The Thrill Is Gone

The flat was an absolute disaster; plates were piled high in the sink, books lay scattered across the coffee table, the hamper was overflowing with clothes that were in desperate need of a wash, and a putrid stench that smelled strongly of spoilt curry perforated the air. With the condition the flat was in, it would’ve been reasonable to assume that no one had lived there in well over a week, but oddly enough, that wasn’t the case. Its lone inhabitant was actually inside, lying on the couch to be precise, and she’d been there all day. In fact, she’d only left the flat four times during the week. Three of which had been to take exams and whenever she finished one, she’d go straight home to study for the next.

It was an awfully tedious way to spend an entire week of her life, but she really didn’t have a choice in the matter. They were exams that needed studying for and if she wanted to get high marks on them, then her life had to be put on hold. The readings were too dense and numerous for her to even think about getting a proper nights sleep; let alone socializing with friends or going out for a bite. Even though, that was exactly what she wanted to be doing. Felt like ages since she’d last talked to her friends or saw them outside of an examination hall, but that would end soon enough. Just one more exam before Hilary term was officially over.

A tired little smile crept upon her face as she visualized what she was going to do, once the exam was over. There was a mandatory event she had to go, something for charity that the Rhodes Trust was helping put on. As a Rhodes Scholar, she was obligated to be there, but thankfully for her, the task she’d been stuck with was one she liked. She was in charge of the uniforms, which meant that she got to sit in a table and hand out the shirts, helmets, and trousers. She’d have to stay for the entire match. Everyone was obligated to help clean up, wasn’t looking forward to that, but once everything had been tidied up, she’d get to go home and sleep!

Since the week began, she’d only managed to get ten actual hours of sleep and they hadn’t even been continuous. They were scattered across the week; an hour here, two hours there, and somehow they added up to ten hours, between Monday and Friday. But once the match was over with, she was going to jump on her bicycle, peddle home to her flat and fall asleep for as long as she liked. Oh! It was going to be glorious. She was going to be comfortable and even better; she was going to be stress free. For six whole weeks, she was going to be able to just relax and not worry about studying or exams.

Only things she’d have to worry about was tutoring people in Spanish, which only took up five-seven hours of her week, and going down to the Children’s hospital to help out. She always made it a point to spend her Monday afternoon’s there. And now that she was going to have so much free time, she was determined to spend a lot more time there. Some of the children had become quite dear to her and spending time with them, helped get her mind off of being homesick. She was also going to travel, not very far, since she didn’t have the funds to go to France or Ireland, but she was going to spend a few weekends in London and had procured a room at a hotel in Bath, for her birthday.

All she had to do was make it through the final exam, but that was easier said than done. She had a small library of reading material. The books that were scattered across the coffee table and piled beside the couch, attested to that. She’d read everything at least twice, taken detailed notes on them, but she still didn’t feel prepared enough for the exam; must have had something to do with the fact that the Professor was her favorite and that he had very high expectations for Rhodes Scholars. To him, the Scholars were supposed to be a cut above the rest and if their work wasn’t up to the standards that he had for them, he didn’t hesitate in grading them down; even if their work was better than their counterparts.

Her smile vanished when her stomach began rumbling, reminding her that she hadn’t had anything to eat in over ten hours. Cereal wasn’t a very filling meal. Not when she was used to eating a properly cooked meal for dinner, but she hadn’t been in the mood to actually cook something. But now she was hungry and although it was four in the morning, she was going to have to cook a proper meal. The fridge was well stocked, there wasn’t a lack of ingredients, but there was a lack of will. She was comfortable on the coach, so comfortable that she was beginning to seriously contemplate whether taking a nap would be as disastrous as she imagined it would. Just a few hours, she told herself. Just a few hours of sleep and then she’d get dive right back into studying, but she knew things wouldn’t work out the way. She would fall asleep, stay asleep and miss the exam that was scheduled to commence at eight that morning.

There was no way in hell that she could miss the exam. She might as well pack up her bags to go home to America, if she missed the exam. As such, she forced herself to cast aside the blanket that warmed her legs and abandon the comfortable couch. With half opened eyes, she walked towards the kitchen, which was, only a few steps away from the couch. Her small flat made it so the living room was right next to the kitchen. As well as next door to the bedroom and the bathroom, basically everything, that was one of the perks of living in a studio flat; was also one of the disadvantages. Every room was out in the open, the only door other than the entryway, was that of the bathroom and whenever she had guests over, she hid the bedroom area with the help of a curtain.

Upon reaching the kitchen, she opened the fridge and peered inside. Her eyes scanned over the contents, contemplating what she was in the mood for and whether or not she had the patience to actually prepare it. Took a few minutes, but she eventually settled on making some rice and chicken. There were a few tortillas over from last week and some salsa from a few days earlier, not much, but enough to have with the meal. She took out all the ingredients, placing them on the limited counter space and then walked over to her laptop. If she was going to cook, there had to be music playing and the only music she listened to when she’s alone was ranchera music from Mexico.

Growing up, she’d never been particularly fond of the genre. Her parents always blasted it to wake up their children for mass at 8 in the morning and ever since then, she disliked the music. But when she left home for Stanford, at the age of 18, she sought refuge in the music. It reminded her of home and whenever she listened to it, she could smell her mother’s cooking, hear her, father’s booming laugh, and her brother’s voices. The music transported her to their house in Azusa, California. With the music playing, she finally felt fit to cook.

Three hours later, she was standing in front of a mirror, attempting to get herself ready for the long day ahead. Her eyes were bloodshot and the dark bags under them, announced to the world that she was liable to pass out at any moment. Her appearance had to be severely altered. She needed to look awake, fresh, and so she started the make up routine that would take her from looking like a borderline zombie, to a well rested youth. Her hair was pinned up and she slipped on the academic dress that was mandatory for exams. The soft cap that was supposed to accompany her outfit was stashed in the same bag as her change of clothes for the charity event. Once everything was safely secured in the bag, she grabbed her bicycle and headed out.

The ride to the examination hall wasn’t very long, lasting a bit under fifteen minutes. She’d arrived early, only two other students were in the hall and after taking her bag from the bicycle’s basket, she walked on in and took a seat in the front. In her seat, she waited, nervously doing last minute revising. But her revising didn’t last very long, for her friend wandered into the examination hall and claimed a seat beside her.

“Morning.” He greeted, his eyes struggling to remain open.

“Morning Alfie,” she tore her gaze from the notebook, resting it on his tired face.

“Studying coming along, alright?”

“Not really,” she set the notebook on the table. “Words started to blur so I’ve just been staring at the damn pages.”

“Another all nighter.” He said knowingly. “Almost stayed up, myself, but a little after three, I ended up passing out. Woke up in a fit, thinking I’d missed the exam.” Alfred let out a sigh, rubbing his eyes as he did so. “So ready for this final to be over with, I'm gonna knock out as soon as I get home. What about you? You sleeping once this, is done with?”

“Oh, I wish.”

“What you doing then?”

“Helping out at some charity event,” she told him. “That one your sister came down from London for.”

“Forgotten about that,” Alfred frowned. “Suppose I’ll be seeing you there. Bought tickets for both of us, she did. Thought it’d be nice for us to spend time together, but I know mum forced her to do it. Always says that Charlotte and I need to get on better. That’s, never gonna happen.” He mumbled to himself. “What are you helping out with?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Gonna be handing out the uniforms.” She replied, brightly. “Make sure to stop by the table, should be towards the back near the stable area. And if you get a chance, knick one of the champagne bottles,” she smiled mischievously. “They’re top shelf and I'm sure that guzzling down one of those before bed will be a nice treat.”

“Take it, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Maybe one bottle, maybe two. We get our pick after everything’s been cleaned up.”

“Do you really?”

“Mhm, they always give a go at whatever’s left over.”

“In that case, I’ll stay until you’re done cleaning. Help you carry some bottles home. Should probably put the second basket on my bike,” he mused aloud.

“You do know we’re not taking everything, right?”

“If it’s free and no one else has taken it, then it’s only right we give them a home at our flats. At least, that’s what I think.”

Paulina simply smiled in response.

“Professor’s just got in,” Alfred stated. “And look! He’s smiling! The tosser’s smiling! Bet it’s because he knows we’ve been up all night. Probably gets off on that.”

“That scoundrel!” she proclaimed.

“Indeed,” Alfred held back his laughter. “Suppose this is when we stop talking. Good luck and all that, Paulin.”

“Good luck, Alfie.”

Soon after, the exam packets were handed out. They weren’t very thick, only seven pages, but each page was packed with essay prompts, as well as short answer questions, which were misleading since it took a page or two to reply to each short answer question. With the exam set in front of her, she began answering the questions. Going through the ten short answer questions in an hour and then writing one of the two essays in forty minutes. She felt fairly confident about how the exam was going. The material was stuff that she was familiar with. She’d spent all night revising it and everything was fresh in her mind, but then she reached the last page and her mind went blank.

“The hell is this?” she muttered to herself, a look of despair descending upon her once relaxed face. “This wasn’t in the readings. Maybe it was in the lecture notes? No! Went over those like four times last night . . . couldn’t have been in there.”

Her palms began to sweat profusely as she stared at the essay topic, willing her mind to unlock some hidden region in which the information was held, but it was to no avail. Her mind had finally shut off, something that was bound to happen, considering the fact that in the last week; she’d only slept ten hours. She nervously began chewing on her bottom lip. The answer had to be in her mind. She’d been to office hours once a week, she’d asked every question that she’d ever been stuck on, there was no way that she could be drawing a blank; absolutely no way.

“Come on, you know this, you have to fucking know this,” she told herself.

Seventeen minutes and forty three seconds went by like that. But she eventually remembered the conversation she’d had with the professor on the subject and began writing. There were a few parts where she wasn’t exactly sure of what she was talking about, but she bullshitted the best she could and hoped that it would be cohesive enough to be deemed acceptable. When she finished writing, she gathered her things and headed to the table at the front; she placed down her paper upon the neat stack and smiled nervously at her professor.

“And you have officially finished the course, Miss Balcázar.” Professor Johansen spoke. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Professor. Really wanted to thank you for being accessible throughout the term,” she clutched the strap of her bag, tightly.

“Not a common phenomenon in America, I’ve been assured, but here our minds are always opened. There’s nothing we like more than having an audience for our ramblings. Makes us feel like Socrates.” He laughed, clearly amused with himself. “Remember that. If ever you need clarification for one thing or another, the office is always opened, but remember not to bring idiotic questions or else I’ll throw you out like I did Stevens. Such a stupid Professor, never take a course with him. Waste of time.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” Paulina took in a breath. “Well, I should get going, have to help out at the polo match.”

“Right, do have fun with that Miss Balcázar and try to rest. The make up might make you look alert, but your eyes are telling me that you’re liable to pass out at any moment.” And with that, he directed his attention to the student standing beside Paulina and began congratulating them on finishing the course.

Paulina practically ran out of the examination hall. She was finally done – free! No more tests for six weeks, no more going mad over what a simple passage could possibly mean. Things were going to be better. Her last break had ended in disaster. She’d fallen ill and spent two weeks lying in bed, trying not to cough out a lung. But this time she was going to enjoy herself. And there was no better enjoyment, or indulgence, than a drink after an exam. So she hopped on her bike and pedaled towards a nearby pub, hopping off her bicycle when she’d reached it. She asked for her usual drink, a wine glass of sauvignon blanc.

With her drink over, she got back on her bike and went to Rhodes House. That was where all the uniforms were housed. She had to pick them up, place the boxes in the golf cart and transport them to the grounds where the match was set. Before she could do any of that, she had to slip out of her academic dress and into a dress and flats. Everyone had to be dressed up, because as Scholars, they had to promote good grooming. That wasn’t something Paulina was very fond of, she had never been one for neatly groomed hair and sensible clothing, but that was the part she had to play and she played it to the best of her abilities.

“Miss Balcázar,” someone called to her when she stepped out of the restroom.

She turned around and saw Lord Fellowes, a trustee of the Rhodes Trust.

“Good morning, Lord Fellowes,” she kindly greeted him. “Lovely day we’re having.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” he replied. “I must have a word with you. You were absent at the meeting yesterday and didn’t hear some of the information.”

“I had an exam during that time slot, Sir John excused me from the meeting.” Paulina explained.

“Not here to scold you over not being present at the meeting. I'm here because I need to inform you as to how you’re supposed to address the Royals.”

“Don’t I first address them both as Your Royal Highness and after that as Sir?”

Lord Fellowes clapped his hands together. “Well done, Miss Balcázar. The other Americans thought that referring to them as Prince William and Prince Harry was the appropriate manner, came as quite the shock when I told them otherwise.” He laughed to himself, acting as if not knowing how to properly address a Royal, was something scandalous. “Very well then, I must take my leave. Remember to smile and be amiable. As a Rhodes Scholar . . .”

“I must always act in a manner that brings honor to my fellow Scholars and the Trustees,” she spoke, that was a line every Scholar had memorized. It was a favorite among the Trustees and they always made the Scholars recite it.

Lord Fellowes smiled in approval and then left.

Being amiable wasn’t something that she had a problem with. By nature, she was a kindhearted individual that easily made friends with others, but she hated the way that every single Trustee always reminded them to be amiable. It was as if they were telling the Scholars that if they didn’t behave and smile, they would fall out of grace with the Trustee’s. And that was something that none of the Scholars could afford. The Trustees were well connected in the realm of politics, business, and the arts. It was through them that the Scholars met influential people. Trustees were known for taking a Scholar for dinner with members of Parliament, executives from Barclays or foreign dignitaries. And these dinners, more often than not, led to internships. So being amiable was a way of ensuring ones future.

That was why Paulina went to great lengths to always be seen with a smile and to look fresh, even when her body was threatening to shut off on her. It was something that had to be done if she wanted to one day, be a successful politician. In her dreams, she would be a Senator from the great state of California and she would fight for the shrinking middle class, for people living in poverty, education, immigrant rights and be a figure for the growing Hispanic community. She had big dreams. And if she wanted a fighting chance at making those dreams come true, she needed to be a favorite among the Trustees, which was a challenge when one considered the fact that all the Scholars were trying to do the exact same thing.

It was with those thoughts in mind that she walked towards the main office to pick up the cart keys. Rhodes House was brimming with students as she made her way through the corridors. Usually, it wasn’t so packed. There were twenty – forty students top, at anytime. But the impending event meant that everyone had to be present. When she reached the office door, she knocked and waited to be called in.

“Come in.” Sir John spoke in his commanding voice.

Paulina slowly opened the door. “Hello Sir John.”

“Ah, Paulina, was wondering where you’d run off to.” He smiled kindly at her. “Suppose you’ve come to fetch the keys.”

“I have.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a set of keys. “Here they are. Make sure not to go to fast on it. I know that it might seem like a good idea at the time, but it’ll end up with the cart flipping over and us rushing you to the hospital. Personal experience allows me to be an expert on this.”

“I’ll try not to, but I can’t make any promises in that regard.”

“In that case, do it after you hand out the uniforms. Don’t want Lord Fellowes complaining about how his nephews’ event was ruined.”

“His nephews?” she asked, unable to believe that the disagreeable Lord Fellowes was related to the Royals.

“Oh yes,” Sir John handed her the keys. “He’s married to the Lady Jane Spencer, older sister of the late Princess Diana. That’s why he’s so keen on having everything go perfectly today. Keeps saying that if one thing goes wrong, we’ll know what hell is. What a tosser. Don’t you think?”

Paulina held back a laugh. “I'm just here to smile and be amiable.” And at that she smiled brightly, putting the gap in between her two front teeth on full display.

“Proper answer. Proper answer,” Sir John let out a booming laugh. “Reminds me, the boxes are stacked in the sitting room, they’re on a trolley so you can just roll them out to the cart. The tent you’ll be under has already been set up, as well as the table.”

“Great,” she held the keys tightly. “I’ll go set up the uniforms then. Thank you, Sir John.”

There were five boxes in total; two medium sized ones and three larger boxes. They were all neatly placed on the trolley and with great ease; she pushed them out to the front entrance, where she left them under the supervision of a fellow Scholar by the name of Richard, a native of Canada. She then ran to the back area, jumped into the golf cart and drove to the front. The boxes were then secured and she drove in direction of the grounds. Twice before, she’d been to the grounds. It was a beautiful stretch of land that was untouched by buildings; only thing there was the beautiful green grass. So to see it tainted with massive tents, catering trucks and chairs was an odd sight.

What was even odder was the fact that the stable area had been put together and that, from her own tent, she could see them. And that wasn’t a good thing, because she was afraid of horses. A fear that had been instilled when a horse spooked her during a family vacation to Mexico, ever since then she couldn’t look at a horse without feeling that it might be the death of her. Their neighs only served to unnerve her as she removed the boxes from the cart and placed them on one of the tables that ran along the side of the tent.

“Fucking horses, plotting my doom . . .” she muttered softly to herself, light beads of sweat beginning to form along her forehead. “Probably staring at me, trying to figure out when to launch the stampede . . .” she struggled to open the box. “The fuck is wrong with this box? I'm too tired to be dealing with boxes that don’t want to open, but no, I have to sit here and smile and be amiable so that I can . . .”

“Excuse me.” A voice interrupted her private rant. “Is this where the uniforms are?”

“Yeah,” she sent one last glare at the box before turning to see who was calling for her. “How can I help –” her eyes went wide at the sight of him. “Your Royal Highness. How can I be of service?”

“No need for such formalities. I'm only a polo player today.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Sir is still very formal and rather stifling, if I do say so.”

“Afraid that’s how we’ve been told to refer to you as, Sir.”

He smiled kindly, “Very well then. I was wondering if I might be able to get the uniform for myself and my brother. I’m well aware that the uniforms are not to be handed out until one, but Harry is very keen on getting dressed so he can take to the field before everyone else. Might you indulge him?”

“Of course,” she answered. “It’ll only be a moment since I have to find your uniforms and helmet.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“Oi Will!”

She recognized that voice. It was the voice of Prince Harry, of the young man that she’d punched in the face nearly two weeks earlier. On that morning, she hadn’t recognized him but after he left, she realized who it was that she’d punched and started freaking out over it. She spent a week thinking that Scotland Yard was going to storm her flat and arrest her for assaulting a royal, a ridiculous idea that was made reasonable by the copious amount of marijuana that she smoked that week. She wondered if he recognized her. No, she thought. There was no way he would recognize her. He shagged loads of women and didn’t recognize them. He couldn’t be expected to recognize their friends. But the debonair smile he shot her when their eyes met, told her that he did.

“Stalking me, are you?” he asked, an amused expression on his face.