Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
This makes her laugh. “I’m sorry I’m laughing, you poor thing.”
Poor thing.
No one has ever called me that, not a day in my life. Poor thing? Hardly. It must be an American thing to call someone that, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean it literally—I’m far from poor.
“Kaylee and I made the executive decision not to stay for the entire thing. We wanted to spare your dignity.” She laughs again.
“Spare my dignity?” Ha. “It’s way too late—I gave that up when I joined the team.” I switch her book bag from one shoulder to the other.
“And you’re still not ready to call it quits? I won’t lie to you, Jack…that was a painful match to watch, and I know nothing about rugby. Did you get hurt?”
“Just my pride.” I think on it. “Oh—and I have a few bruises on my collarbone where I got jacked by a few elbows. Probably from my own teammates, who fancied giving me a good thrashing afterward.” I sigh. “Wish I would have taken a shiner to the eye, but…perhaps next time.”
She jabs me in the arm. “You do not wish you had a black eye.”
“Sure do.” I’m quiet as I think. “Or a broken arm.”
“Jack Jones!” Eliza is appalled. “Take that back.”
“Will not. If I had a broken arm, I’d be out for the season and wouldn’t get sacked.” I glance down at her. “That’s English for ‘let go’ or fired.”
“You’re sick, do you know that?”
Is she being serious? It’s hard to tell—she’s not smiling or smirking or doing any of the number of things I’m used to seeing her face do.
It must show on mine that I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“Relax, I’m joking.”
“Right. I knew that. But, to be clear, I was only half jesting about the broken arm.”
That finally has her cracking a smile, and we’re both laughing as we continue heading toward her place; it’s still raining, but nothing that has us rushing along. Can see her house, but it’s still far enough in the distance that we have more time to talk.
“At what point do you think someone is going to realize you have no idea what you’re doing?”
“When I fashion a wig and send you out onto the field for me?”
“Fashion me a wig?” Eliza gives an unladylike snort. “I’d probably do a better job.”
What’s this sass?
Where is it coming from!
I like it…
“Hey now! I’m slightly offended. But also: facts.”
“You know, the funny thing is I didn’t believe you when you told me you stink at rugby. I thought you were being modest.”
Sounds about right. “Oddly enough, that’s the same reaction I got from a lot of people. I’m just waiting to be axed from the team or made the water boy.”
“I just don’t understand why you won’t quit… That seems like the easiest solution instead of putting yourself through all that trouble, not to mention you could get seriously hurt. I saw some of those guys, and they were busted up. No knee pads or shoulder pads or helmets? You guys are out of your minds.”
“Yes, well, it’s the manly thing to do.” Plus, I’m not a quitter.
“Don’t tell me you buy into that toxic masculinity bullshit.” She laughs.
“Toxic masculinity? Don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
“It’s basically the theory that men feel like they can’t be sensitive, or cry, or feel the same things a woman feels. Emotions and stuff. Macho men and tough guys and all that.”
“Ahh. I see.” We come to the end of the block and wait on the walkway for the light to change from the orange STOP hand to the white illuminated WALK dude. “That’s not it at all. I told you I joined the team because I wanted to make friends and get to know people. At the time it seemed like the easiest way to go about it, but I didn’t actually think I would get my skull crushed.”
“Your skull crushed? That seems a bit dramatic.”
“Skull crushed, nose broken—same thing.”
“You’re the only guy I’ve ever met who wants to get hurt so he can sit on the bench instead of taking yourself out of the game.”
Her hair has gotten saturated with the thousands of water droplets that have begun coating our bodies, her skin glistening beneath the lights of the street lamps.
I study her profile as we walk, noticing that somewhere along the way, we slowed our pace.
Once again, I switch her book bag from one shoulder to the other, readjusting it because it’s pretty bloody heavy.
“Thanks again for inviting me to the movie,” Eliza finally says after a stretch of silence.
I’ve enjoyed the time with her—the movie after studying, then walking her home in the night; it’s been a nice break from the chaos of the day. There’s something about being in the rain that’s soothing, and Eliza is great company.