Page 95 of Break Points and Face Offs

PRIESTLEY

I’m distracted enough by Will that classes and study sessions meld into one another.

We slip into a comfortable routine. Will fits studying in around his jobs at the coffee shop and hockey rink. I make sure to check on Jamie as often as I can between long bouts at the library fueled by caffeine and day-old pastries Will brings home from work.

We try not to talk about the leaderboard. Try not to think about the competition. Whoever said sticking your head in the sand didn’t come with its advantages had obviously never been in a rivals with benefits situation with someone who looks like Will O’Reilly.

We don’t talk about the sex. And we only ever do it at my apartment. It’s easier to keep it compartmentalized that way.

I try not to dwell on how differently I feel around him. Or the fact his mother asks about me every time they talk. Or how nice that feels. I try to ignore the sense of unease I get every time I speak to my father now. Try not to balk too hard any time I spot any similarities between us. My father is my role model and I want to be like him, don’t I? Only a new and improved, modernized version.

I also try to ignore how familiar Will’s body has become. The softness in his touches and the lack of goading required. The lingering kisses—I definitely ignore how good those make me feel.

We work on our individual assignments for the end of semester grade separately, but share ideas and talk about them without being too specific. As time passes by, we settle into a routine my subconscious knows can’t last.

Before we know it, it’s the end of term and we’re heading to our last class of the semester.

We’ve known this moment was coming, of course. But now it’s finally here, every fiber of my being fights against walking into that room.

When we receive our final grade for the semester, we will know once and for all who is top of the leaderboard. Who has won and will be awarded the internship and who will miss out.

My skin buzzes as I sit next to Will in the classroom. Professor Moreno is saying something, but I can’t tune into her voice. All I hear is Will’s breathing. All I see is him bouncing his knee in the navy blue chinos he wears for class.

“Now,” Professor Moreno says. Something about the change in tone snaps me out of my reverie and I sit up, paying attention.

“I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats, wondering who came out on top.”

This woman is a sadist. When she looks at me, I force a friendly smile. Pretend I’m not trying to crawl out of my skin.

She turns, taking an eraser to the leaderboard and wiping it clean. Someone takes a sharp intake of breath, but I can’t take my eyes away from the board for long enough to see who it was.

Faster than I would have liked, Professor Moreno starts jotting names down, from bottom to top. I spot Peter Chow breathe a sigh of relief when he isn’t placed in last place. He doesn’t even care that his name is second-to-last.

The list continues, and I hold my breath until we get to number three and have to let it out again.

Is Professor Moreno hesitating? Is she conflicted about something? I tell myself I can complain if she doesn’t put me top of the board. She’s given me ample reason to believe she holds prejudices against me, and while ‘rich’ and ‘spoiled’ may not garner much sympathy, there are legal implications to a professor marking students down because of personal vendettas.

But then I think about how hard Will works. How intelligent he is and how talented at spotting problems and finding ways to solve them—in a way that minimizes the impact on actual human beings. Professor Moreno is right—that is the kind of person we need running the finance world. Someone who can see the power of money in our society, and find a way to garner that power for something good. Whether he’ll be able to do it or not is another question. But at the very least, I know he’ll try.

Professor Moreno writes an A in the number three spot. She looks pained to have to do it. She clearly likes and is rooting for Alice Liang. So, maybe she is putting all personal prejudices aside for this final grade?

After writing Alice’s name into the number three spot, Professor Moreno turns around. “You should be incredibly proud, Alice.”

I don’t look at Alice to see her reaction. Is it because I feel guilty? Surely not. I don’t care how Alice Liang feels about her grade, do I?

Before I can think about that any further, Professor Moreno turns back to the board and presses the marker to it. The second she draws a straight line instead of the slightly slanted one of a W, I know it’s me.

The scary thing is—I don’t feel the way I thought I would.

2: Priestley Rosenthal

I take a deep breath. Force myself to stare at the name. My world doesn’t implode. The walls don’t come crumbling down around me.

Professor Moreno turns to me.

“I’ll chat with you after class, Priestley. But … well done.” She gives me a small smile. It holds more warmth than I’ve ever received from her.

“And now.” Her face brightens. “That means, in the number one spot …”