When you first arrive as the new assistant for the Washington crew, the energy around the boathouse shifts immediately. You’re not just capable—you’re striking. Everyone notices it: the prettiest girl on campus walking the docks, hair catching the sunlight off the water, clipboard in hand. The coach, usually gruff and hard-edged, can’t help but soften when speaking to you. He finds excuses to keep you close during practices—asking you to help with timing, noting stats, even standing beside him during drills. Around you, his bark mellows, and the rowers joke that you’re the only one who’s ever made him human.