Third time's a charm. If by charm, you mean the not-so-endearing weight of 6,543 pages of case law sitting atop my desk. Or shoulders rather - metaphorically speaking. But no less crushing.
The third year of my law degree. The final year of most of my classmates. Those happy to whisk themselves away with a Bachelors in *insert liberal and philosophical subject here*. But me? No. A glutton for punishment. Delivered in reading quotas and in-class case questions designed to make you question whether you indeed did do the reading at all. Or whether you dreamt the six hours devouring Chapter 6 last night ahead of lecture one. Luckily, you didn't.
If ever I was to go missing, that's where my housemates would look first. Beneath my desk squashed by Chapter 7 or flattened by the textbooks I borrowed so diligently from the library instead of purchasing my own. Have you seen Harper Marck? Argumentative to no end. Short, flippy, chocolate hair (one-day-past-needs-a-wash). Coffee within arm's reach at all times. And voila! I'd be found. Hidden amongst the dewey decimal system and the only good coffee place on campus. The fact that I live with three guys means I wouldn't go missing for very long before I'd be coaxed out by their over-protective concern and an almond flat-white bribe.
Don't get me wrong, I would never run away from this little flat I now called home. All rickety cupboards and charming stripped-paint walls from tossed controllers. I relished coming home. Not just to discover what new cooking disaster had destroyed their appliance (read: weapon) of choice, nor to see who had decided to dip into my expensive clay mask for their own vanity. But their friendship had held me together when nothing else could. Or would, rather.
Kenji, Miles and Jasper had stumbled into my first year dorm all wide-eyed and terrified by someone as assertive and abrupt as myself. The party down the hall had brought them to me in a splash of red cups and makeshift strobe lights, albeit unintentionally. A knock on the door to save a suddenly soaked first year, Kenji, from the peril of a shirt ruined and a chance at picking up that night decimated. And I answered. Flustered. Ready to go out but at the last minute, locking the door and staying in. Comforted by books bound in leather and chillingly cold tea made too long ago in the communal kitchen. One Napisan remedy away from having the three best friends a girl could dare dream of.
They balanced out my hyperdrive with their go-with-the-flow calm. Their mess made my neuroticism feel more ordered than laboured. And more than anything they knew when to talk about it and when to leave it altogether. A silent support I appreciated without a word. Kenji, a visual arts major took over the lounge room with his midway sculptures and schooled us in the artistic integrity of anime. Miles was studying to be an engineer, so tinkered with the aforementioned broken appliances as best he could and spoke in Spanish so swiftly we wouldn't be able to Google translate it later on, only adding to his personal brand of intrigue. While Jasper toiled to be a teacher, his patience and curiosity made him the perfect candidate but his easily-distracted and playful nature, less so. An unlikely trio bound by their residence and their love of football, the World Cup, Ronaldo-kind.
The Sydney University team was a big, unbeaten fish in a small tertiary pond, but the local district representative team is where the boys thrived. It's how the university reeled in big talent, paid them to play per game no less and also got their pick of up and coming talent for future scholarships. And offering a competition with skillful competitors in the mix. They'd won last year and the celebrations that followed had spurred our household into a week-long come down post. And if Kenji had his way, he may have hibernated even longer to recover from the antics. Or perhaps to hide from the girls he'd left on read during said hangover.
New year, new season, fresh boots and a winning attitude. Their team had seen a handful of new players join, enchanted as they'd been by the cash to play and the all-white uniform. Or more so the clout the pre-game hoodie carried when worn across campus.
YOU ARE READING
Closing Arguments
Romance"He should never have hit you, but winding him up like that..." "Like what? Talking about being your partner, working with you, spending time with you. That's no fabrication, H. We are going to be spending a whole lot of time together this semester...
