Me: I’ll find it.
Cooke: Good. Nighty night, Quinn.
I look at the clock and blink. I wonder what time it is in Japan.
Chapter Twelve
“Iknow nothing about rugby.”
“Me neither, Kat.” Well, I take that back. I know some things thanks to the videos Cooke has sent me, along with his sporadic rugby terminology quizzes.
Patsy sighs. “I guess we’ll figure it out together, huh?”
I nod as Robbi adds, “It’s cool we know someone playing, though. We’ve got skin in the game, as they say.”
I think that refers to gambling, but it could work here too. “We’ll just have to watch and see what it’s like.”
The six of us are all sitting around a large square table at a local sports bar in downtown Ames called The London Underground. When I called ahead, they promised they’d have the game—or as Cooke called it, the match—on starting at eight. That means it’s ten in the morning in Japan. Hooray for Google.
So here we are, and we’re not alone. The place has a good crowd. Turning to the girls, I say, “I’m going to go get us a pitcher of beer.”
Walking up to the front, I can’t help noticing how cool the bar is. It’s all dark wood and brass beer taps, just like the British pubs I’ve seen on television and in movies.
I scan the bar and notice a large group of guys sporting Iowa State rugby T-shirts. I’m going to guess they’re the team that Bryant was referring to. It’s not just the shirts that give them away but their size. They’re all big guys. Not fat but thick, and some are quite muscly.
When the game starts, the bar comes alive. The few rugby fans and the team make the experience more exciting. When the bartender slides the pitcher to me along with six glasses, I wince at the price quoted. I’m going to have to cut back somewhere to make up for this night out. Grabbing the pitcher of beer, I turn and see my spot at our table has been taken. I scowl when I see Kara.Great.
I do my best to keep my scowl in check as I set the glasses down on the table. Because Kara took my spot, there’s no longer a chair for me. Sure, I could ask her to find another place to sit, but I’d prefer not to engage her right now. I look around for another chair and see none. Instead of lamenting, I take the pitcher and a glass back up to the bar. There’s an empty seat next to one of the big guys.
“Hey!” shouts Susanna, “don’t take off with the beer.”
I swivel in my seat. “Well, my seat was taken, so I had to find a new one. If you want some beer, you’ll need to come up and get it.”
Several of the girls laugh, but I distinctly hear Kara say, “She’s such a bitch.”
I’m ignoring itandher. I’m here to watch my friend Cooke play rugby, and that’s what I’m going to do.
* * *
“Go, Cooke, go!”I shout at the television. He’s got the ball and is running down the field, weaving between and around opposing players. “Run, run, run!” I yell louder.
“You’re really a fan, eh?” asks the mammoth guy next to me. I bet if we stood next to each other, he’d be a foot taller than my five feet five inches. He’s wearing the red and yellow rugby shirt, same as the other guys.
Ignoring him until the play is done, I then turn to him. “Cooke Thompson.” I point at the screen. “Number ten for England is a friend of mine.”
“Yeah, right.” He snorts, then chuckles.
I shrug because it doesn’t matter if this guy believes me or not.
“He is,” says Patsy from behind me. Pointing back at their table, she adds, “We were all there when she called him on FaceChat.”
“No shit?” The big guy nods. “Cool.”
“Yeah.” I nod back. It is cool.
“That guy is the best ten I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
