STS Ch-43

“Damn,” Ash whistled softly as he took in the stream of girl groups walking past us. The late summer air was filled with the excitement of students returning after the break or freshmen starting a new chapter in their lives. “Now I regret not coming to college. Just look at those chicks go. The sway in their step is enough to wreck my heart.”

Julie turned to me, one eyebrow arched. “Did I ever tell you that you have a pig for a friend?”

I snorted. “Believe me, this is very tame behavior for him. You haven’t seen real pigs.”

She shrugged, folding her arms. “I’ll still call him a pig. If he can refer to girls as ‘chicks,’ then he’s a pig. It’s as simple as that.”

I didn’t want to get dragged into a debate about how even some girls called each other chicks, because by that logic, black people also called each other by the n-word, so I let it go. Instead, I took in the view of Harvard Yard stretching out in front of us. Students sat scattered across the grass in loose circles, some hunched over textbooks, others sprawled out and talking. A steady flow of people crossed the paths, dragging suitcases or carrying boxes. Freshmen were everywhere, hauling their lives into dorms for the first time. It made sense, considering the building we stood in front of was reserved exclusively for first-years.

“So, where are your dorms?” I asked Julie. “Because mine’s right here.”

“Let’s see,” she muttered, fishing a folded map out of her bag. She studied it for a moment, then tilted her head. “According to this thing, I’ve got to take a left from here, and it should be about a quarter mile that way.” She pointed to the right with her chin.

“I’ll accompany you there,” Lenny offered without hesitation.

“Thanks, Lenny,” she said, smiling at him. She shot a mild glare at Ash, then turned and walked off with Lenny beside her.

Only after they were well out of earshot did Ash speak up. “Dude, your girlfriend has issues.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I corrected him immediately. “I’ve made it clear to her that I’m not into dating.”

Peter, who’d been quietly taking in the scene for a while, finally spoke. “Of course she’s not your steady girlfriend. That’s what you always do. I really wanted to date Lola for real, but you left me stuck in this weird situation where you weren’t dating her, and I couldn’t ask her out either because you two had a thing, and I didn’t want to betray my bro. That’s selfish.”

“You think so?” I asked. “You could’ve told me that earlier, and I’d have gladly let you ask her out.”

“Really?” he asked, clearly skeptical.

“She would’ve said no, but that’s a different matter entirely,” I said as we reached my new dorm building. The brick facade looked identical to half the others around it, solid and unremarkable. “It was her idea to keep things no-strings.”

“Bullshit,” Peter said confidently. Then his expression faltered almost immediately. “Really?”

“Yup,” I nodded as we stopped outside the door with my assigned room number.

I knocked once. When no voice came from inside after a few seconds, I pulled out the key I’d been given and unlocked the door.

The room wasn’t quite what I’d expected. The first thing that caught my eye was the milk crates bolted to the walls, stacked into makeshift bookshelves. The bed sat pushed against one wall, the desk against the other, and the whole place smelled faintly of dust and old wood. The crates, though, were impossible to ignore. They looked cheap, uneven, and completely ridiculous.

“You’d think that for a college charging this much tuition, they’d give you real bookshelves,” Ash said as we stepped inside and looked around.

My roommate seemed to have already moved in, even though the room itself was empty at the moment. Still, it was clear he’d made himself at home. The bed by the window was neatly made, the sheets pulled tight, and the wall above it was covered in posters. AC/DC dominated the space, with Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, and Star Wars filling in around it. Half the bookshelves were already packed with books, mostly Economics from what I could tell, though a few DC comics were mixed in.

One chair held a messy pile of clothes, while the study desk was cluttered with a few open books, their pages marked and dog-eared.

My side of the room mirrored his exactly, except it was completely empty and free of his things.

In short, it was perfect for me.

“Are you sure you should live in a dorm?” Peter asked, looking around the room. “I mean, it’s okay-ish, but you’re basically leaving a mansion behind to live here. Your bedroom in your house is like four times the size of this place, and you don’t even have to share it.”

I shook my head. “I can’t commute from New York to Boston every day. And it doesn’t make sense to buy property here. I won’t be living here after I’m done with Harvard.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah, but still…”

“And I want an authentic college experience,” I interrupted. “That’s not complete without living in the dorms.”

That ended the argument. Peter simply inclined his head in acceptance.

After that, the three of us hauled my luggage to my side of the room and started unpacking. It didn’t take long, mostly because I hadn’t brought anything I didn’t actually need. Ironically, the item that took up the most space wasn’t even unpacked.

“Isn’t it a little early to bring your camera and recording gear here?” Peter asked.

I shook my head. “Not at all. I plan to start shooting as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll even hold auditions here…”

“You’re holding auditions?” a new voice called out.

All three of us turned toward the doorway.

The newcomer looked about my age, with brown hair and matching eyes, an above-average height, and a solid build. At first glance, he was the kind of guy you’d probably ignore on the street. If you actually paid attention, though, he was good-looking in a quiet, nerdy way.

“Hey, man,” I said as I walked over and offered my hand. “You must be Ron.”

“That I am,” he said, shaking it. “So that makes you Noah. Is it true, then? You’re making a movie?”

I laughed at his enthusiasm before nodding. “Yeah. Eventually, at least. I’ll give myself some time to settle in first.”

“Whoa,” Ron said, eyes lighting up. “So you must be aiming for VES.”

I blinked. “What exactly is a ves?”

“V.E.S.,” Ron clarified. “Visual and Environmental Studies. That’s Harvard’s filmmaking society. They teach you about filmmaking and all that, and you can even borrow their equipment and editing rooms. They don’t let outsiders shoot movies here, but as long as the director’s a student, you can shoot pretty much whatever you want. It’s really competitive, though. They rarely let people in without strong credentials.”

I hadn’t known there was a dedicated filmmaking major at Harvard. Now that I was here, there was no question I’d go for that over literature, economics, computers, or anything else. Maybe I could minor in one of those if I had the time, but that didn’t seem likely, given how packed my schedule already was.

I wasn’t worried about getting in. I had the credentials. At worst, I could ask Randal, Sean, or even my new stepfather, Frank, to write me a letter of recommendation. That alone should strengthen my case.

“So maybe you could give me a role in the movie?” Ron asked, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice. “I’ve always wanted to be an actor.”

“Sure,” I said casually. “Whenever I hold auditions, I’ll keep you in mind.”

Thinking about it now, he’d be perfect for the protagonist’s best friend. The only real question was his acting ability. Roommate or not, I wasn’t handing out roles unless someone could at least hold their own.

“Noah,” Peter called out suddenly. “Ash and I should go.”

“So soon?” I asked. “We could all go bar hopping or something. Ron can join us. I’m sure he already knows all the good spots around here, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Ron said easily. “I can give you a tour of the campus too, if you want.”

Ash answered before anyone else could. “No. We’ve got to head to Lenny’s university tomorrow to help him settle in. We can’t.”

I grimaced. “Alright, next time then. But when I start making the movie, I want you both to drop everything and come here.”

“Definitely, bro,” Peter said as he clasped my hand and pulled me into a tight, brotherly hug. Ash followed a second later, and before I fully processed it, both of them were already heading out.

Once they were gone, I turned to Ron. “You still up for that tour? I want to check out the swimming area.”

“Absolutely,” he said, clearly excited. “What do you need the swimming area for? Is it for a scene in your movie?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No. It’s because I’m on a swimming scholarship. Or at least, I was. I’m not eligible anymore. Still, I like to swim whenever I can, and maybe take part in a few swimming competitions from time to time.”

Harvard, and most Ivy League schools by extension, didn’t offer athletic scholarships in the traditional sense. Instead, they provided need-based aid to strong athletes backed by a coach. Since my admission had been deferred by a year, Harvard sent me a letter last month asking for updated proof of my family’s income to reassess my aid. Given how much money I’d made over the past few months, I had lost the scholarship entirely.

Most students would’ve been furious about that. I wasn’t. Losing it meant I was no longer tied to mandatory swim practices, which gave me more time to focus on filmmaking and my studies.

“Alright,” Ron said. “Let’s tour the place. I’ve made a few friends already, and if you’re up for it, we could all hit a local bar afterward.”

I smiled. College was already starting to feel exactly the way I’d hoped it would. Maybe I should offer Julie to come along as well if she’s not doing anything.

(Break)

Pheeew.

At the sharp sound of the whistle, I dove into the pool at a perfect angle and surged forward, smooth and effortless, at least for me. The water parted cleanly around my body as if obeying my every mental command, which it probably was. The rest of the competition was left far behind almost immediately, but I didn’t slow down. I decided to finish the race properly before stopping.

When I completed the lap, I climbed out of the pool and turned toward our coach, waiting for his reaction. He’d dropped his whistle. It lay forgotten near his feet as he stared at me, mouth hanging open, his expression frozen somewhere between disbelief and shock as he looked between the stopwatch and me, back and forth.

“Are you okay, Coach?” I asked innocently, pretending not to notice. “You don’t look too good.”

“I am… what…” He shook his head as if trying to wake himself up, then finally blurted out, “What the hell was that?”

“I swam?” I offered helpfully.

He stared at me as if I’d just spoken a foreign language. “Are you on some kind of substance?”

“No,” I said firmly. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t just break the national record. You shattered the international record by a wide margin. Today, you were faster than any freestyle swimmer in recorded history. Only one person has ever finished the hundred meters in under fifty seconds, and even that was by a millisecond. 49.99.” He leaned closer, eyes wide. “You finished in 42.51 seconds. So yeah, I want to know if you’re using something illegal.”

“I’m not,” I said again, not backing down.

Somehow, he believed me. The grin that spread across his face was so wide, it looked like I’d just handed him a million dollars. He stepped forward and placed both hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly.

“You, son, have a gift,” he said, suddenly serious. “If you can maintain this level of performance, you can go far. Maybe even win the Olympics. We’ll start with daily morning practices, then you’ll compete in the Harvard swim events, then you’ll—”

“Excuse me, sir,” I interrupted politely. “I don’t mind competing in swim events, but I train on my own schedule. That’s what’s worked for me all these years, and that’s what I want to continue. I’ve got several academic and extra-curricular projects I want to pursue, and I don’t want swimming to interfere with that.”

His expression hardened instantly, as if I’d insulted him.

“You don’t understand,” he snapped. “This could open so many doors for you. You could—”

“But it doesn’t pay me,” I cut in calmly. “Because of amateur rules, I won’t make much money, even if I win multiple gold medals. I need a solid education for my future. And since I’m not on scholarship anymore, I don’t need to swim to study at Harvard.”

That stopped him.

Unlike professional sports like basketball, football, or soccer, where players are paid enormous sums, Olympic athletes aren’t. That’s why, despite how popular the Games are, many top athletes avoid them altogether. Even elite NBA and FIFA players, some of the best in the world, couldn’t compete in the Olympics because they were already being paid, which violated amateur rules.

“How about a deal?” I said finally.

He looked at me, wary but curious.

“If I ever lose a solo swimming race in any Harvard event, I’ll accept your coaching and follow your program exactly for the next four years. But if I never lose, you let me train my way, and you don’t tell me you know better.” I held his gaze. “Is that acceptable?”

He thought about it for a moment before slowly nodding. We both knew he needed me more than I needed him. It was a familiar situation, almost identical to the deal I’d struck with my high school PE teacher and principal. Back then, too, I’d never placed lower than first in any race.

“The season officially begins in November,” Coach said, his tone more measured now. “And while I can agree you don’t need to attend regular practice sessions for solo events, there will be relay races as well. You’ll need to practice coordination with your teammates.”

I nodded. “Alright. Once a week, I’ll do that.”

“Saturday mornings,” he said firmly. “Don’t miss them.”

“I’ll try my best,” I promised.