When I wake up the next morning, I am irritated for a moment by the bare white blanket above me. The mattress also feels weird when I turn around in bed. And it smells very different from my room.
You’re in Oxford.
I sit up with a jerk and look around. Then I let out a soft squeak. I grab my phone from the bedside table and skim through my messages. Mum and Dad remind me to have a good breakfast because they know that when I’m really nervous, sometimes I don’t have much appetite, and Ember picked out a motivational quote for me that I’d like to put directly into my planner. Kieran wishes me good luck and says that he is sure that I can do it. The last message is from Lin. She took a photo of her room in St. John’s that doesn’t look much different from mine. I write to her that I am happy to see her in the pub tonight – one of the dates on the calendar that the secretariat sent me in advance by e-mail – and wish her all the best for the interviews.
Then I get up and slowly get ready. My hands are shaking with excitement as I put on my make-up and slip into my outfit.
I chose the cognac-colored corduroy skirt and the white blouse embroidered with subtle flowers months ago and hung them in my closet, especially for this day. I also have my little burgundy bag with me and put on the braided leather bracelet that Ember gave me.
It doesn’t match the rest, but you can hardly see it under the long sleeve of the blouse, and as soon as I put it on, I feel like a part of my sister and my family is with me.
In the breakfast room, you can see at first glance who the real students are and who is only here for the interviews. The former go purposefully to the food counter, laugh and talk exuberantly with each other, and I feel the strong desire that in a year’s time it will be the same for me as it is for them at this moment. I want to get my coffee without running in circles twice because I can’t find the machine, sit down next to my friends at a table and talk to them about the weekend. And I want to give the students who have come for the interviews an encouraging smile in the hope that they will feel better then.
Last night, all this felt so unreal. Now Oxford seems to be becoming a reality. I eavesdrop on the two girls next to me while they are talking about one of their seminars, and I don’t even notice how they catch me listening. I quickly lower my head and stare at my toast, which feels like lead in my stomach after just a few bites.
My schedule says that I should go to the common room after breakfast. When I open the door, I’m surprised at how loud it is in the small room, until I see that there are not only applicants inside, but also older students lounging on the battered sofas, talking loudly and clearly trying to lighten the mood a bit.
I find a free chair next to one of the sofas and sit down on it. A boy my age sits next to him, a book and a stack of index cards on his lap. He smiles at me, but it seems more like a grimace to me. He looks just as tense as I feel. With trembling fingers, I also take out my notes and begin to go through them one last time.
Suddenly I feel a tingling sensation in my neck that spreads over my entire upper body. I raise my head and look at the entrance to the common room. The next moment, I wish I hadn’t. James stands there, his hands buried in his trouser pockets and an impenetrable expression on his face.
Please don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me…
He discovers me on the chair. His gaze slowly passes over my face, wanders over my outfit and finally lands on the index cards in my hand. The corners of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly, but then, as if admonishing himself not to smile, his expression hardens again, and he looks around the common room, apparently looking for a free chair.
‘Ruby Bell?’ a strange voice sounds. One of the older students has risen from the sofa. He is huge – certainly over ninety – has wavy brown hair that is slightly gelled back, and a bright white smile. He’s one of those guys who just tried to lighten the mood, and that makes him sympathetic to me right now.
‘Here,’ I croak and get up. My hands are cold and clammy. I wipe them down the hem of my skirt so they get warm again and I can shake his hand without it becoming uncomfortable. I put the cards back in my pocket and get up to go to the door where he’s waiting for me.
As I pass James, I crane my chin, determined to ignore him. But he takes me by the hand. His warm fingers gently wrap around my wrist. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin there.
‘Good luck,’ he murmurs. Then he lets go of me and goes to the chair I just vacated.
It takes me a few seconds to collect myself again. My heart is racing, and this time it has nothing to do with me being excited.
The guy who called my name smiles at me and waves me over. ‘Hi. I’m Jude Sherington. I’ll take you to your interview,’ he explains and nods in the direction of the hallway. I leave the common room without turning around again. In a few minutes, everything will be at stake. In a few minutes it can be decided whether I will study at this university or not.
I touch the spot where James’ thumb grazed my wrist. I should concentrate, but I can’t forget the feeling of his fingers on my skin all the way to the professor’s office.
I would love to get up and walk back and forth a few times to get rid of the tension. But Jude is still there and smiles at me every few minutes. He has led me through countless labyrinthine corridors and now leans silently against the wall while I sit on a chair opposite the office door and wait for it to open. It should now be any second.
Audibly, I let the air escape.
‘Nervous?’ asks Jude.
What a question. ‘Uncanny. What was it like for you then?’
‘Something like that.’ He raises a hand and makes it tremble exaggeratedly. I think it’s magical that he’s so honest.
‘But you did it.’
‘Yep.’ An encouraging smile appears on his face. ‘It’s not rocket science. You’ll be able to do it.’
I nod, shrug my shoulders and shake my head – all at the same time. When Jude laughs, I grimace. At that moment, the door opens and a girl comes out of the professor’s office. She has red cheeks, and her lips are bloodless. Apparently, I’m not the only one who is completely eaten away by nervousness. Unfortunately, I don’t get a chance to ask her how it was, as she disappears without a word. The door to the office closes again, and I look questioningly at Jude, who is still wearing his reassuring smile.
‘Don’t worry, she’ll let you know when you’re supposed to come in.’
So the waiting starts again. By now, it feels like I’ve used up all my excitement just by sitting here for so long. After another five minutes, my left foot has fallen asleep, and I move it inconspicuously to stop the tingling. It feels like there are lots of ants dancing in my ankle boot. Again I shake out my foot – and just at that moment the door creaks open. The professor appears in my field of vision, and my foot remains in the air at a strange angle.
‘Ruby, please come.’ She has a pleasant, calm voice that spreads like a fire blanket on my strained nerves. I stand up and arch my back. Behind me, I can still hear Jude saying ‘Good luck,’ but I don’t have a head to say thank you anymore. The professor holds the door open for me to the office where the interview is taking place, and as we walk in together, she introduces herself to me as Prudence.
The office is about the same size as our living room at home, but because it is completely cluttered, it still looks cozy. The furniture looks antique, as if it has been here since the college was founded, and the smell of old books is in the air. There are numerous shelves on the walls, in which the books are stacked crisscross. Another lecturer sits at a secretary standing on the opposite side of the room. She’s busy taking notes and doesn’t look up until Prudence leads me across the room to a table. I smooth my skirt again and then sit upright. The two lecturers sit down on the other side of the table, open their notepads and then lean back.
My heart is beating up to my throat, but I try not to let it show and to appear confident. I firmly believe that I can master this interview. I prepared myself and did everything I could have done in advance.
I take a deep breath and slowly let the air escape again.
‘We are very pleased that you accepted the invitation, Ruby,’ the second lecturer finally begins. Like Prudence’, her voice has a calming effect on me, and I wonder how it can be that these women are not only among the smartest in the country, but also have the gift of bringing people down so skillfully in such a situation.
‘Thank you very much for the invitation,’ I reply and clear my throat. My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed something sticky that’s still stuck in my throat.
‘We’ll start with the first question,’ Prudence continues. ‘Why do you want to study at Oxford?’
I stare at her. I didn’t expect that. In the many reports on the applicant interviews, I only read about introductory questions that were directly related to the topic. I can’t do anything about it – a grin spreads across my face. And then I start talking. Of everything. I talk about how I became interested in politics as a young girl and that I already knew as a seven-year-old that I wanted to study at Oxford. I tell them about how my father subscribed to the Spectator and the New Statesman for me on my twelfth birthday and watched debates from the parliament on television with me for hours. I talk about my passion for organizing and debating and my desire to change things for the better. Without too much slime, I underline that for me, Oxford is the best university where I can learn what I need to achieve my goal.
After I finished, I’m almost out of breath and can’t tell if they’re happy with my answer or not. Since I didn’t expect a high five or anything like that anyway, that’s okay with me. Two more questions follow, this time actually from the topic of politics. I try to argue well and not be unsettled by their questions. The whole thing lasts no longer than fifteen minutes, then the interview is already over.
‘Thank you very much for the interview,’ I say, but Ada is already lost in her notes and doesn’t hear me. Prudence takes me to the door and smiles goodbye to me again. I reciprocate and go outside. The door closes behind me, and from one second to the next I feel incredibly exhausted.
On the chair opposite the door sits the boy who smiled at me earlier in the common room. I remember the girl with the bloodless lips who disappeared before I had a chance to talk to her. I would have been happy to hear a few words of encouragement from her, but I can understand why she fled so quickly. Now that the adrenaline is starting to subside, I just want to get out of this building and into the fresh air. Nevertheless, I bring myself to a sincere ‘You’ll make it, good luck’ before I leave the room and try to find my way to my dormitory.
