Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
George
When I first learned that Cambridge University was divided into colleges, I assumed it would be like the houses in Harry Potter, where Slytherins and Gryffindors openly despise each other. In reality it’s not like that – no one takes the historic rivalries between certain colleges seriously until it comes to sport. The Bumps is an inter-college competition that has been running almost as long as the Boat Race. The university rowing squad might be accustomed to competing against each other for places, but the Bumps is the one occasion when we’re officially on opposing teams.
The Bumps were conceived as a way to get round the fact that side-by-side racing is next to impossible on the thin and windy River Cam. Each boat starts a length and a half ahead of the boat behind, and the goal is to catch up with the boat in front of you and ‘bump’ into it. The Bumps take place twice a year over four consecutive days, with one race per day, meaning that the most you can hope to move up is four places in any given season. Places are maintained from previous seasons, and whoever is at the front after four days’ racing is crowned Head of the River. It’s really quite simple.
‘I’m not sure I understand, honey.’
‘Mom, you weren’t listening.’
‘I was! We’re just not in the best way to take it in.’
My parents have dialled in from their sick bed. The restaurant had a salmonella outbreak, and it’s had to close for a couple of weeks due to health and safety regulations. When my parents told me, I thought it was a great opportunity to speak to them while they were finally not running around and distracted. But given that they’re still recovering from salmonella themselves, their brains can’t take in information.
‘Maybe you should go take a nap.’
‘We just took one,’ says my mom. ‘We’re trying to stay entertained.’
‘Sorry for boring you.’
‘You’re not. It’s just a little hard to picture.’
I have a sudden thought. ‘Why don’t you come?’
‘Where?’
‘Cambridge.’
‘But you said you’re racing tomorrow.’
‘Not for that. For my graduation.’
My mom looks surprised. ‘You don’t have your result yet.’
‘I know, but I’ve got a good feeling.’
I’ve been on a high since my exams. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good about anything. It beats any of my sporting victories. I guess I’d have to say it was when Chuck bet me I couldn’t bounce a ping-pong ball into a cup from the other side of the kitchen. I sat there for weeks practising that shit. But when I finally did it, he was so annoyed he beat me up. So yeah, this probably feels better.
‘When is your graduation?’ my mom asks.
‘A week tomorrow.’
‘Christ, George, that’s soon.’
‘Yeah, but you’ll be recovered by then, and the restaurant won’t have reopened yet. It’s perfect.’
My dad mumbles something to my mom that I can’t hear, and I assume they’re preparing to break it to me gently.
‘Let’s do it,’ says my mom.
My mouth drops open. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Why not? Right before we closed, we got a huge tip from a couple who got married here. You’re right – the timing is perfect.’
‘Oh my god. This is amazing.’
My parents chuckle, as if they too can’t believe they’ve finally agreed to this.
‘You’ll have to tell us somewhere to book for lunch,’ says my mom. ‘Do you want to invite any of your rowing friends?’
My heart jumps at the thought.
‘I’ll see what their plans are. There’s this one guy, Lucas .?.?. I think you’ll really like him.’
‘We can’t wait,’ says my mom. ‘We’d better go look up flights.’
‘Keep me posted. And wish me luck in the Bumps.’
My mom looks blank. ‘The what?’
I’ll wait a bit before inviting Lucas to lunch with my parents. We already have a ball to attend together. Maybe I’ll ask him at the last minute. Or do it once we’ve had our results. This is my first day without either work or rowing hanging over my head in as long as I can remember. My first day not seeing Lucas. It feels strange, but that’s only natural when we’ve been spending so much time together, especially given how intense those final revision sessions were.
Except that I miss him so much today that it almost feels like a break-up.
That’s an insane thing to think, but everyone goes a bit crazy during exam season. The first Sunday after exams in Cambridge is known as Suicide Sunday. The university has tried for years to stop people calling it that, but it gives you an idea of where people’s heads are at while they wait for results. The typical response seems to be to drink until you forget all about it, and there are celebrations happening all around me.
As I open Instagram to check what’s going on, the first thing I see is a photo that Lucas has posted of him and Amir at brunch. I feel a pang of envy. They both look so happy.
I want that feeling. I want someone to send me texts that make me burst into a grin. But it’s a bad time to try and meet someone, right when the majority of my year group is about to leave Cambridge forever. I suppose I’ll make do with a one-night stand as usual. I go to check my DMs, then find myself downloading Grindr.
I’m not sure what makes me do that. Maybe talking about sex with Lucas made me curious. I upload my usual photos, then decide to include one of me in a Lycra singlet which leaves almost nothing to the imagination. It always felt too slutty for Instagram, but if I’m putting myself out there, I might as well go for it. I hesitate over what to put in the box where you describe what you’re looking for. In the end, I go for a peach emoji.
The photos are marked as awaiting approval, but as I go onto the home page, I see that I already have a stream of messages. That’s weird. What interest can people have in a blank profile? As I read some of the messages, all becomes clear. Some men send photos of themselves, others write vivid descriptions of what’s on offer. As soon as my photos are approved, the messages go into overdrive. I click on one to find that it’s a video of a man being—yikes! I’ve done some pretty full-on sexting with girls in my time, but that was nothing compared to this.
I open another thread, and see that a guy has sent a message saying ‘you’re hot’, which feels chivalrous by comparison. I look at the guy’s profile. He’s pretty hot himself. I reply ‘you too’. The guy responds with a photo of his ass. A crazy sequence of events when you think about it, but I can’t help it – I’m turned on. I inform the guy. He replies ‘pics?’
I remember the first time I sent a dick pic. This girl Bella Rodriguez asked for one, and I couldn’t decide which to send, so I asked Travis for his advice and he helped me pick one. Crazy that I thought that moment was about her, not him. For all the photos I have of myself, I’m not sure I have an up-to-date image of the prize exhibit. I ask the guy to wait, then drop my pants. I don’t require any effort to get to full mast. After several attempts, I decide that photographing from above isn’t the most flattering angle, and I’d be better off bearing down on the camera, or rather towering above it. The logistics of this are a little more complicated, and it takes a while to get the shot I’m envisioning. But eventually, I take a photo I’m proud of. Who could say no to this? I do some quick colour correction, then deliver my handiwork. The guy is on his way to see me within minutes.
When he arrives, he’s shorter than I expected, and his face is more doughy than in his photos. He doesn’t have a name. No, seriously – I ask and he won’t tell me. Before I have time to take him in, he’s kissing me. Except that it’s not kissing as I know it. Any aliens observing us from outer space would think he’s trying to eat me. Which he is, in a way. On his profile he described himself as a bossy bottom, which I didn’t read until he was already en route, but now I’m seeing what he means. He’s got us both naked within seconds. I mean that – it’s him who undresses both of us, with a speed that can only come from practice.
The urgency is a bit much, but it’s also exciting. Because suddenly, without knowing how we got there, I’m fucking him.
I don’t tell him it’s the first time I’ve fucked a guy. I try out some different positions, but he wants to be on all fours so he can jerk himself off. That’s fine, but I’ve never loved this position. I feel more of a connection with my bedroom wall opposite. I can’t even picture the guy, because I barely remember what he looks like. I liked the anonymity at first, but now it’s weird. And then I feel it happening. Everything’s less tight. The mechanics are slipping. What’s going on? This has never happened to me. The guy turns and looks at me, or rather, it.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I need a minute.’
I think he’s going to snap at me, but he looks sympathetic.
‘Don’t overthink it. It’s a dick.’
Such a good point. It takes almost nothing to get those things up and running. I recall that time in the cupboard with Lucas. My god, that was hot. Suddenly, I’m as hard as I was then. The guy grins with pleasure and just like that, I’m back in the saddle.
Man, I’d love to do this to Lucas. Just once. Just to see how it felt.
Who am I kidding – there’s no way that getting my hands on that cute butt of his wouldn’t feel amazing. No sooner have I had that thought than I feel the climax coming. The guy is right there with me. We finish together and he turns to me, breathless.
‘Holy shit – where did that come from?’
After he leaves, I lie on my bed in a daze. I can’t get Lucas off my mind. If I missed him earlier, I’m now full-on longing for him. He’s made this term the most enjoyable of my life. And it’s not just because we’ve become friends. I want him. I want to follow through on everything we’ve gestured towards .?.?. the kiss, the cupboard, the showers at Henley. After all that build-up, how could the sex not be mind-blowing? But sex won’t be enough.
I want him to be my boyfriend.
Crazy to even think those words. I always assumed I’d end up with a girl, no matter how much sex I did or didn’t have with men beforehand. But I’m not thinking in hypotheticals anymore. I want Lucas to stand over me and force me to send the texts I’m scared of sending. I want him to explain complicated concepts in a way that doesn’t make me feel dumb. I want to tell him how beautiful he is a hundred times until I’m sure he believes it. I want to do it every single day until we’re both old and wrinkled. Because I don’t just want him to be my boyfriend.
The truth is, if I’m really honest, I love him.
Strange as it sounds, I love Lucas. I love who he is underneath all the bluster, and I love the man he’s made me become. Nobody else makes me smile at the mere thought of seeing them. Nobody else makes me long for them this much. It’s a longing so intense that I can’t keep it to myself. If I can tell Lucas I want to sit my exams, I can tell him the one thing I want even more than that. I’m going to tell Lucas that I love him.
In some ways, now is a good time to do it, with exams behind us and training on pause. In other ways, I couldn’t have picked a worse week. For the duration of the Bumps, we’re rivals – I’m rowing for Trinity, and Lucas for St John’s. I decide that the only thing for it is to tell Lucas how I feel straightaway, as soon as I see him, before we get distracted by any racing. On the first day of the Bumps, I arrive at the boathouse early. I haven’t planned what I’m going to say, but I’m sure it will come to me.
I find Lucas seated on a bench outside, looking over his race plan. He looks up casually and I freeze. My mouth is dry.
‘Are you OK?’ Lucas asks.
‘Just a bit nervous.’
Lucas laughs. ‘You, nervous? Yeah, right. You’re trying to put me off.’
I can only stare at him. What’s happening? Just come out and say it.
‘Have you seen that clip of Rafael Nadal doing a banana shot?’
‘What?’
I don’t know where that came from. ‘My mom does an amazing banana cream pie.’
‘George, are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yeah, it’s just—’
I’m literally short-circuiting. This is bizarre. Just then, a short stocky guy walks up to me. It’s Marcus Pollard, the Trinity cox. He gives me a high five.
‘George! So excited to work with you, man.’
‘Uh, sure,’ I say, flustered. ‘Hey, listen, you’re actually a bit early. I need to have a word with Lucas.’
‘Why? He’s the enemy!’
‘Can you give us a minute?’
‘No man, we need to talk tactics! Bye, Lucas.’
It’s actually a relief to forget about Lucas and talk about the competition. Marcus is convinced this is Trinity’s time, having been stuck in second place for almost a year now. Last term, during the Lent Bumps, we had four consecutive attempts to get into first position and fell short each time. But university rowers are only allowed to compete in the Summer Bumps, once we’re free from Boat Race duties. It’s a huge advantage for any college to have a university rower on their team, but it also creates pressure and expectations. My arrival in the Trinity team is our big chance to win. To add to the appeal of victory, Tristan’s college, Peterhouse, is the boat currently leading.
After Henley, any race is going to feel unglamorous, but the Bumps are uniquely chaotic. Since it’s only exciting if you witness a collision, and there’s no way of knowing at which point on the course it might occur, a majority of spectators watch on bicycles, following their chosen pairing. The towpath is carnage, and there are often more crashes involving bikes than boats.
As we row into our starting position, I’m not feeling very motivated. Whatever happens in the race feels irrelevant in the face of my secret mission. Why couldn’t I tell Lucas how I feel? It’s usually only bad news that I shy away from – unless that’s what I fear it will be to Lucas. Before I can focus and get in the zone, the starting pistol sounds. We’re off! I start pulling. But while I make sure to do enough not to get bumped by the boat behind, I don’t have the drive to make a push for victory. As I settle into a rhythm, I sense a lack of noise from the towpath and deduce that this isn’t a thrilling contest.
‘Are we safe?’ asks Marcus.
I glance down the river. The boat behind is nowhere near us. ‘Yeah.’
‘Then let’s go for it. Come on, man. Go go go!’
I do the best I’m capable of. But the first three teams all come home in the positions they started in. That’s the problem with the Bumps – teams have their standings for a reason, and the most likely result of any given race is that each team gets slightly further ahead of the team they’re already ahead of. As I look at Marcus, I can tell I’ve disappointed him with my lack of effort, but that he doesn’t want to admit it.
‘Well,’ says Marcus, ‘we held onto our place.’
I manage to force out a smile.
‘Yay.’
Overnight, I catch up on the other race results. Lucas and the St John’s boat managed to bump their way up from fifth to fourth, which means that Lucas will be in a good mood. There’s no reason not to tell him how I feel today. After how tongue-tied I got yesterday, I decide to write it down. It takes me ages to compose a few simple sentences. I can’t think how to deliver it until I find an old greeting card with a picture of a lake on the front. I issue a later meeting time to the Trinity team, so I know Marcus won’t bother me, then stroll down to the boathouse.
The sun is shining. I’m filled with optimism. But as I arrive, the first person I see is Amir.
‘You’re early,’ I say, forcing a smile.
‘I made Lucas his favourite sandwiches,’ Amir says, holding up a paper parcel.
‘Aw. That’s so nice of you.’
It’s a punch in the gut. Somehow, the sandwiches make Lucas and Amir’s relationship feel even more real than the photo of them at brunch. I want to throw that stupid paper parcel in the river.
‘Have you seen him?’ asks Amir.
‘I don’t think he’s here yet.’
Amir glances down and sees the card in my hand. ‘Is that for him?’
‘This? No no no. This is for .?.?. my grandma.’
Thank god I didn’t write Lucas’s name on the envelope. I clutch the card behind my back. Amir smiles at me genially.
‘So you and Lucas are going to Trinity Ball together?’
‘Yeah, Lucas was so helpful with my revision. I wanted to thank him.’
Amir looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. I wonder what he said to Lucas about catching us asleep together. I’d almost like him more if he got mad about it, but I have a funny feeling he didn’t.
‘I heard you two are going to St John’s Ball,’ I say.
‘Yeah, if Lucas isn’t too tired by then. Speak of the devil.’
I turn to see Lucas. As I do, he swipes the card out of my hand.
‘What’s this?’
‘HEY!’ I snatch it back.
Lucas and Amir both stare at me.
‘It’s for his grandma,’ says Amir.
‘Shit, is she OK?’
‘She’s fine.’
Lucas hands me back the card and turns to Amir.
‘He’s been trying to knock me off my game. I thought it might be anthrax.’
As I go to meet the Trinity crew, I’m feeling fired up. I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or seeing Lucas and Amir together, but I’m absolutely determined to win. I gather my team mates and tell them I refuse to do this three more times. Today’s the day we’re going to take the lead. That’s easier said than done. But sometimes, deciding the result before you get in the boat makes all the difference.
From the moment the race begins, I’m in my own world. I don’t need Marcus to tell me we’re inching closer to Peterhouse with every stroke. A hundred yards from the finish line, I feel the bump.
We’ve caught them!
I clamber out of the boat and go to lap up the applause. Tristan comes striding up to me. He’s seething.
‘Congratulations,’ says Tristan, shaking my hand and attempting to crush it.
I give him a generous smile. ‘You had a good run at the top.’
Tristan looks haunted. ‘No one’s ever held onto first place as long as we have.’
‘Yeah, well, we’ll give it a good shot.’
‘You’d better do,’ says Tristan. ‘I’ll be coming for my crown tomorrow.’
That’s the problem with taking the lead with two races to go. Nothing would be more embarrassing than immediately ceding it back to Tristan. I decide that I need to focus, and I’ll speak to Lucas after the next race, not before. I’m not going to mess around with cards this time. That whole process helped me figure out what I want to say.
Lucas and the St John’s boys have scored a second consecutive victory, which means that I’m in first place, Tristan in second, and Lucas in third. Anything could happen on Day Three. I arrive at the river feeling confident. I didn’t appreciate it yesterday, but beating Tristan is a big deal. After this and Henley, I’m back to my winning ways. All I have to do is get through one more race and hold onto first place.
As I arrive at the boathouse, I catch a glimpse of Tristan rallying his teammates. I know in that moment that he isn’t going to beat us. He can say what he wants about coming for his crown, but it’s obvious that losing yesterday has broken him. Sure enough, I barely break a sweat as I lead the Trinity boat across the finish line, ensuring that we’ll start the final day in first place. I feel butterflies as I realise the time has come to speak to Lucas. I disembark from the boat, step behind the boathouse, and rehearse what I’m going to say.
Then I notice a commotion brewing. Tristan is striding down the towpath, looking even more livid than yesterday.
‘Bullshit,’ says Tristan. ‘Absolute bullshit. Where is he?’
Tristan storms past me. I race up to Ed and Ted, who were in the boat with Tristan.
‘What happened?’
‘We got bumped by fucking Lucas,’ says Ed.
‘We didn’t get bumped,’ says Ted, ‘we got steamrolled. Our boat is trashed. Lucas is going to pay for that. Literally.’
I walk down to the water’s edge and see what Ted means. In the race between second and third, the front of the St John’s boat didn’t just bump into the back of the Peterhouse boat – it thrust into it with so much force that it caused the entire back of the boat to snap off. It’s a miracle the rower in the bow seat wasn’t injured. The boat has started to sink, with some of the Peterhouse rowers up to their waists in the water, trying to salvage it. The towpath is mayhem. Several people have filmed the incident, and some are calling for St John’s to be disqualified. I spot Fran watching in amusement.
‘Did you see the crash?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ says Fran, ‘it was pretty brutal.’
‘Tristan’s fuming.’
‘He’s just mad he lost.’
‘So you don’t think it was unfair?’
‘Unfair? George, this whole competition is ridiculous. A race where the goal is to ram into each other from behind? Tell me which private school boy came up with that.’
She gestures at the fight that’s still raging on the river bank.
‘Look at them. They’re loving this. You can’t call it the Bumps then get mad when the bumps are too bumpy.’
Can’t argue with that.
‘Where’s Lucas?’
‘He ran away.’
‘He what?’
‘He got the fuck out of here. Tristan looked like he wanted to kill him.’
As I walk back to college, I can’t help feeling relieved at missing Lucas again. It’s only then that I realise it’s me who’s been avoiding him all week. I could have texted him at any point over the past few days to arrange a time to talk. I could have confessed everything in a text if I really wanted. I’ve been putting it off so I don’t have to admit how petrified I am. But I can’t keep doing that. I message Lucas asking if we can meet before tomorrow’s race to talk about something important.
That night, I barely sleep, staying up late reading rowing group chats I’d muted. Opinion is split on whether Trinity will hold onto first place, or Lucas and the St John’s boys will make it four wins in a row and snatch the win. I fire off some bullish replies, acting as if that’s the outcome I care about. But the magnitude of my task in the morning and its potential fallout is starting to overwhelm me.
How have I convinced myself this is something I need to tell Lucas? Is it really better out than in if Lucas doesn’t respond positively? Do I have any reason to think he will?
I don’t doubt that Lucas has grown very fond of me. I’m pretty sure he’s got a crush on me too. But he’s always been clear that what he’s most attracted to in Amir is his intelligence. How can I compete with that? Except, Lucas did agree to let me sit my exams. He knows what the stakes are. He knows how hard I’d take it if I failed. Doesn’t that show he thinks I’m smart?
The truth is, I have no way of knowing if I don’t tell Lucas how I feel. I have to take the risk. Even if he turns me down, these feelings are too big to keep inside me.
The next morning, I get dressed and head to the boathouse where I’ve arranged to meet Lucas in the club room. I arrive early and pace around, knocking a few snooker balls into their pockets. A few minutes later, Lucas enters, dressed in his St John’s hoodie. Even the smallest size is still too large for him.
Damn him for looking this cute.
‘Come on then,’ says Lucas. ‘What’s all this about?’
I can barely look him in the eye. ‘Um, I’m sorry about the timing of this, but I just .?.?. I had to do it.’
‘Is everything all right?’ Lucas looks concerned.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Everything’s good.’
‘You promise this isn’t another one of your tactics? You’ve got me paranoid.’
‘No, I swear to god. This is serious.’
My hands are shaking. The words won’t come.
‘What, George?’
‘I think .?.?. I think I’ve fallen for you.’
Lucas double-takes, as if he can’t have heard me correctly.
‘I know you’re with Amir, and I know you probably don’t feel the same, but .?.?. I had to tell you.’
I hold my breath and wait for Lucas to respond. As the corners of a smile creep onto his mouth, I’m filled with hope.
Then he bursts out laughing. ‘Good one, George. You had me for a minute. That was some good acting.’
‘But—’
‘You are fucking dirty, you Trinity lot. I’m not falling for it. We’ll beat you where it matters – on the river.’
Lucas walks out chuckling to himself.
I feel my chest cave in.
It’s not just that he didn’t respond as I hoped. It’s the way he thought, without hesitation, that the idea of me liking him was a joke.
His heart didn’t leap at the prospect. He instantly dismissed it. How did I let myself think that any other outcome was possible? I’m such an idiot.
Somehow, I make it to the starting line. The boats get into position. Word has spread about this year’s dramatic competition and the towpath is clogged with people who’ve come to watch. The starting horn sounds. I kick into gear. But my arms have nothing to give.
I can hear the crowd willing St John’s to catch us. I try not to look, but it’s impossible to miss the fact that they’re already advancing on us. I see Marcus staring back at me in confusion, wondering where my fight has gone. How can I possibly explain? My heart is broken in two.
I know what’s coming, but it’s still a shock when I feel the St John’s boat crash into ours. The crowd cheers. I gasp for breath and clutch my stomach in pain. As the St John’s boat pulls into the bank, Lucas leaps out and into Amir’s arms. I think I’m going to be sick.