Turn of the knob
Oh, you don't look like much
All of your words seem off
Oh, you don't look so tough
Telling myself
From here on, only up
- Better Now by Bombay Bicycle Club
“You and Bridgerton have to write a short story together?”, Preston asked, shocked.
Theo nodded, his mouth full of the roasted chicken Dev had snuck out for him. Non-residential students were not supposed to eat food provided at the dining hall, strictly speaking. However, Theo had no time to cook that morning and Dev never missed an opportunity to break any rule.
“Isn’t that unfair to the other students though?”, Dev said, slumping next to him, “You have lesser workload.”
Theo laughed, “Nah, we have to write 10,000 words instead of 5,000. That is, if we don’t end up killing each other in the process.”
Dev snorted, “hey, that’s a good murder story too.”
Theo took a swing of orange juice, “How is your essay coming along?”
Preston and Dev both took the module on Linguistics, and had to submit a long essay by the end of the semester.
“Awful”, Preston said.
“What’s a topic you already have some baseline knowledge about?”
“Girls”
“Really¸ Preston?”, Dev snickered, “You nearly wet yourself when Eloise asked you to give Theo’s landline number.”
“That woman terrifies me”, Preston said with a shudder, “Anyway Theo, you’re lucky. Eloise is smart.”
“I know”, Theo said, “She’s just goddamn insufferable. It’s like the moment she opens her mouth, some knob turns in me and my blood starts boiling.”
“Eh?”
“It means she gets on his nerves, Preston.”
“What are you boys talking about?” a voice came from behind. It was Victor Crane, an economics senior who frequented at the same pub as them.
“Theo was paired with Eloise for Danbury’s short story assignment.”
“Ah”, Victor said, “she does that when two talented students have a similar premise in mind. She thinks they can collaborate to submit a brilliant story. She doesn’t care if it is culturally groundbreaking as long as it gets people to care.”
Theo let out a grunt. He was in no mood to hear reassurances. He wanted to work by himself without being a stubborn know-it-all flapping about, criticizing while hovering over him.
“Hey,” Victor said, nudging him, “On the bright side, Eloise is hot.”
A strange sort of nausea rolled over Theo. He kept chewing but the chicken tasted like cardboard. He swallowed uncomfortably.
“What?”
“I know she’s got a cruel mouth but you can see what else it is good for”, Victor said with a sly grin, “It’s rare to find a bird with beauty and brains.”
“God Victor”, Preston said, oblivious to Theo’s scowl, “I thought you found girls in our year childish.”
Victor shrugged, “They mature fast. You alright Theo?”
Theo blanched. Victor was the same jerk who would say women were stupid because they weren’t mature enough.
Theo crammed an apple slice into his mouth to keep himself from saying it out loud. Theo had learnt by now, how to dangle in front of the rich to survive in their playground- smart enough to impress, self-deprecating enough to amuse, confident but not enough to make them feel challenged.
“I’m going to go find her” Theo said, crumpling up the paper bag Dev brought food in, “Thanks again Dev .”
“Hey, why don’t you stay in our dorm tonight?”, Dev asked, tugging at his sleeve, “we’ve been thinking about it for ages.”
“Later this week, for sure”, Theo said, Granville’s look of anguish still hadn’t been scrubbed from his memory. He needed to make things right.
He found Eloise by the courtyard, sitting cross-legged listening to a wildly gesticulating redhead. Apart from classes, he hardly saw one of them without the other. He rummaged his memory for her name. Was it Portia? Persephone? Something literary.
He cleared his throat as he approached them, “Bridgerton.”
She looked up, “Oh, Sharpe.”, she dusted off her trousers as she got up, “This is my friend Penelope.”
“Nice to meet you Persephone.”
The girl looked affronted, “Pen-el-ope”
“Don’t mind him”, Eloise said dismissively, “he’s been getting used to being wrong lately.”
“I was wondering when you wanted to meet up?”, Theo gritted his teeth and allowed himself the luxury of imagining shoving Professor Danbury and Eloise in a cart and letting them roll down the hills near their university before Penelope burst out.
“Meet up?”
“Yeah”, Eloise said, and Theo took strange pleasure in watching her fail to keep her face impassive, a skill he didn’t think she could master “Danbury asked us to work together.”
“You didn’t tell me! You said—”
“Because I wanted to hear about your issue with Berbrooke and your essay, Pen.” A tender quality entered Eloise’s voice, striking a note that felt completely foreign
“You could’ve—”
Theo cleared his throat again, but he couldn’t help but feel surprised.
“Right,”, all warmth vanishing from her voice, “Tomorrow works for you? Your classes end at 2 PM. I have a couple electives until 4 though.”
Theo was at work from 5 PM to 8 PM everyday but he had no interest telling her that, “4 works. I have to leave at 4:30 though.”
Eloise nodded stiffly, “Library.”
He started to turn away, but something impulsive—he didn’t know if it was mischievous or reckless—drew him back. Leaning in closer, his breath just a whisper away from her ear, he spoke.
“By the way’, he dropped his voice, “if you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask me. I don’t bite.”
She almost stumbled back but he placed his fingertips on her sleeve, feeling her freeze under them. Her eyes widened and her cheeks looked like someone fried an egg on them. Watching Eloise Bridgerton squirm and look at him with an emotion apart from anger opened a strange tear in him that he didn’t think he would get used to.
He almost forgot Penelope was there until he heard her voice, “El? Eloise? The bell rang.”
He leaned back and realized his hand was still on her arm. He didn’t notice that.
“Well”, the reality of what he just did came crashing down on him and he could feel his legs turn into water, “I’ll see you.”
He walked away before she said another word, letting the cool breeze sweep across his face which had for some reason, grown warm. Brown and orange leaves swarmed around him, flapping in the wind along with the tail of his coat. He headed back to the campus, a towering castle with pillars and spiralling turrets that probably emerged from a gothic novel. He flexed his fingers, reminding himself to use his next stipend from work to buy gloves.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and found a piece of paper.
Huh, he didn’t notice that either.
It's fair game if you have mine too
It was Eloise’s number, or rather the landline of her dormitory , except it wasn’t written in form of a number at all
First 2 numbers- The number of Olympians
Followed by : The number of witches in Macbeth
The age of Emma in Emma by Jane Austen
The number of ships that sailed to Troy
He scanned the rest of the page and a grin forced its way across his face. It was a riddle, every clue indicating an important number from literature. He supposed it was fair game, for her to make his life as difficult as (if the look on her face was anything to go by) he was apparently making hers.
He didn’t bother to wash himself after work. He spent a good while decoding the riddle, chewing his pen under a rickety fan in the printer’s shop and was eager to see if he was right. The moment he reached home, he took the phone off the hook in his room and pressed it to his ear as he dialled the number, trying not to fumble. He twirled the cord around his inkstained fingers.
“Congratulations”, said Eloise when she picked up. Her voice had a twinge of amusement, “Took you lesser time than I thought.”
Theo let out a low chuckle, “So did I impress you, or did you just underestimate me?”
How daft did she assume he was?
Rich people, he thought furiously, had their heads as stuffed as their pockets. The crowns they weave out of their arrogance and place on their heads were made of air.
“Did you get it on your first try?”
“Yes”, he lied, “I knew most of them already”. He wasn’t going to admit that it took him half an hour to find out how many ships sailed to Troy (1186)
“Hmm”, Eloise, “you thought it was a thousand ships at first, didn’t you?”
“You can’t blame me”, Theo said staunchly, “Thousand hundred and eighty-six can’t fit into verse. All I have heard of is a face who launched a thousand ships.”
“The undertones of which are entirely unfair because men pinned the war they started on Helen’s beauty.”
Theo rested his head against the wall, “Have you thought about the story?”
“Our story, Sharpe”, Eloise said it as if it was a cutting reminder, something she wished wasn’t true, “and no I haven’t.”
“Good. Don’t start without me.” The words were out before Theo could stop them.
“I wasn’t planning on it”, she said softly.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t know where to start would you?”
Theo regretted the words the moment he said them. He thought of all the time his teachers and friends’ parents had told his father what a considerate and polite boy he was. Eloise’s presence, or perhaps the snobbish curl of her upper-class accent clawed all of that away.
Theo traced the ink stains he left on the phone cord, listening to the crackling silence on Eloise’s end, waiting for her to hang up.
“How did you know I thought it was a thousand ships?” He asked. He wondered what acid dissolved that lovely filter between his brain and mouth.
Eloise chuckled, as if shaking herself “I was in the library and when I checked the register, I saw you had taken out that massive book on Greek Mythology right after lunch, and I figured that was the only question you’d have trouble with.”
No wonder she wanted to write a mystery novel. He didn’t realize how tightly the phone cord was wound around his finger. He let it unravel, “Right.”
“Oh, also Sharpe,”
“Yes, Bridgerton?”
He could almost imagine the crease between her eyebrows, “Make sure you bring Becoming a Writer tomorrow.”
A small laugh escaped his mouth. This time, he hung up first.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He knew he was cruel telling her she wouldn’t be able to do this without him, but he knew he was right. He didn’t think a girl with every need tended to in mansions would be willing to learn about the streets the paper boys even lived in. She wouldn’t even step in them, especially in those ridiculously expensive shoes.
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. None of this would have happened if he had to review the proposal of someone less stubborn. What was Danbury thinking, pairing him with the most difficult person to work with?
Theo wanted to write a slice-of-life story, one without a precise plot but gnaws at the reader with existential questions. He wanted to dig into the characters and unravel them: their flaws, their fears, what holds them back, makes them fall apart and helps snap them back together as they journey through life, details filling the mundane. That was his biggest strength. He could push that idea, fall into the comfortable pattern of writing he was used to, but he remembered Danbury’s advice. She wanted him to branch out and try something new.
“Theo”, Granville’s voice shook him out of his reverie. He stood at the threshold of his door, looking slightly like a crumpled flower smeared against a dusty street.
“Henry”
“I came here to apologize.”
“Really, Henry”, Theo said, “there is no need. I shouldn’t be judging you.”
“I shouldn’t have brought up your family”, Granville said gently, “I should not drag you into my business either.”
“We are under the same roof”, Theo said, “your business is mine.”
“Either way”, Granville said, “I should be making this a comfortable place for you so you can study and enjoy this town in peace.”
“Henry, you don’t even ask for rent. This is already very comfortable.”
Granville smiled, “Benedict has gone to the college to visit Eloise and Colin. It’s just you and me here tonight.”
A knot in Theo’s chest loosened, “I’ll cook.”
He watched Henry leave with a small smile but felt a strange pang in chest. He was somehow simultaneously in the house, fondly talking with Henry in the glow of the kitchen light and outside the window, gazing at the scene with disgust. Theo would have done anything for Henry. He owed him that, even if it meant harbouring a secret, regardless of what he thought about it. Luckily, Theo knew a thing or two about lying.
“You’re sure you heard her correctly, Theo? Your mother told you she just wanted to leave us because she was really sick, and told you so she didn't have to face me?”
“Yes dad”, Theo had said placidly. “I cross my heart.”
Theo hadn’t told his father that he had crossed his fingers behind his back too.