Cheating to Win This Macaw Contest

“Hey, Ashley.” Cam upped his pace once outside to catch up to her. “Got something to ask for your help with, you got a few minutes?”

Ashley stopped. “Sure, here or somewhere else?”

“We can walk and talk if you’re heading towards the metro?”

“Yeah.”

They set off along the leafy corridor of central campus.

“Know what you’re doing for your final project?” Cam said.

Ashley let out a short laugh. “I knew back in semester two. It’s basically written, thankfully!”

Cam shook his head comically. “Thought so, not hanging around, eh? Thinking you must be going for the Dean’s Prize?”

She almost blushed. It wasn’t to be said out loud, but since she had been made aware of the prestigious honour awarded to one graduating student of their current cohort for an outstanding final story project, Ashley was more determined than ever, which was why she’d started work on it so early. If the resounding praise of her past creative writing assignments were anything to go by, she knew she stood a very good chance. The award and recognition would be the cherry on the icing of what had been a Three Michelin Star cake of a degree.

Ashley nodded, modesty intact. “How about you?”

“Oh, vague ideas, nothing concrete yet, have to mull it over.”

Ashley nodded again as they descended the wide berth of slabbed steps towards the main road. She knew he was being nonchalant about it. Cam had been on the borderline between a 2:1 and a 1st for the past two years. It all came down to the mark of this final assignment as to which way the balance would tip. She knew he was under huge pressure from his well-to-do family to secure a position at a renowned publishing house that only took on the absolute cream of the graduate crop. The impression she got was a 1st at all costs, and to her that was a questionable attitude to have.

“Is that what you wanted to ask me about?” She said.

“Actually, no,” Cam said, dancing his fingers down the shiny metal handrail. “It’s… writing-related, but not coursework.”

Ashley said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“Over the last few months, as a way to up my game for the course, and especially as we’ve been getting closer to the final project, I’ve been taking part in these online writing contests.”

He allowed his hand to flatten and slide along the rail. “You basically get a brief for a short story, usually asking for no more than few-thousand words and it’s pretty open in terms of the direction you want to take it in, and then you’ve just got to write the piece and submit it to be in with a chance of winning a cash prize. Obviously not all about that as your profile gets a decent number of views from other members if you win, but I thought it might’ve been a nice little earner on the side with how much I enjoy writing in my spare time. Even winning one of them would’ve covered this year’s rent and bills, meaning I’m not relying on… well, meaning some independence.” He sniffed a laugh and Ashley forced a smile.

They reached the bottom of the steps and began weaving through crowds of students bustling in all directions as they turned onto the main street.

“But anyway,” Cam continued. “This latest one is the biggest prize yet, fifty grand. The two runner-up prizes are decent too, but that top prize is insane.”

He paused as a guy absorbed by the phone screen in front of his face cut between them.

“I’ve gone back through all the previous contests I’ve entered and read the winning entries and most of the runner-up pieces too, and it seems that… what I’m missing is… or what the judges really like is… is not just something brilliantly written, but almost very... real, like a very poignant human experience, that’s the best way I can describe it.”

He waited until they were past a few more small clusters of people and at the pedestrian crossing to carry on. “Pretty much all the ones I’ve written so far have been these crazy ideas I think no one else will come up with, and always try to throw in a little twist at the end, make it memorable, make it different, you know what I mean? But that formula just doesn’t seem to be working. I mean I’m confident in my writing, and the originality, and I like what I’ve written, but something’s just not… clicking, with the wider audience, if that’s even the right phrasing.”

He almost broke off into a sigh. “Every time I submit a new piece, regardless of what’s gone before and the disappointment, I always find this renewed hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the one that finally breaks that pattern and gets noticed, and it never is. I really believe people would generally enjoy my pieces if one was just singled out from the sea of submissions, people who’d never otherwise come across them for exactly that reason. But now I’m just starting to think that maybe how I write just isn’t, what’s the word, enough? Just like I can’t quite deliver this holy grail that takes a piece from good to incredible, like I can’t do what I’m constantly missing.”

He looked genuinely glum, like his lips would start quivering at any moment. Ashley had no idea what to say.

“Some of your pieces, Ash, that I read during the critical peer reviews, they are so, so good. Not in the sense that they’re doing anything particularly different, but they do what they set out to do so well. The style, the raw emotion you’re able to convey, it’s exactly what the tutors love and what I’ve come to realise is probably holding me back in these contests, especially when you consider some of the winning ones.”

The lights flicked from amber to red and a cyclist shot past before the first steps of the waiting crowd were taken into the road.

“So,” Cam said as they were almost at the other side, “I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to write a piece for this latest contest, which I’ll then submit and, if it’s successful, give you the bulk of the prize money?”

Ashley had sort of guessed from the sudden segway into his flattering remarks about her work that this is where the conversation was going. Credit to him for giving it a go, especially when there was such a blindingly obvious alternative that he was surely too smart to have not considered.

“What’s stopping me from signing up and submitting it?”

They started to cut through the path of the church grounds where the volume of people had thinned to a bearable level. Cam walked on the trimmed grass beside her.

“Well, to avoid hundreds and hundreds of entries they’re only allowing them from those who’ve previously submitted to at least five previous contests, or else yeah, you’re right, there’d be nothing stopping you doing that. I mean the real reward for me is the exposure, which I guess is a bit selfish, but then like I said I’m willing to part with a decent chunk of the prize.”

“What’s a ‘decent chunk’?”

He obviously knew, but still hesitated, and didn’t look at her when he spoke. “Ten for me, forty for you.”

She’d been expecting a more even split, but then again she would be writing the whole thing, and a damned good one at that if it was to triumph over countless other established and undoubtedly talented writers, all ploughing their passion into this same creative pot of temptation.

“Sounds reasonable.”

He nodded appreciatively. They’d stopped at the next pedestrian crossing just beyond the church boundary. The lights were much quicker changing this time.

“So what’s the brief for this?” She said as they crossed, soon to be stepping into the shadow of the huge rigid dome of the metro station, beginning to rise up in front of them.

“Minimum 600 words, maximum 5,000, and it has to contain a Macaw, that’s all.”

“A Macaw? As in the bird, a parrot?”

“Yeah, they’re endangered in Belize… I think, where they’re poached, so this particular contest is part-raising awareness part-fundraising for this wildlife charity in the Caribbean, so for a good cause.”

“Right, OK.”

Ashley considered. Her mind was instinctively whirling through any life experiences involving such a creature. Apart from a few mundane visits to various zoos, nothing was standing out. Surely there was something she could use as a basis, and then the idea and words would flow as they so often did once she got going.

“What about…” she said at last, “... a few years ago there was a guy my dad worked with whose wife died, only in her late-thirties, same as him, they didn’t have kids, and he then tried to take his own life, but… failed. When he was finally judged well enough to return home by himself, he bought a Cockatoo, completely out of the blue. They’d never had pets before and no one understood it at all, yet it just... completely changed him, gave him his confident back, gave him a purpose, feeling like life was worth living again after everything.”

She rolled her lips inward, still thinking. “I could write about that, but just change the Cockatoo for a Macaw, and really hone in on the ‘saviour’ aspect of it, the emotions. Although perhaps that doesn’t do the endangered side of things justice though?”

“No, that sounds perfect,” Cam said buoyantly. “Could work it in somewhere I’m sure.”

Ashley nodded, actually quite looking forward to this mini-assignment.

They were well within the metro station shadow by now and it didn’t seem as if Cam was taking the route inside.

“Want to message me the rest of the details?” She said, already keen to start making notes on her phone on the short journey home.

“Can quickly let you know now. Waiting on a replacement phone at the moment, could still be a few days. What else did you need to know?”

“I guess who judges it?”

He cocked his head slightly. “You know what, I don’t actually know. People at the site I guess.” He shrugged.

“Right, OK. And when's the deadline?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry. By the end of the weekend OK? If you send it to my uni email that'd be great. I use that one for pretty much everything writing-related at the moment.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine.”

He nodded, evidently very satisfied with his little deal.

“Well,” Ashley said. “I guess now lectures are all done I’ll see you… on submission day?”

“Yeah, probably see you then.”

She didn’t end up doing, and thought nothing of it.

**

Ashley bowed her head and allowed the hood - more of an encompassing shawl - to be draped over her shoulders and fall down her back, held in the correct position by a black band at the bottom of her neck. Her gown was already uncomfortable and this wasn’t particularly helping matters, but it was only for a few hours. She could withstand and honour tradition for a few hours.

The woman who’d sorted Ashley’s attire with autonomous enthusiasm for the job then handed her a mortarboard and muttered that was all. Ashley held the cap as she began walking back over to her parents, glancing around as she did at the bustling chaos of mass dress-up for the latest ceremonial celebrations. She then saw him over the far side of the room, attempting to straighten his own cap already mounted on his head. He wasn’t with anyone as far as she could see.

Her parents were lost in animated conversation with another couple while her brother slouched on a padded seat beside them, phone in hands, thumb-scrolling, eyes glued to the screen. They wouldn’t notice her taking a slight detour, they probably hadn’t even seen which table she’d gone to, to collect her robes.

Ashley headed around the perimeter and stopped beside him. “Hey, Cam, how’s it going?”

He blinked, surprised, as though he couldn’t believe she was there. “Hi, Ash, yeah… good, thanks, and you?”

“Yeah, all a bit too fancy for my liking, but I’m sure my parents are proud.” She’d meant it to be tongue-in-cheek and smiled, but Cam had no reaction.

“Yeah,” he said, as though speaking was a great effort. “Lot of fuss, yeah.” He was looking at the table in front where a tiny woman was struggling to sort the hood of a guy who must’ve been two feet taller than her.

Cam looked back at her, making eye contact for just a split-second. “Well, I gotta get back to my parents for some photos before it all starts. Good to see you, maybe see you around after.”

Ashley was taken aback. “Oh, OK, well, I just wanted to quickly say I came in on Results Day, when they’d put them up in the atrium, and saw you ended up with a 1st.” She smiled again but he only nodded rapidly in response.

“Must’ve really come through with that final project then. Awesome job, well done.” Surely that meant his graduate position had been secured, but he didn’t seem in the mood for further conversation, so she left it there.

“Thanks, and… and to you too.”

“Thanks.” She knew he was only saying it out of politeness but accepted it all the same.

“Right, well…”

“Just another thing, very quickly” Ashley interrupted, feeling so awkward for having to do so. “How did we get on with that contest, the one I did the Macaw piece for? I know I missed you on Submission Day and I messaged you a few times but didn’t hear back, so I was hoping to catch you to… to just check about that too.”

He was still nodding along, still too speedily for her liking. “Yeah, sorry about that, been a manic summer since I got home, not managed to reply to much.”

He looked away again, this time appearing to survey the whole room, like he was longing to teleport himself to the other side. “Didn’t win, I’m afraid, nor a runner up.” There was that glum look that he pulled off so well. “Genuinely thought it was in with a shout, it was so good, but nah, sorry, Ash. I’ve pretty much given up on there now, at least for the moment.”

Ashley nodded in understanding. “No, it’s alright, guess I knew it was a long shot. Just didn’t want to be conned out of forty grand.” She raised her eyebrows playfully and smiled again. This time he returned it with one of his own, but more nervous than anything else.

There was an unbearable silence for a few seconds. Ashley had to break it. “Well, enjoy the ceremony, Cam, congratulations, and yeah, maybe see you around after.”

He was already stepping away before she’d finished. “Likewise, see you, Ash.”

Walking back to rejoin her parents she couldn’t shake the awkwardness of the whole encounter, unlike it had ever been between them before. Granted, they’d never been best buds, and she was under no illusions that’s what either of them had wanted, but he’d certainly been desperate to get away from her right then. Combined with the unreplied-to messages it was very strange.

A troubled, buried thought suddenly resurfaced, brought on by his behaviour, that Cam had actually scooped the top prize in this Macaw contest and really was keeping it all for himself in the hope she’d never find out. She hadn’t wanted to believe it when the harrowing possibility first traipsed across her mind after he’d failed to reply to her second follow-up message - she’d batted it away, refusing to search for the website herself, instead set on politely querying him on this very day should there remain no reply, perhaps the last time she’d ever see him in person - but now...

Did he really think he could get away with it? He surely knew that if she really wanted to she’d be able to check the winner, thus having his scheme rumbled, but then… a sense of dread encased her like another oversized gown and hood, and she gripped her cap tight… how could she prove it was her work?

The only digital trail was gone. The uni inboxes of all finishing students had been terminated a couple of weeks back, which included those of Ashley and Cam. Had he somehow planned for that as well? Why hadn’t she just emailed herself a copy as a provable timestamp before sending it to him? Their verbal agreement was a thread under an anvil. She’d had to trust him completely and now it was simply her word against his.

Another thought then rose up that had Ashley wondering if it really was the case that someone would’ve had to enter however many previous contests to enter that Macaw one? She couldn’t believe him at all anymore. There were just too many fine coincidences. She was finally convinced she’d been well and truly conned.

She had to find and confront him again, either before, during or after the ceremony.

**

Queuing to go into the hall she couldn’t see him. A few friends – caught up in the buzz of the day and much more extroverted than usual – attempted to talk to her but she gave the bare minimum back. Right now everything was blending into the atmospheric background chatter and some far off piano keys being struck in an upbeat rhythm to play in the congregation as they entered.

Her mind was elsewhere, far away from what this day meant anymore.

How had she been so stupid to let him get one over on her, to take advantage of her good nature and talent, and to not even see it, all the little pieces? Perhaps he’d tried it with other classmates first and they’d been smart enough to fob him off, yet muggins here accepted straight off the bat, with zero intrusive questioning that there could be ulterior motives at hand, believing it was all much-needed support for a well-intentioned friend. A friend, ha!

And she hadn’t told anyone else either, not even her dad, who she at one point thought she might have to pry for some further background information on the Cockatoo man, but then it’d all come together nicely without the need.

She genuinely couldn’t believe it. Cam had concocted then pulled off the perfect fraudulent crime and she’d played into his hands at every step to not just make it possible, but to make it easier for him to get away with.

Her body was baking under her dress and the gown. Her head was steaming under her cap and blow-dried hair. She had to know. She had to check. She couldn’t let it go on any longer.

She shuffled to one side and got the attention of one of the seating attendants, a bald giant of a man who was really wasted on this job when security positions were in demand.

“I need to go and get some water,” Ashley said, doing her best to sound exasperated. “Please can you let me in after?”

He nodded, almost rolling his eyes at the same time. “You’ll have to wait by me,” he said, “then slot in when your row’s going up.”

She didn’t care, and was off.

Out in the grand hallway, now deserted, she half-walked half-ran to an abandoned set-up of chairs where she sat and got her phone out of her clutch bag. Her hand was shaking as she loaded up her web browser, trying to push from her mind the unhelpful niggle of why she hadn’t just checked the previous month - or since - when the thought first occurred after chasing up Cam for the third time. Far too trusting, and it’d been identified as a flaw… no, an opportunity. He’d picked the right target, that was for sure.

She’d never been told the name of the website, but a few variations of a search for ‘macaw writing contest’ soon brought up the correct listing towards the bottom of the first page. She entered the website and was greeted with a top image of three Macaws gracefully soaring alongside one another, their feathers – a glorious shade of a blue dominating a bulk of the wingspan – phasing to a hint of calming green, and then finally a fiery red for their necks and heads. Truly the punks of the sky, and it momentarily made Ashley sad that such majestic creatures were under threat.

She snapped out of her trance and scrolled down past the prize details which Cam had correctly shared (and perhaps sneakily pocketed), then a short section of the contest timeline, and then… she saw it, subconsciously holding her breath – Winning Submissions.

She didn’t recognise any of the three titles (not one that she had used anyway), nor any of the author names, but he could’ve posted under a pseudonym, that wouldn’t surprise her.

She tapped onto each entry and retreated each time upon discovering it wasn’t hers. Cam’s entry, Ashley’s entry, hadn’t been a winner. He’d been telling the truth. She felt strangely disappointed, but also relieved, and sat back in the chair, staring up at an ancient oil painting of some ex-chancellor, all formal and gowned up, looking back at her through stern eyes, although undoubtedly the most amused he’d been in decades having witnessed her little paranoid predicament.

Ashley allowed herself a short, nervous laugh. From super-trusting to super-suspicious, working herself into a state for absolutely no reason. Cam was probably just nervy about the ceremony, standing up in front of all those gawping guests, not wanting to taint the big, proud moment with a slip or trip on the dangling gown, forever remembered as the lad who face-planted the stage, embarrassed and hurt, caught on the official video and an abundance of smartphones.

Ashley stood up, comically saluted the man in the painting, and walked back towards the hall, actually feeling again like she had done up to the encounter with Cam that morning, like herself. Her mouth was dry. Maybe she could do with that water after all.

**

“Hey, Ash.”

Ashley spun around. “Hey, Jess, what’s up?”

Jess was flustered. Her cheeks were even rosier than they had been that morning above several layers of foundation, and the sculptured fringe that had tucked so neatly under her cap was now mostly windswept across her face in blonde streaks. It was a good job all main photos were done.

“You heading for refreshments?”

Ceremony over; official photographs ticked off; desire to find Cam no longer existent, Ashley just wanted to hang around her contemporaries, maybe finally enjoy some chat, and sip a strong coffee.

“Yeah, you?”

“In a bit, but just had to try and catch you,” Jess said. “Just had some intel on the Dean’s Prize.”

“Oh right.”

It had to be something significant to divert Ashley’s attention from the caffeine she was craving, and this was it. With all the hustle of preparing for today - the journey, the morning rush, then everything with Cam sending her brain into overdrive - the award had completely slipped her mind. This was a welcome turn of events. Surely Jess - another contender for the honour - was bringing good news, for one of the pair.

This was immediately followed by the thought: wasn’t it procedure to notify the esteemed, winning individual beforehand, who was then sworn to secrecy before it became public knowledge? Ashley hadn’t been contacted.

Suddenly there was doubt spreading inside her like an uncontained virus, numbing various parts of her body in eager - but no longer optimistic - anticipation.

“What have you heard?”

Jess brushed away the hair from her face with one hand. She wasn’t smiling. “Sounds kind of a strange one, this story, about this widower whose life is turned around after adopting a Macaw, you know, the parrot.”