Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(17)
“You’re all at a crossroads in your lives,” she tells us. “You know you want to make something of yourselves, to succeed, but so many professions have high barriers to entry—especially in this economy. You might study law or accounting or marketing at university, qualify, and find your only option is to move to London if you want to earn enough to pay off your loans.”
I notice she doesn’t mention anything about being a writer. Probably because it doesn’t matter what you study or where you work—you can only write the book by writing the book.
Spoiler alert: I still haven’t written the book.
“You might even be hesitant to study at all—not everyone wants to start their adult life with mountains of debt,” Katharine says, and I know that’s right. Would you believe when my parents went to uni it was free? Injustice stalks my generation, I swear to God. “Maybe you dream of a certain professional future,” Katharine goes on, “but you’re well aware that you’re rarely the highest flyer in your academic cohort, and thus you might secure a degree by the skin of your teeth and struggle to find employment as a result. The BEP,” she says with relish, “is here to help you with that. This program is sponsored by a diverse range of employers within our region—why should Midlanders have to move south just to succeed?”
There is a ripple of agreement across the crowd, which, yeah, okay. She didn’t lie.
“Being a BEP graduate means something, both here and across the country,” she says, and the slide changes again. I’m not a numbers person, but she’s got graphs illustrating the career trajectories of BEP alums that look impressive. “You’ll distinguish yourselves to potential employers just by finishing the program, and you won’t be doing it by swallowing textbooks and regurgitating them in an exam hall. Our unique enrichment program combines outdoor education with the patented BEP Success Assessment Matrix.”
The slide switches to an image of a dark, dramatic forest. “Two outdoor expeditions,” she says, “each taking place during a school holiday. The first is a training session, intended to teach you the necessary skills to survive and weed out those who can’t hack it. The second is the real deal, independently executed by yourselves in the Scottish woodlands. Both expeditions are an opportunity to show you’ve got the skills elite employers desire.”
The new slide tells us these skills are:
Resilience
Commitment
Creative thinking
Relationship building
Leadership
I smirk and glance over at Celine. Maybe she predicted my reaction, because our eyes meet, and she scowls.
“Relationship building?” I whisper.
“Shut up,” she mouths.
“Tell me the last relationship you built. Quickly.”
“I could build one right now, between my foot and your arse.”
“Shh,” I tut. “Don’t talk over Katharine. I’m trying to listen.”
Very, very quietly, Celine screams.
It’s drowned out by Katharine’s microphone boom. “Can you commit to the rules needed to survive out in the wild, and think of creative ways to apply them?” she asks. The next slide shows a woodland with the words SHERWOOD FOREST: THE EDUCATION EXPEDITION written over the top.
She keeps going. “And do you have the determination and teamwork skills to combine all you’ve learned and complete a miles-long trek independently, hunting down Golden Compasses along the way? You’ll have the opportunity to prove it here….” Click. A new slide appears with a picture of a forest. GLEN FINGLAS: THE FINAL EXPEDITION. “During both expeditions,” she says, “trained supervisors will be scoring you from zero to five against each matrix indicator, then averaging your score for the week. After your education expedition in Sherwood Forest, you will meet personally with me to receive advice on how to improve ahead of the final expedition in Glen Finglas.”
I think Celine’s head just exploded and rainbow confetti flew out.
“In the end, your scores from both expeditions will be used to calculate your final marks. For context,” Katharine goes on, “the highest score ever achieved through our matrix is 4.88.”
Um. No one’s ever gotten a five? What the hell kind of competition doesn’t allow a perfect score? I slide a glance at Celine and find her just as outraged as I am, which is unnerving, to say the least. We really shouldn’t agree on anything, ever.
“But first—only those of you whose applications are unique and compelling enough will make it into the BEP at all. We’ll begin with a twenty-person cohort.”
Twenty people? There’s at least ten times that in this room. The general hum of excitement turns into a low buzz of apprehension, of competition, as everyone eyes their neighbors.
For some reason, I find myself eyeing Celine. Not that we’re in competition for this. It’s just habit.
She glares back. “What are you looking at?”
“Not my competition,” I say, “that’s for sure.”
Her mouth forms a perfect little O. “Bradley! Have you finally accepted that I’m fundamentally superior to you in every way? Bravo. I knew this day would come.”