Page 14 of The Tartan Thesis

“First,” she says, “you will likely need to consult more primary sources than you currently have listed. I will confer with Professor Drummond and provide further guidance soon. Until then, continue to make full use of the library’s collections.”

I jot this down and look up again.

“Also, another first-year student has mentioned a similar topic.”

My blood runs cold, my elation snuffed out in an instant. What does that mean, someone else has a similar topic? “How similar exactly?” The question slips out.

“Similar enough,” she says. I bristle at the vague response. “While it is unusual, it is not unheard of. I do not see them as overlapping so much as to be problematic, but please keep me updated as your proposal progresses. I want to make sure that each scholar in the department is producing distinct research.”

“Of course, Professor,” I say, but my hands are shaking. Someone is pursuing something similar enough to my research to merit a warning from my advisor.

“I’m glad you understand,” she says, setting my proposal to the side and folding her hands in front of her again.

I slide my notebook and pen back into my bag, thinking I’m dismissed, and am halfway to standing when she says, “I assume you’ll be pursuing the graduate research position with Professor Drummond.” It’s not a question.

I sit back down and pull my bag into my lap. “Yes, Professor. I think I would be a great asset to his research and that I could learn a lot in the process.”

“So do I,” she says with a rare, small smile. My heart soars. This meeting has been a rollercoaster of emotions. I hope they aren’t all like this.

“Though it is not up to me,” she says, schooling her expression. “You will need to continue to perform well in class, especially Professor Drummond’s.”

“Of course, Professor,” I say, trying not to sound too excited.

She nods, and I know I’m dismissed this time. I rise and stride toward the door.

“And Torin.” I turn back. “Remember what I said about your classmates.” Her gaze holds mine. “You will need them more than you know.”

I nod and step into the hallway. You will need them more than you know. I sigh and stroll toward the shared graduate history office.

I’ve mostly avoided the space. It’s not as quiet as my stall in the library, plus Beau is almost always in there. My desk is a couple down from his, facing directly toward him. Which makes it difficult not to look. Not that not looking helps either. He seems to eat constantly. Fruit, protein bars, almonds. No clue how he got those abs with as many snacks as he consumes.

I stop dead in my tracks…

Beau. He must be the one who’s also writing about cultural genocide in the Highlands.

I set a determined pace toward the shared office, but it’s not for congeniality’s sake. It’s for reconnaissance. I need to know exactly what he’s doing. It’s going to be even harder to stand out for the assistantship with Professor Drummond now.

Be tough on the history but gentle with the historian.

Gentle, my ass.

6

Beau

Eejit

Translation: Idiot

Usage: To describe a foolish person, often with fondness

There’s a puddle of perspiration under the Peloton as I finish an hour-long endurance class in my guest room. I coast through the cooldown, chest heaving, legs burning in that satisfying way that means the stress has somewhere to go besides my brain. Midterms wrapped up earlier this week, so I’m trying to work off any lingering tension.

The first half of term has been difficult… but also great, and I’ve learned a ton. I get along with the faculty and most of my classmates, and I’ve made loose connections around the campus. The barista already has my order memorized, the bartender at my neighborhood pub knows I alternate between whisky and Guinness, depending on my mood, and some of the guys at the gym nod when I walk in. It’s a small thing, but it makes me feel like I really live here now.

The only person who doesn’t seem sold on me is Torin. I try to be congenial, but, other than when he’s nitpicking everything I say in class, he keeps his distance, though I do catch him smiling at my dad jokes on occasion. Luckily, there wasn’t much class discussion this week with all the exams, so I haven’t heard him clear his throat and correct me in a while, which is a relief. But I haven’t been able to get under his skin this week either. Seeing him flustered sends a strange thrill through my middle. I miss that.

I hit the final minute of the ride and release the bike’s resistance, letting my legs spin as my heart rate settles. Five minutes into the class, I’d thrown my shirt across the room, and now the screen in front of me reflects the sweat dripping down my shoulders, chest, and abs. My body and the perspiration are the visual reminders I need today about the results of hard work and perseverance.