The Harder We Fall

by Mina V. Esguerra

  Twenty-six pairs of eyes looked into my camera, and I waved.

  There were introductions too, or more like a roll call that I was glad I documented, because I had forgotten the first guy’s name by the time the fifth was called. Grayson was doing the calling, rounding them up like an older brother would, and when he was satisfied that no one was missing, we were off.

  Nicholas didn’t leave my side the entire time.

  It wasn’t a long trip, but it was a bumpy one. I got to take shots of us leaving the campus. Addison Hill was very photogenic, with its brick buildings and landscaped grounds, but it obviously didn’t have enough money to spread around to everyone who needed it. I wondered how Grayson and Nicholas would want to angle this.

  St. Francis, it became clear, was the kind of school that had money for rugby. I could see it immediately in the way that as the bus pulled up, the signs (permanent structures, not temporary) pointed to the RUGBY FIELD. Then later, in the SFS uniforms, the identical shoes, the coaching staff made up of more than one person.

  Nicholas managed to stay with me all throughout because he wasn’t playing. I should have expected it though, from the way he was dressed differently, khaki pants and white button down, like he was on his way to a business meeting instead. Grayson didn’t suit up to play either, on account of them already technically being off the team, but he was right there with the guys like he was the coach. Maybe he was, right now? There didn’t seem to be anyone else.

  “You’re not playing?” I asked him, as we waited for everything to start, and maybe I was a little disappointed.

  “No,” he said. “You’ll want to hang around where Grayson is now though, and catch that part.”

  Right. Because I had actual work to do here.

  ***

  Addison Hill Rugby Club lost.

  I was almost sad about it, which was the closest to any emotion I’d given any sport ever. I was mentally ready for a pummeling, because the news archives didn’t boast of many wins. It also seemed like the team would get stuck at a certain level of competition and not progress; the schools we were competing with were the same ones, pretty much, over and over.

  He wasn’t sitting. Didn’t sit throughout the entire thing. Nicholas, instead, was standing, sometimes on the ground, sometimes on the bleacher seat, brow furrowed, pointing at Grayson intensely in at least seven ways, like it meant something different each time.

  “Was that awful?” I said, once I had stopped recording.

  He laughed. “That was how most of our games look. You captured something pretty accurate.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  He turned to me and I caught him check the camera in my palm for the red power light. It wasn’t on. “It's a kick in the gut every time. We should be better, and it's a shit thing to be standing here and seeing exactly where things should be golden and those guys out there don't seem to know it. But that's not why we're here.”

  We were there, apparently, to make sure that incoming senior Todd Chang was seen and noticed by a guy in gray frame glasses and a suit.

  “A scout or something?”

  “He's influential, yes. I owe to him how I got into the Super League at all, and that makes him indirectly responsible for everything that happened after, including Japan. He's here for the other team, but we're friends and he knows who to watch out for among our guys.”

  “What’s the Super League?”

  “Something I’ve been doing the past year. Not a full-time thing, so I’ve had to work in the meantime. I want to be able to introduce Todd in particular to this guy though, because he could have opportunities outside of this country.”

  “Does it matter that we lost today?”

  He shook his head. “With some imagination it won't matter. They can see past that. Let's go say hi.”

  I wiped my right hand on my jeans, prepping for a professional handshake. My dad was surrounded by guys in suits too, and usually the first shake got me a good feel of how they were evaluating me. Was I going to be an ally, instrumental in sucking up to my dad? Was I the product itself, putty to be molded into something? Mr. Leo North gave me a good shake and refreshingly, nothing else. He wasn't there for me.

  “Nicholas,” he said, and Nicholas got a half-hug out of this. “Are you all packed?”

  “You know me,” Nicholas replied, “I just need my shoes.”

  “Number 9, right? I noticed him.”

  I hung back as the conversation shifted to Todd, and got a little loaded with jargon. I hesitated and then decided not to film this, in case it ruined anyone's chances at anything. Instead I watched Nicholas talk about his teammate, maybe his protégé. I told myself that I was paying attention so I could find my story, and that was all, but damn it.

  Instead I made a quick note to ask him about why this was so important later.

  Chapter 5

  Excerpt from Nicholas Cevasco interview #1

  It's on.

  Where do I look?

  Look at me, please. Try not to look at the camera too often. Although I know it can't be helped sometimes. Ready?

  Yeah.

  Do you write often, Nicholas?

  What?

  I saw that you wrote several news articles on the rugby club. Most of what's in the news archive is by you and Grayson. Can you tell me about that?

  I don't really write.

  They were well-written though.

  Thank you. But no, I don't. If you're asking why the co-captains of the rugby club are writing their own press, then yes, that's what was happening, because the student journalists weren't. Not as often as they cover other games.

  When did you become captain of the team?

  Grayson and I shared the post since junior year.

  It hasn't been around for very long, has it? The rugby club. Compared to the other sports teams.

  No, it hasn't. I actually still played with the guy who helped start it, because he was local and stayed in the area after graduating. When he moved on, Grayson and I sort of took up the torch.

  What is that torch exactly?

  To keep the team together. It has almost zero funding right now. You saw that we have to share everything, from bus time to field time. It's not the ideal environment for breeding winners.

  There haven't been many winning games.

  There's a lot of improvement, if you can buy that kind of spin.

  It's a sport that can really beat you up.

  You noticed.

  Yeah, it's hard to miss. You're telling me that everyone on Addison Hill's team is putting themselves through that for almost no support and reward?

  It depends on how you define “support” and “reward” I guess. We get enough to attend games and keep ourselves patched up until the next one. We rarely win, but that hardly matters when all you want to do is play.

  I'm assuming you want more for these guys? What would that be?

  Yes, I want more for them. I want them to be endorsed as varsity and get the budget that comes with it. I want them to get a full-time coach. I want them to be able to take a plane and play against other teams.

  Does that matter?

  It does, when your participation is determined by how far your bus can take you.

  Where does Todd Chang fit in right now? In your plans for the team.

  You can talk to Todd about this. He can answer your questions himself.

  Does this have anything to do with how you started with the game, Nicholas?

  Well, yeah. Of course it does.

  In what way?

  The world isn't kind to the ordinary anymore.

  Excuse me?

  You know how many business students there are here? A lot. I was lucky to have gotten into Addison Hill, but I wasn't in the right mindset to be anything more than mediocre when compared to everyone else. But rugby meant something to me. Some people on the team are like that. I was lucky to have been introduced to Leo at the right time. Lucky to have qualified to play i
n the Super League while I was working, because I needed to work immediately after graduation. Lucky to have gotten the Japan offer so I didn’t have to work and play at the same time, at least for now.

  You think it's luck, that you've gotten a good break?

  It's something that any other guy could have gotten. And I happened to snatch it from them. No, I guess it's not luck. I feel like I stole it from someone who wasn't paying attention. But it's like that, everything. It's tough for people who hesitate or don't know what they've got going for them.

  And you're here paying it forward for Todd. In a way.

  All I can do is put him in the right place at the right time. He fumbles, can't do anything about it.

  I think I should ask you how the game is played. I’ve looked it up, and I watched some, but I might need voiceovers.

  Are you ready for your evangelization?

  Hit me. Explain to me some rugby.

  ***

  The transcript doesn’t seem sexual at all, does it? Of course not. Even when just listening to it, without seeing his face, just hearing the words and imagining them on a screen or page… it looked perfectly benign. Another day at work.

  But being there with him was another thing altogether. It was likely my fault. I had been thinking about him that way since my fingers touched his bare skin and the thought of it was constantly buzzing around me, even as I tried to be good and proper. Heat shot through me every time he said words like “ruck,”“scrum,”“forward,” and that was so out of context that I could only conclude that it was all me. The way he drummed his fingertips on the ledge he was sitting on, how his elbow brushed against his shirt when he gestured to speak, it was like I felt all of it. Against my skin.

  We got back to the campus after six p.m., and I suggested that I film his first interview on the fourth floor of the Natural Sciences Building. I had several go-to places on campus for one-on-ones in case I didn't have a studio, and NS was perfect for early evening. The light fell on that floor just right, I had my choice of brick and tree backdrops, and classes were often done by then. He and I talked like this, for over an hour. The years of writing his team's own news served him well. He had answers for almost everything, and was ready to elaborate on a point, whenever he brought up something new. He'd always had to explain things, he said. Most people didn't know what rugby was about. He knew it, lived it, breathed it. And felt a duty to talk it up and get more people involved.

  Some days this thing I liked to do, sometimes it got tedious. Some people spoke on and on and essentially said nothing, and I’d have to go through hours of footage to find something useful. And then, when I got lucky, I’d get to talk to someone who was lit from the inside when he talked.

  It was hot. I mean, I literally felt warm.

  God, I’d been walking the same campus as this guy for three years. Where the hell was I going that I never noticed.

  I didn’t ask him about Japan. It wasn’t on my list, because I hadn’t yet thought of how to ask it without sounding like I was intending to stalk him. Um, so, Japan huh? For how long? Is it best to call when it’s evening my time or yours? Ugh.

  Instead I was professional. Spent my interview time on his thoughts on the university’s treatment of the team and how it should be better.

  And then: “Why do they call you Monk?”

  It was meant to segue into his team, camaraderie, being blood brothers and whatnot. Hah.

  His brow sort of twisted, and he looked affected in a way that no other question made him. “I’m guessing it’s because they think I’ve been living as a monk since my last relationship ended three years ago.”

  Did he want me to go there? Did he want me to ask? I said I would.

  He could probably see it, see how flushed my neck was becoming. “And you mean to say they’ve been wrong about that?” I asked.

  I peeked at my camera’s screen and noticed he had moved off his mark a bit, a tad, because he had adjusted his back against the brick wall. A few times he did that, sort of rested his head back, exposing a bit of neck, and I was absolutely gone.

  “I’m not a monk,” he said.

  “That is I’m sure, the truth. I mean, you’re obviously not with a religious order.”

  He glanced at the camera, probably wondering if something that counted as a personal question should be recorded. But like a good sport, he continued. “It probably comes off like I’m being righteous about it. It’s not that. It got difficult to be in a relationship again.”

  “So you didn’t then. Have relationships.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you weren’t a monk.”

  “What does it sound like to you, Daria?”

  I shrugged. “You don’t have relationships but you didn’t live like a monk. Sounds like you’re not against partaking in pleasures that don’t require commitment.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “I don’t mean for it to sound judgmental. That’s how a lot of people are. No shame in it.”

  “No,” Nicholas leaned forward, closing the gap between us, and there wasn’t that much of a gap to begin with. “Let’s try that again. I don’t want to be misquoted, or something.”

  “Oh believe me, no one’s going to—”

  “I am not a monk,” he said, so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. He couldn’t be on camera now, it was impossible, not with him leaning so far out, but I didn’t call him out on it. “But that doesn’t make me anything else either.”

  “I don’t get it,” I whispered, because anything above that would have seemed so loud. “Tell me what you mean. Explain like it’s rugby.”

  “I’m going to kiss you right now,” he said, “and when I do it’s not to prove I’m not celibate, or whatever’s the opposite of that. You’re gorgeous and it’s been nice talking to you, but I do really want to kiss you. The nickname’s a stupid nickname that doesn’t mean anything to me, but I still want to kiss you, and I don’t want you to associate it with anything that my friends call me.”

  I nodded, and what I said next dissolved in the place where his lips and mine met. It was just a stupid word anyway, of no consequence whatsoever. I’d been watching his mouth for more than an hour now and it felt familiar, welcome, leaving warmth as it moved across mine. My hands were craving to touch his skin again, like that neck, because that was unfamiliar, so my hands went up and my fingers were there in no time at all. He sucked in his breath at that, but didn’t let go, and in fact pushed further, went deeper.

  It occurred to me that I had never been kissed by someone this...large. Proportionally. I had always gone for lean artist types and kissing them had always been back and forth, no risk of being engulfed. Not like this.

  Air came back into my mouth like a breeze, owing to him softly disengaging.

  “I get it,” I said. “Not a monk. I totally get it.”

  Chapter 6

  “So the view count won’t have any bearing at all?” Kyle asked, his hand still raised.

  I imagined rolling my eyes, so I wouldn’t have to waste the energy of actually doing so. Because Kyle was like that¸ by the way, always finding a way to rope public opinion into a project.

  “No,” Salty answered, thankfully. “It really will be for the panel to decide.”

  “Do we know what the criteria is by now?” another student asked.

  “They want the freedom to decide based on who has the best skills, as the video entry will show, and also an academic and personal background that they think will fit.”

  This made me sit up straighter, hope shooting up my spine. Looking into background? That would give me more of a chance. All of us here were working with topics that were unfamiliar to us. In the off chance that we all produced videos that sucked, I at least had the foundation of actual work in children’s social issues.

  Kyle, apparently, had picked out Health Services from the hat, and was spending most of his time chasing down the university’s health staff.
I did not envy his position, though I realized that he could easily angle it to be relevant to the UNICEF project. If he was smart about it.

  Salty concluded her short briefing and saw us off, but Kyle approached me as we both left the room.

  “So, sports, huh?” he said. “Nothing you’ve ever done before.”

  “I know,” I said, deadpan. “I’m out of my league.”

  “Funny.”

  “What do you want, Kyle?”

  “Hey.” He looked hurt by my tone, and I almost felt sorry about it. I remembered freshman year, when we almost started out as friends. He was nice enough to talk to, and had a decent opinion about a wide range of movies (as every self-respecting media major should). He went and ruined that by starting that first nasty rumor: someone “heard” I had gotten into Addison Hill in the first place because my dad had offered to produce some faculty member’s TV show.

  No one could name the show and the faculty member involved, but it didn’t matter. My dad had a foundation in my mother’s name and gave random money to schools all the time, so who knew if Addison Hill was an actual beneficiary and if it influenced my acceptance. It was doubtful,but nevertheless started that whole thing of people thinking I was a fraud, and me having to work harder every damn time.