Page 38 of The Wing
“You look just like him when they focus on you,” Liam says.
I stare at him, affronted. “I sing the anthem.”
“Not with enthusiasm. You are one of the only confident players during the Maori part, though.” The anthem ends, and the team heads to the field for the haka.
I roll my eyes. “Considering I am Maori, I figured I’d better learn that part properly.”
“You didn’t before?”
“Only parts of it we learned at primary school, I never really learned the words.” I shrug and ignore the familiar discomfort when discussing my whakapapa. “Mum didn’t grow up speaking the language after it was beaten out of her parents, so I never learned. One day I’d like to.”
“Does Charlie know any?”
I shake my head. “And she’s white presenting too with her blonde hair and paler skin, so she has a whole other layer of stuff to figure out.” I sigh. “Maybe I should take a class or something.”
Liam touches my hand. “That sounds like a great idea. I think some universities and schools offer free classes for the community.”
“I’ll talk to Charlie and see what she thinks after the season.” It’ll probably take my whole life to unravel and understand the complexities of being indigenous and reclaiming the language and culture, but maybe a class wouldn’t be too hard. Or disheartening. Charlie would probably be keen, but do I want to do school work again? I scrunch my nose. Maybe I’ll think about it a bit more.
I turn back to the TV and leave the difficult topics for another day and groan when I see who’s replaced me, forgetting that Alex told me on the phone when I was booted off the squad.
“I can’t believe they gave me mandatory time off because of a nonexistent injury, only to replace me with fucking Peter. He can barely catch the ball,” I grumble.
Liam raises his eyebrows at me. “If he couldn’t catch the ball, he wouldn’t be on the team.”
“You wait and watch. There’s a reason he barely gets any minutes.”
It’s apparent as soon as kickoff happens that it’s going downhill.
“What the actual fuck was that?” Liam snarls when Johnny, our fullback, is tackled but manages to get the ball to Peter, who loses it immediately and stands there for a few seconds instead of chasing the opposition.
“Told you.” The bloody Freedom Cup is on the line. If we lose this game, wehaveto win the next. Otherwise we lose the cup, which would be an embarrassment.
“You were catching better than that last week, even with your shoulder.” Liam doesn’t look at me when he says it, and his voice is distinctly casual. “You were hesitating and second-guessing yourself, not literally dropping the ball and watching the opposition pick it up.”
I fiddle with my cup. “Thanks. I made it harder to win those games, though,” I finish quietly. I sigh heavily and stare at theTV blankly, barely taking in the fact that South Africa scored another try. “There is a reason I’m not playing.”
“There is. But that’s because of the pressure you’re putting on yourself. All the pressure from the coaches.” Liam presses his knee to mine. “You needed some time away to regroup. How do you feel now?” he asks carefully, not looking at me, to give me space, I guess.
“I’m…fine.” I turn on the couch to face him properly and ignore the losing game. When he looks at me, I continue, “This week has been amazing, as much as I don’t want to admit everyone was right. Playing yesterday afternoon? Everything was fine. Zero issues. Yeah, I need to work on my technique, but I wasn’t hesitating. My shoulder felt fine, no tightness or twinging. I had fun, and I remembered why I love the game. And I can’t believe I’m sitting here instead of on the field with them, running for my life to fix Peter’s mistakes.”
Liam frowns and averts his gaze, and I realise what I said.
I lift his chin. “I’m glad I’m here. I am so glad Daisy told me about her friend who had a spare room in Wanaka, but I can’t help thinking how this injury is imaginary, and I’m not there with them when I feel okay.” I smile. “But then I wouldn’t have met you.”
“And you wouldn’t be feeling as good as you do now. You felt like shit when you got here. It’s only the last few days you’ve actually gotten some space from it all and relaxed.” He’s right. I only managed to stop thinking about it when I distracted myself with him. Liam puts his arm on the back of the couch. “If you were with them, you would still feel like shit and would be beating yourself up when your body didn’t perform as well as you want it to.”
I consider his argument and imagine being there with them, having never met Liam. Not hiked, or read, or kissed Liam. He’s right. I’d be holed up in my hotel room, hating life, thinkingabout losing my position with the team. “You’re right. I’ll be better next week because of the break. It’s just hard watching the game”—a glance confirms we’re still losing and yellow cards have been shown—“when I feel good now. But I’m worried—” I shake my head and lift Liam’s hand from his lap to fiddle with his fingers.
“Worried about what?”
“I’m worried I’ll arrive in South Africa, get on the field, and I won’t feel any different. My shoulder will feel off and the fun and excitement I found yesterday won’t translate at all. What if I’m worse?” I rub a hand across my mouth. “And if we lose this game, it means I’ll arrive to a shitshow where Ihaveto play well, otherwise we’ll lose the cup. Playing with you felt normal, easy. What if it isn’t when I leave?”
Liam laughs, and I meet his blue eyes. “Hemi, it was easy with me because I’m shit at it. It should be easy with me because you’re a professional, and I’m a writer who hasn’t touched a rugby ball since I was seventeen. The team should challenge you. That’s a good thing. Being so stressed that your body thinks it’s injured is bad. You need to take breaks and focus on something besides dropping a ball. This week gave you balance and breathing space to remember your other interests and hobbies. Doesn’t your coach say half the game’s mental?”
“Yes, but?—”
“But nothing. You’ll get to South Africa and practice with the team and relax in the hotel room instead of spiralling about everything.”
