[debut] you'll never settle any of your score
"I just had a phone chat with my daughter. She told me that she and her friends are already talking about the race, which they’ve just seen via their computers. A new website called Facebook. Do you have this in America?"
It isn't the same kind of a loss as coming in second to the Dutch. Hunched forward in their boat, Cameron's heart had been racing, too, lurching haphazard in his chest in a way that had less to do with exertion than a kind of stunned hurt. Those words, though - that one in particular, Facebook - it stops his heart, makes it freeze sharp, his head lifting and eyes widening as he looks to Mr. Kenwright, the head of their host family, his mouth half open for words that don't come.
At least he's not alone in that. No one else seems to know quite what to say at the idea of Facebook being here, of the man's not even knowing it's American, of its having spread so far so fast - less than a year and here they are on the banks of the Thames, their own idea thrown back in their faces by a kind man without a clue. Kenwright at least seems to realize this is the case, though, looking between Divya and the boys as their father steps stiffly aside. "I'm going to find your mother," he says, and there it is again, the burden of disappointment heavy on Cameron's shoulders. It's one thing to say they shouldn't apologize for losing a race when they've tried their best; their father's not the one who lost and, now, lost again.
"Have I said something wrong?"
It seems to Cameron as if the room is growing closer, the air warmer, and as Tyler and Divya take over the conversation, he hears it, but he's also all too aware of the overlapping chatter of the people around them and his own heartbeat in his ears. The words come to him from so far away, his eyes almost closing with the overwhelming sense of being defeated twice in one day. "And they have Facebook at Cambridge?" "And apparently Oxford and the London School of Economics - that's where her friends are."
Kenwright claps his hand against Cameron's arm and he barely feels it, hearing the man's parting words without fully letting them register: "Good race, boys. Take the bitter with the better." They stand there silent as he goes, Cameron and Tyler and Divya, and he can't help that all he's aware of is the bitter. Losing to the Dutch was rough enough, coming in second in one of the biggest races in the sport. The fact that Hollandia Roeiclub is a team which has taken silver at the Olympics is no comfort when he's slated to row in the Olympics himself - if he can't beat the second place team now, he has a lot of work ahead of him before then - but who is Mark Zuckerberg anyway?
He breaks from the others, the movement sudden as he turns to walk away. "I'm gonna go watch the race film," he says, and it's about more than one race now, more than one loss. "If this is online, I want to see it." He can feel them following but he doesn't stop, setting his all-but-forgotten martini aside on the desk as he takes a seat, hurrying to pull up Facebook on the computer here in the lounge even as Tyler sits down behind him. He doesn't have to look to know the sound of his brother's approach or to feel the tension radiating off Divya, standing a couple feet away. This is him, this is all on him, and he knows it as surely as he knows, if he had tried just a little harder, put in a few extra hours, they could have been the ones on that dais today, accepting the cup for the Grand Challenge, instead of being broken on both sides of the Atlantic.
"Stop it." There's no anger in Tyler's voice, and Cameron doesn't know how that can be. He's the level-headed twin, always has been, but sometimes, Tyler steps in for him, like now, his words firm but not unkind. "Stop it, Cameron. Knock it off." He sits up slowly, not quite looking at either of the others, though his head turns slowly toward Tyler as he goes on. "I don’t mind that we lost to the Dutch today by less than a second. That was a good race and that was a fair race and they’ll see us again. What I mind - and what you should mind - is showing up on Monday for a race that was run on Sunday. We tried talking to him ourselves, we tried writing a letter, we tried the Ad Board and we tried talking to the president of the university. Now I am asking you, for the last time: let’s take the considerable resources at our disposal and sue him in federal court."
He can't do this. They don't understand, have never understood, his reasons for holding out, but then, Cameron's never fully believed things would go this far either. They knew this was a good idea, knew that ConnectU could be revolutionary or at least highly profitable, but here it is on the other side of the ocean and they didn't put it here. They didn't do it and they didn't stop Zuckerberg from doing it either, and that was him, that was all him, saying no, insisting on the path he so firmly believed was right. "Come on," Divya says, pleading, and Cameron gets to his feet, unsteady.
"I need a real drink." Maybe they've been right all along. Maybe he's just blind. He's always known he plays by a different set of rules than most do these days; he just didn't think the difference was that wide, that honor was so easily forsaken. Zuckerberg's supposed to be a gentleman of Harvard, too, and while Cameron's personal code is not governed by the school he attends, he thought that meant something. Even with his back turned to Tyler and Divya as he goes, their disappointment is palpable, their heads hanging, surely, as they surrender yet again to Cameron's idea of justice (except where's the justice in this, in having it taken from them, over and again, when this was supposed to be theirs? Where's the justice when someone offers to help, but means he'll help himself?).
"Screw it," he says, turning back to the others. They win, he'll cave; maybe they can't take back their site, but surely they - are no longer there. That, at least, snaps him back to a more focused state as he turns slowly around to take in his new surroundings, too surprised for the moment to be terribly upset about the sudden change, holding out a hand to stop a nearby person. "Hi, sorry, can you - I'm a little bit lost." And that, he thinks, might be the biggest understatement he's uttered all day.
[Semi-traditional debut. Find Cameron anywhere in the Compound, either now or looking around after explanations, somewhat perturbed. Set to Monday morning. Closed to new tags unless you've already told me you're planning on tagging in.]
It isn't the same kind of a loss as coming in second to the Dutch. Hunched forward in their boat, Cameron's heart had been racing, too, lurching haphazard in his chest in a way that had less to do with exertion than a kind of stunned hurt. Those words, though - that one in particular, Facebook - it stops his heart, makes it freeze sharp, his head lifting and eyes widening as he looks to Mr. Kenwright, the head of their host family, his mouth half open for words that don't come.
At least he's not alone in that. No one else seems to know quite what to say at the idea of Facebook being here, of the man's not even knowing it's American, of its having spread so far so fast - less than a year and here they are on the banks of the Thames, their own idea thrown back in their faces by a kind man without a clue. Kenwright at least seems to realize this is the case, though, looking between Divya and the boys as their father steps stiffly aside. "I'm going to find your mother," he says, and there it is again, the burden of disappointment heavy on Cameron's shoulders. It's one thing to say they shouldn't apologize for losing a race when they've tried their best; their father's not the one who lost and, now, lost again.
"Have I said something wrong?"
It seems to Cameron as if the room is growing closer, the air warmer, and as Tyler and Divya take over the conversation, he hears it, but he's also all too aware of the overlapping chatter of the people around them and his own heartbeat in his ears. The words come to him from so far away, his eyes almost closing with the overwhelming sense of being defeated twice in one day. "And they have Facebook at Cambridge?" "And apparently Oxford and the London School of Economics - that's where her friends are."
Kenwright claps his hand against Cameron's arm and he barely feels it, hearing the man's parting words without fully letting them register: "Good race, boys. Take the bitter with the better." They stand there silent as he goes, Cameron and Tyler and Divya, and he can't help that all he's aware of is the bitter. Losing to the Dutch was rough enough, coming in second in one of the biggest races in the sport. The fact that Hollandia Roeiclub is a team which has taken silver at the Olympics is no comfort when he's slated to row in the Olympics himself - if he can't beat the second place team now, he has a lot of work ahead of him before then - but who is Mark Zuckerberg anyway?
He breaks from the others, the movement sudden as he turns to walk away. "I'm gonna go watch the race film," he says, and it's about more than one race now, more than one loss. "If this is online, I want to see it." He can feel them following but he doesn't stop, setting his all-but-forgotten martini aside on the desk as he takes a seat, hurrying to pull up Facebook on the computer here in the lounge even as Tyler sits down behind him. He doesn't have to look to know the sound of his brother's approach or to feel the tension radiating off Divya, standing a couple feet away. This is him, this is all on him, and he knows it as surely as he knows, if he had tried just a little harder, put in a few extra hours, they could have been the ones on that dais today, accepting the cup for the Grand Challenge, instead of being broken on both sides of the Atlantic.
"Stop it." There's no anger in Tyler's voice, and Cameron doesn't know how that can be. He's the level-headed twin, always has been, but sometimes, Tyler steps in for him, like now, his words firm but not unkind. "Stop it, Cameron. Knock it off." He sits up slowly, not quite looking at either of the others, though his head turns slowly toward Tyler as he goes on. "I don’t mind that we lost to the Dutch today by less than a second. That was a good race and that was a fair race and they’ll see us again. What I mind - and what you should mind - is showing up on Monday for a race that was run on Sunday. We tried talking to him ourselves, we tried writing a letter, we tried the Ad Board and we tried talking to the president of the university. Now I am asking you, for the last time: let’s take the considerable resources at our disposal and sue him in federal court."
He can't do this. They don't understand, have never understood, his reasons for holding out, but then, Cameron's never fully believed things would go this far either. They knew this was a good idea, knew that ConnectU could be revolutionary or at least highly profitable, but here it is on the other side of the ocean and they didn't put it here. They didn't do it and they didn't stop Zuckerberg from doing it either, and that was him, that was all him, saying no, insisting on the path he so firmly believed was right. "Come on," Divya says, pleading, and Cameron gets to his feet, unsteady.
"I need a real drink." Maybe they've been right all along. Maybe he's just blind. He's always known he plays by a different set of rules than most do these days; he just didn't think the difference was that wide, that honor was so easily forsaken. Zuckerberg's supposed to be a gentleman of Harvard, too, and while Cameron's personal code is not governed by the school he attends, he thought that meant something. Even with his back turned to Tyler and Divya as he goes, their disappointment is palpable, their heads hanging, surely, as they surrender yet again to Cameron's idea of justice (except where's the justice in this, in having it taken from them, over and again, when this was supposed to be theirs? Where's the justice when someone offers to help, but means he'll help himself?).
"Screw it," he says, turning back to the others. They win, he'll cave; maybe they can't take back their site, but surely they - are no longer there. That, at least, snaps him back to a more focused state as he turns slowly around to take in his new surroundings, too surprised for the moment to be terribly upset about the sudden change, holding out a hand to stop a nearby person. "Hi, sorry, can you - I'm a little bit lost." And that, he thinks, might be the biggest understatement he's uttered all day.
[Semi-traditional debut. Find Cameron anywhere in the Compound, either now or looking around after explanations, somewhat perturbed. Set to Monday morning. Closed to new tags unless you've already told me you're planning on tagging in.]