Something about that — the words or her tone or the offer or the girl herself — sends a shudder through Cameron, unexpected, which is in itself frustrating somehow. He bites his tongue though there aren't any words he's holding back, no response he's formulated, not yet. It wasn't, after all, just the race. The race itself was bad enough, the narrowest of defeats, one he went overseas for — dragged his parents, dragged Divya, and yes, they wanted to be there, but they made the effort and this is what he gave them in return (and what does that say about the future, about their place in the Olympics and what they'll be able to accomplish there). The race was a miserable affair, and time and distance have done nothing to change that, a fact he suspects has as much to do with his inability to keep in practice here as with the loss itself, since he's failed before. Taken it hard every time, but still, it's survivable. Usually you just look ahead to the next one, work a little harder or a lot, spend time slaving away in the practice room, hours and hours, surfacing to irritated voicemails from girlfriends who get it, they get it, they don't at all. Here, though, it's nothing but empty hours and trying to keep his hand in any way he can, which, this early on, isn't much at all, and he needs the physical exertion to get it all out of his head.
But it isn't the race. He could get over that, given a week or so (he'll do better next time). It's the other losses adding up — Facebook at Cambridge, Oxford, the London School of Economics, all across the country, anywhere he goes from here on out, even on this little island in the middle of nowhere. It follows, it chafes, and he remembers his brother's words and knows Tyler was right. That Tyler was always right, even when Tyler was wrong. How can life work like that? He won't compromise his code of honor just because the world is full of thieves, but how can a man go on in a world like that, when all it promises is that the future will continue to be a string of defeats and the reminder of them at every turn?
He gives Jenny a weak smile, grateful for that little scrap of kindness. It's strange. Everyone's so kind here (everyone's so unlike the very world he's not sure he understands anymore), but it's with the same easy politeness he always exhibits. This is a bit more personal. He doesn't know how to explain it to her, though, that there's so much more to it than rowing down the Thames and losing by a boat length, that there's so much inside his head he can't give voice to, not least because it isn't her problem and he should be able to carry it alone (at least when he was home, he knew Ty knew what all the words were, even when he wouldn't say them). "Thank you," he says. "That's very kind of you. No, it's... it... was upsetting, yes. You know how it is sometimes when one small bad thing happens and then another and then a, a slightly larger one and... things that would have bothered you before and then passed, they kind of seem like the end of the world?" His mouth quirks a little higher on one side, brow jumping, and he shrugs. "It'll pass."
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But it isn't the race. He could get over that, given a week or so (he'll do better next time). It's the other losses adding up — Facebook at Cambridge, Oxford, the London School of Economics, all across the country, anywhere he goes from here on out, even on this little island in the middle of nowhere. It follows, it chafes, and he remembers his brother's words and knows Tyler was right. That Tyler was always right, even when Tyler was wrong. How can life work like that? He won't compromise his code of honor just because the world is full of thieves, but how can a man go on in a world like that, when all it promises is that the future will continue to be a string of defeats and the reminder of them at every turn?
He gives Jenny a weak smile, grateful for that little scrap of kindness. It's strange. Everyone's so kind here (everyone's so unlike the very world he's not sure he understands anymore), but it's with the same easy politeness he always exhibits. This is a bit more personal. He doesn't know how to explain it to her, though, that there's so much more to it than rowing down the Thames and losing by a boat length, that there's so much inside his head he can't give voice to, not least because it isn't her problem and he should be able to carry it alone (at least when he was home, he knew Ty knew what all the words were, even when he wouldn't say them). "Thank you," he says. "That's very kind of you. No, it's... it... was upsetting, yes. You know how it is sometimes when one small bad thing happens and then another and then a, a slightly larger one and... things that would have bothered you before and then passed, they kind of seem like the end of the world?" His mouth quirks a little higher on one side, brow jumping, and he shrugs. "It'll pass."