5. Will
WILL
I’m glad I got started on my review at the library. After I finish my shift at the coffee shop, I have to head over to the rink to help out with the equipment and meet the head coach.
Coach Allan greets me in his office, offering me a seat in front of a desk full of papers.
“Start of the academic year is always a bit hectic around here,” he says apologetically as I take a seat. “As you can see, we need all the help we can get.”
“Yes, Coach.”
He smiles. “Saw you play at BC last year, O’Reilly. You were pretty good.”
He’s being kind. I was buried in the fourth line behind some pretty impressive future NHLers. “Thank you, Coach.”
“You didn’t wanna take a shot at the pro leagues?”
I shake my head.
“Shame we couldn’t get you on the team here. That experience would have been great.”
“Thanks, Coach, and I was honored to be asked, seriously. But I just won’t have the time. With my studies and everything, I wouldn’t be able to dedicate as much of myself to the team as it deserves. This is already my second job.”
Coach Allan nods, taking the compliment as it was intended. “I get it. You study finance, right?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting a steady income. Hockey isn’t good to everyone. I’ve seen some good kids—talented kids—come through here with high hopes and end up busted up in the minor leagues, making hardly any money.”
I know. You don’t have to tell me that.
“It’s a nice bunch of guys here, O’Reilly, you’ll fit right in.
And we won’t get in the way of your studies.
We don’t need you for game night or every practice.
We have enough equipment managers and assistants for that stuff.
Just a helping hand between games to keep the equipment maintained and organized. How does that sound to you?”
“Sounds perfect, Coach.”
“Great.” He holds his hand across the desk for me to shake. “Welcome to the team.”
I meet the equipment manager and the assistant working at the rink.
They take me through the equipment, show me where it’s stored, how it’s maintained.
The locker room is a lot like the locker room at BC, though every locker room has its own quirks, just like every player.
This team is no different. There are players who don’t like their sticks kept in a certain place.
Players with superstitions that must be respected if you don’t want the player to get the yips on game night.
I take it all in. Realize I miss it—skating out onto the ice on game night in front of a full crowd.
We take hockey very seriously back home in Boston, and the Boston College hockey team are a big fucking deal.
I played with guys who are lighting up the NHL as we speak.
But I always knew hockey was temporary for me.
And I had enough other shit going on in my life at the time to teach me that glory like that isn’t the be-all and end-all of life.
By the time I finish up at the rink and get back to my room, I’m dog-tired down to my bones. I haven’t felt this physically sore since the last time I played a competitive hockey game. Standing on your feet behind a cash register takes it out of you more than most people probably realize.
When I call the house like I promised Ma I would, Dad answers. His big, warm voice is like a familiar blanket being wrapped around me.
“Hey, Pop.”
“Son, how’s it going down there at that Ivy League school? Has anyone tried to make you join a fraternity yet?”
He laughs. I don’t bother telling him that fraternities are only for undergraduates.
“Not yet. I was at the rink today.”
“Oh yeah? How does it compare to BC?”
“It’s pretty impressive, but not better than BC.”
He chuckles.
Ma’s voice pops up in the background. “Is that Will? Put him on speaker.”
I chat on speakerphone with my whole family for about an hour. When we finally hang up, I don’t feel as tired anymore.
PRIESTLEY
After seeing Will working at the coffee shop and seeing how easily distracted he was when I sat in front of him in the library, I’m confident when I walk into class that my name will be moving swiftly up the leaderboard.
Will is in his spot on the third row. Seeing as Professor Moreno didn’t enjoy looking at me in the front row last class, I take a seat next to Will instead.
He side-eyes me.
“How did you get on with your peer review?” I ask.
There’s that muscle ticking in his jaw again. I seem to bring out the worst in him. Good.
“Fine.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
“I got on excellently, thank you for asking.”
He blows a laugh out through his nose. “Good, I’m glad.”
The classroom starts to fill up and Professor Moreno arrives, smiling coolly and carrying a stack of papers under her arm.
“I have your peer reviews here. And yes, I did print them all out. And yes, I do own a printer, and yes I did mark them all with an actual pen.”
She goes around the room, slamming them down in front of students like she’s handing out live grenades.
My heart races, but it’s anticipation, not fear.
I’m waiting for the moment when all the hard work pays off.
When I see that ‘A’ or that ‘100%.’ It’s been a while since I saw my perfect scores on anything other than a computer screen, but if Professor Moreno wants to go old school, that’s her business.
I’ll take my 100% any way she wants to give it to me.
She says my name and looks up from the stack of papers.
“You’ve moved,” she notes.
“Yes, Professor. Is that alright?”
She shrugs before dropping the peer review on the desk in front of me. She’s already moved on, saying, “Good job,” to someone while I stare at the 98% mark in the corner of my review.
No. There must be some mistake. I’m still trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating when I hear her slap something down beside me. “Excellent work, Will.”
I glance over at the paper she just put down in front of him, gape at the big 100% mark written in red marker in the top right-hand corner.
She walks away before I can say anything. For once, I don’t even know what I would say.
My gaze meets Will’s and I prepare myself for the gloating. Instead, he just shrugs and looks away.
He does not deserve to be number one.
I zone out for a moment, feeling like the floor has been removed, like I’m freefalling without a parachute.
Then Will’s voice pulls me back to reality. Professor Moreno has asked the class something, and Will answered.
“Good,” she says.
She’s giving him praise. That’s my praise. He’s stealing my praise.
I can’t let this happen. The surest sign of a great man is how he deals with adversity. Well, here’s my adversity. Time to show Professor Moreno how I battle through it like a champ.
She’s writing something on the board. I focus hard to understand what it is.
A scenario. Okay, excellent, I’m good at these.
The scenario is giving us a client in a sticky financial situation and asking us what options we would suggest for the client to get out of it.
She looks right at Will when she turns back to the class for an answer.
He gives one. It isn’t a bad answer, but I can do better.
I raise my hand.
“You don’t have to raise your hand, Mr. Rosenthal, this isn’t preschool.”
Someone snorts.
I keep a smile on my face as I nod. “Yes, Professor. I just didn’t want to interrupt William. You were done speaking, weren’t you, William?”
He rolls his eyes. “Go ahead.”
I clear my throat before launching into a detailed description of all the ways in which he’s wrong, hoping I enunciate his idiocy subtly enough to deny it if I’m called out. When I’m done, I glance over to check his reaction.
He’s not looking at me. He’s too busy frowning at the board. “That’s all good and well, but what about the potential long-term fallout?”
Professor Moreno has her arms crossed, a curious smile on her face as she watches us spar.
I lean back in my chair, confident. “You have to take big risks in order to gain big capital.”
He makes a very ungentlemanly noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, that’s typical. Our client isn’t a billionaire. They might not be able to take big risks.”
“So, why are they coming to us?” I shrug. “I’m assuming we’re the best in this scenario. Weren’t you?”
Will shoots back with something about client-advisor ethics. I’m about to offer him a response when Professor Moreno interrupts us.
“You both make excellent points, gentlemen. Now, shall we move onto the next scenario?”
I crack my knuckles, readying myself for the fight. But Professor Moreno speaks to the class with her back still turned. “I’d like to hear from someone else this time. Thank you.”
Okay, fine. Maybe I’ve done enough to redeem myself. Set the groundwork to show Professor Moreno that I’m better than Will O’Reilly in every way.
When she’s finished grilling us with scenarios, Professor Moreno wipes the part of board clean that isn’t the leaderboard.
She starts wiping names from the bottom and middle of the board and switching things around based on our peer review grades.
To my chagrin, the top four spots remain static.
Will at number one, me at number two, Alice Liang at number three and Tomasz Petroski at number four.
“For your next assignment, I’m splitting you into groups.” Professor Moreno announces.
I groan internally. I loathe group projects. It usually just means more work for me and having to deal with morons. Let’s just say delegation isn’t my strong suit. But when you have the capabilities and time to do something yourself, why would you need delegation skills?
“Working as part of a team is integral to your success in the real world,” Professor Moreno says, leaning against her desk. “One skill you’ll especially have to learn is how to deal with difficult personalities.”
Did she look at me when she said that?
“I’m going to call out the groups now, so make a note of who you’re with. It’s up to you to decide how you’ll handle the project.”
I prepare myself for what’s coming. She’s going to put me and Will in opposing groups and watch us tear each other limb from limb, like gladiators. Good. May the best man win—me.
“Group A: Will O’Reilly, Peter Chow, Emily Harper, Scott Gerittson and Priestley Rosenthal.”
What? She’s put us together?
Great, I’m stuck in a group with my arch nemesis and we’ve also been saddled with the sloppiest student in the class.
I’d like to swap Peter for Alice Liang. In fact, I would swap anyone for Alice. Together I’m sure we could run rings around Will. She’s the only other student here as meticulous about her stationary as I am. But as it stands, I won’t get the chance.
The one silver lining in this is that when I glance over at Will, that muscle is ticking in his jaw again. He is not happy about this either. Well, if I have to be miserable, I’m glad he’s miserable, too.
Professor Moreno looks at us before dismissing the class. I swear she’s wearing an evil grin. “I trust this assignment will teach you valuable lessons about yourselves.”
I flash her a charming smile. She’s unmoved by it.
I have to get a head start on this mess.
Things haven’t quite started out the way I’d expected, but that doesn’t mean it’s too late to rectify them.
I didn’t get this far, achieve this much, by falling at the first hurdle.
Rosenthals do not curl up into balls of self-pity just because someone doesn’t like them. We’d all be dead by now if we did.
I practically have to chase Will to catch him up. He’s storming down the corridor so fast I have to tug him by the elbow to get him to stop. He looks like he’s about to growl at me or bite me or something as he looks down at my hand.
“May I remind you of that time in the library when you manhandled me?”
“I did not man—”
“I trust you’ll let me take the lead on this one, William.”
He sucks in a breath before laughing and shaking his head.
I have to jog to keep up as he storms down the hallway toward the exit. “Where are you going?”
“This is a group project, Priestley. G-R-O-U-P.”
“So, what? You want to come over to my house and braid each other’s hair?”
“I don’t want to spend any more time around you than I have to either, but we’ve got to find some way to work together if we wanna get a good grade and be at the top of that damn leaderboard.”
“I agree … about the leaderboard.”
He pauses just outside the exit. Students rush by, getting to their next class, or meandering in groups, complaining about their professors, discussing assignment questions. He waits for me to continue my point.
I flash him one of my biggest smiles. “But surely we can find a way to do this separately.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. It’s really annoying how attractive he is. Why does someone so annoying get to be this handsome? I bet he’s an athlete, too. A 'real' athlete. Not a ‘skinny nerd with a racket’ as people were always referring to the tennis team.
“Whether we like it or not, we have to find a way to work together on this. We can do it in a way that’s least painful for the both of us.”
Or least painful for me.
“Fine,” I tell him. “Group work it is. Can you at least delegate enough to allow me to set up the group chat?”
“Sure, you do that.”
“Great. And I can choose the setting for our group meeting?”
He squints at me, already suspecting foul play.
“Fine.”
It’s difficult to keep the smile in as I walk away.