unclear he becomes. Everyone else is nodding along as if he makes perfect sense. I bet they’re faking it. Time for me to come to our rescue.
‘But the point about the Theory of Alienation—’ says Dr Keller.
I shoot up my hand.
‘I’m gonna have to stop you there.’
The entire auditorium turns and stares at me. Dr Keller narrows his eyes at me.
‘Could you break that down for me?’ I ask.
I click my pen to show I’m ready. Next to me, Lucas puts his head in his hands.
‘This is a lecture,’ says Dr Keller. ‘I’m not taking questions.’
‘Just quickly,’ I say. ‘Tell me about this Theory of Alienation.’
‘That’s what I just explained.’
‘I missed that part.’
‘Which part?’
‘The theory. And the alienation.’
There are sniggers all around me. What’s wrong with these people? I’m here to learn. I try again.
‘I need to know how to get these marks you keep talking about.’
The rest of the students chatter in amusement. Dr Keller looks incredulous.
‘I see what he’s saying,’ Rav pipes up. ‘He wants to get marks.’
I turn to Rav in gratitude. ‘ Thank you.’
Lucas lets out a faint groan.
‘You don’t get marks?’ asks Dr Keller in confusion.
‘I mean, I’m hoping to. I haven’t sat the exam yet.’
‘But hang on. Do you just mean .?.?. marks in general?’
‘As many marks as possible.’
‘Might I suggest focusing on Das Kapital ?’
I look blank. ‘ Das what?’
‘It’s the text I’ve just been discussing,’ says Dr Keller. ‘By Karl Marx.’
‘Oh Karl Marx. I thought you were talking about marks as in marks in an exam. That makes so much more sense.’
I write the words ‘Karl Marks (person!!!!)’ in my notebook.
Next to me, Lucas makes his hand into a pistol and silently blasts his brains out.
The rest of the lecture is a blur. I can’t shake the feeling that Rav deliberately tried to embarrass me. Maybe it was no less than I deserved, but I’ve never understood why so many people at this university are allergic to being nice. I hate feeling stupid. It’s the reason I stopped going to classes in the first place.
At the end of the lecture, as everyone files out, I wait until Rav is out of earshot, then turn to Lucas. ‘Was Rav making fun of me?’
Lucas gives me a droll look. ‘No, George. He sees you as a scholar and a peer.’
I peer at Lucas with suspicion. ‘Why do I feel like you don’t really mean that?’
Lucas chuckles and shakes his head. ‘You are honestly unbelievable.’
‘Why?! What did I do?’
As Lucas starts speeding away, I race to catch up with him.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You really don’t get it, do you?’
‘No! That’s the problem.’
‘You will. Once we get there.’ Lucas points directly ahead. Rising above us in the distance is the tallest building in Cambridge – the University Library.
‘Wait, we’re going to the library?’
Lucas nods tersely. Is he still mad about the Boat Race or something? I try to think of a subtle way to find out.
‘Are you still mad about the Boat Race?’
Lucas stares straight ahead.
‘Is that a yes or a—’
‘No.’
We walk on in silence. There have been many days out on the river when Lucas goes all quiet and grumpy like this. I’ve learned from experience that the best thing to do is leave him alone. Maybe he’ll cheer up once he gets some action. I can’t wait to get started on my plan. I’ve never thought of myself as an expert at dating, but seeing Lucas outside Amir’s room like that, drunk and desperate, I knew instinctively what he was doing wrong. I am so going to Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed that boy. Except that Amir will be the one to kiss him. Obviously.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the University Library. I’ve always wanted a reason to go inside. As we get close, I realise just how massive it is. Along the front, ground-to-ceiling windows stretch the entire length of five or six floors. In the centre is a thrusting brick tower at least twice as high. It looks more like a factory than a library.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘How many books do you think it holds?’
‘Nine million.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Every single book that’s ever been published in this country.’
‘No way. So they’d have like, the whole Diary of a Wimpy Kid series? And Tom Brady’s memoir?’
Lucas turns to me, deadpan. ‘It’s your lucky day.’
He leads me into a cavernous lobby with two librarians behind a desk. I’m all set to greet them, but Lucas goes through a side door and down some stairs to a basement locker room. He gestures at my bag.
‘You’re not allowed to take that in.’
‘You’re not allowed bags? This is so cool. It’s like the Pentagon or something!’
Lucas rolls his eyes and throws my bag into a locker. We go back upstairs and swipe through the turnstile to find ourselves in a draughty corridor.
‘Right, meet me in the economics section,’ says Lucas.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I need to get out a book.’
‘What book?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But if it’s on our syllabus—’
‘It’s not,’ says Lucas. ‘I’m reading around the subject.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Seriously, George—’
‘I’m trying to get into the right mindset! Help me out here.’
Lucas sighs. ‘I’ve already read everything on the reading list. But Dr Keller mentioned how Marx was influenced by Hegel, who was influenced by Descartes. So I thought I’d get out some Descartes to see how it all fits together.’
I keep my mouth shut, because I don’t want to sound any more stupid than I feel.
‘I won’t be long,’ Lucas says. ‘See you upstairs.’
He walks off down the corridor, and I look up at the wall in front of me, which has a big map showing the library’s complex layout. Economics is on the fifth floor. This place is huge. I can’t think why I haven’t been in here before now. You can literally smell the knowledge that’s contained in these walls, all these books full of facts and theories that will soon be second nature.
I follow the directions to the economics section, walking down to the end of the corridor and heading up to the fourth floor in a creaky metal elevator. Around every corner, there’s a desk and a student nestled quietly, turning pages and making notes. I’ve always thought there’s nothing more calming than sitting in a rowing boat and pulling an oar, but now I’m not so sure. Then again, it’s not like I have to choose between the two – if Lucas can do both, so can I. Not that Lucas can row.
I arrive at the economics section and stop in my tracks. What now? There are stacks of books that stretch as far as I can see, but no one to guide me. I feel as lost as I did in the lecture. I need a starting point, but I don’t think I’ll ever live it down if Lucas arrives to find me reading Economics for Dummies . Better order that one on Amazon.
I look around to see if I can find a librarian. But there’s no one in sight, and I’d rather not go all the way back down to the lobby. Maybe I can ask one of these students. They can’t all be hell-bent on humiliating me. I walk along the row of desks, but the first student glares at me and the second is so engrossed by her book and a giant set of headphones that I don’t want to scare her. Then, in the far corner, I hear a noise. Someone is sniffling. I step behind a stack of books and peer through a crack.
Seated at the desk is a brown-haired girl in a strawberry-coloured sweater. She has a book open in front of her, but she’s not reading it – she’s trying desperately to stop herself from bursting into tears. Let it all out, I want to tell her. I can picture her, weeping gently as I hold her in my arms.
No, George, stop it.
After all the drama last week, I promised myself I wouldn’t sleep with anyone until my exams were over. But what was I meant to do about Katya, slinking under the limbo rope like that? I was powerless to resist. But right now I’m sober. I’m in a goddamn library. I’m going to ask strawberry sweater girl for help finding books and that’s it.
I step into the aisle and smile at her in sympathy.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah,’ says the girl. She wipes her eyes. ‘Sorry, this is so embarrassing.’
‘What are you sorry for? We’re in Cambridge. It’s exam term.’
‘Yeah,’ she says gratefully.
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’ll leave you alone. But if you want to take your mind off everything .?.?. I could actually use some help.’
The girl – Danae is her name – accepts my request to help me look for books. I’m so excited to have found someone who’s willing to help, it takes me a while to realise I have a bigger problem.
It’s hard to put a finger on where it starts. Maybe the moment our arms graze against each other for just a little too long. Or the time I make some random comment and Danae laughs loudly. I like to back myself, but I know for a fact that what I just said wasn’t funny. There’s only one explanation: this girl likes me.
To be honest, I knew it from the moment she looked at me. Let’s just say it’s not an uncommon occurrence. It’s not that I don’t think she’s cute, I just really need to focus on my studies. But she is being so helpful. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.
Danae has taken us down this narrow gap between two shelves of books. It’s too close for comfort, so I crouch down, pretending to examine a book on the bottom shelf. How do I get out of this? Just act like it’s not happening. But when I stand back up, Danae has taken a step towards me, so she’s closer than I was expecting. She gives me a look to let me know she’s not bothered by our proximity. Oh wow, she’s so pretty up close. One kiss can’t hurt.
There’s nothing quite like that first touch of the lips. Which is good, because I need to keep this quick. Except .?.?. the second and the third touches, those are quite good too. And the fourth. And the fifth. Now that I’ve committed, I need to put in a good performance. What if Danae knows who I am? I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I’ll give her the kiss of her life then leave her wanting more. But Danae’s hands slide down to my pants and start to unzip me.
Damn. I’ve never done it in a library. At least if we go all the way, we’ll have a satisfying end point.
Then I hear a cough. I look up to see Lucas staring at me. Danae turns and sees him too.
‘Lucas,’ says Danae, mortified.
‘Wait,’ I say, hastily doing up my zipper. ‘You two know each other?’
‘Yeah,’ says Danae. ‘We—’
She hurries off without finishing her sentence. I want to follow her, but I know it’s best that I don’t. Lucas and I are left facing each other.
‘How do you know her?’ I ask.
‘She’s in our year, George. She just got really badly dumped. Were you taking advantage?’
‘No! I would never!’
Lucas shakes his head in disbelief.
‘Danae was helping me find some books,’ I insist. ‘No, she was, really!’
I don’t want to tell Lucas I was only going along with what Danae wanted, because that makes both of us look bad. Plus, it’s not like I wasn’t enjoying it. Luckily, Lucas has already forgotten about it. He tells me to follow him and leads me to the very back of the economics section, deep in the stacks. He kneels and starts poking around the back of one of the bookshelves. I hear a click, and he removes part of the wall.
‘Is that—’
‘A secret compartment.’
‘No way! Told you this was like the Pentagon.’
‘I hope you never get to visit the Pentagon,’ says Lucas. ‘I feel like you’re going to be very disappointed.’
He removes the panel and pulls a book from inside the compartment. It’s a bit dusty, but at this point, I’m expecting him to produce an ancient papyrus scroll. Instead, it’s just a dog-eared edition of the economics course handbook.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, trying not to sound disappointed.
Lucas dusts it off.
‘This is the only book we need to get you through your exams.’
‘Isn’t that just the course handbook?’
‘No. This is a .?.?. special edition.’
I squint at it. Doesn’t look special to me. ‘Why’s it kept in there?’
‘So it can be found by the people who need it, and not by the people who don’t know it exists.’
Lucas hands it to me and I turn the pages. I quickly realise this isn’t just any edition. It’s been tampered with extensively, with dozens of notes scribbled in the margins and various maps glued in the back. It tracks not only which topics are likely to come up in any given year, but where the exam scripts are stored at each stage of the process and the codes to the buildings. It tells you which professors might be open to a bribe or two, and which would rather lose their jobs than break a rule. There’s even a section that tells you where to hide your phone in the exam hall toilets so you can check it on a break.
‘Who wrote this?’ I ask in amazement.
‘Different students over the years. There’s all sorts of reasons people might not be able to pass their exams the traditional way.’
Lucas glances around and drops his voice to a whisper.
‘I’m not going to help you revise for your exams, George. I’m going to teach you how to cheat.’