Now Johnny turned to look at me. "You don’t consider chicken and veg to be normal food?"
"Well, yeah, of course I do," I mumbled, pushing down my discomfort. "But all the other lads on your team are eating chicken fillet rolls and deli food. And you're eating a pre-packed meal."
"Yeah, well, all the other lads on the team don’t have a bitchy nutritionist to contend with," he explained between bites. "Or a truckload of coaches and scouts breathing down their necks."
Huh.
I thought about that for a moment.
"Do you mind?" I asked then.
He smirked. "No, baby, I don’t mind."
My heart stopped in my chest.
Johnny's face flushed and he shook his head. "I mean –"
"It's okay," I whispered. "It's fine."
He looked at me with a pained expression and then exhaled heavily.
Shaking his head, he tucked his lunch box back into his bag and rubbed his forehead.
Desperate to break the clammy tension enveloping us, I blurted out, "Teach me about rugby."
Johnny looked at me with surprise. "You want me to…" His voice trailed off and he arched a brow. "Why?"
"I'm being forced to watch you guys play again," I replied. "I should know what I'm watching." Shrugging, I added, "Like, what position do you play on the team?"
"I play center," he explained, still looking at me with a puzzled expression. "Outside center is where I'm most comfortable."
"Okay." I nodded, absorbing the information. "So, do you go in the scrums and stuff?"
Johnny snorted.
"What?" I shot back defensively. "I've only watched one of your games and the rules and positions went clean over my head. I've already told you that I'm a GAA girl."
"I know." Chuckling, he held his hands up and said, "I'm not judging."
"But you are laughing," I admonished.
He stared at me for the longest moment before asking, "You really want me to teach you?"
I nodded. "I want to know."
Johnny blew out a breath and nodded. "Why not," he mused. "It'll pass the time before the next bullshit assignment the crazy one gives us."
"I think it's meditating once we're back on the road," I snickered.
"Stop." Johnny shuddered. "Do you have a pen and paper in your bag?"
I frowned at his request but didn’t question him.
Instead, I slipped my hand into the front pocket of my schoolbag, retrieved a small notebook and pen, and handed them to him.
"The fuck is this?" Johnny asked, staring at the pink, fluffy bobble dangling on top of the welcome to Tommen pen that Claire bought me. "Christ." He flicked the bobble, making it sparkle, then turned his accusatory gaze on me. "Could you be any more of a girl?"
"You said you wouldn’t judge," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks burn. "And I am a girl."
"Right." Shaking his head, he turned his attention to my notepad. "Let's do this," he announced, clearing his throat. "Prepare to get schooled." He flashed me an indulgent smile before adding, "Again."
I grinned. "I'm all ears."
Johnny opened my notebook to a blank page and began to sketch out a grid with fifteen small boxes, explaining as he worked.
Inside each box, he scribbled down words like Flanker, Hooker, Right Wing, Left Wing, and then explained each position.
Alongside each box he ascribed a number.
Next to the box labelled Outside Center, he wrote 13.
"Outside Center – that's you, right?" I asked. "You're 13?"
Johnny nodded.
"Unlucky for some," I mused.
"Not for me," he shot back with a grin.
"And there goes your opportunity to feign modesty."
"There's no point," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I am what I am and I make no apologies for it." He lightly tapped the pen against my nose. "Now, concentrate."
So, I did.
"You have your forwards: numbers 1 to 8. So, that's your two props, two flankers, your hooker, your two locks, and your number 8. These guys are usually the biggest, heaviest players," he explained as he scribbled little notes.
Johnny's handwriting was surprisingly neat for a guy; small, un-joined, and easy to read.
I banked that snippet of information in my mind for safekeeping.
"And then you have your backs," he announced, drawing my attention back to him. "Numbers 9 to 15. That's your scrum-half, fly-half, your two centers, two wingers, and your full back. They're the smaller, lighter, and generally faster players on the team." With a contented sigh, he waved a hand in front of the page. "And there you have it; the fifteen positions that make up a rugby team."
"So, these guys are the forwards?" I asked, pointing to the numbers 1 to 8.
Johnny nodded. "Exactly."
"Like in soccer?"
"No, not like in soccer," he practically choked on the words, appalled. "Nothing like soccer."
"Gaelic?"
"No," he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Hurling?"
"What – no! Stop talking." Flustered, he ran a hand through his hair and growled. "Forget about other sports for a while and just listen."
"You weren't such a bossy teacher the other night," I grumbled.
"And you weren't such a trying student then, either," he retorted, tapping the pen against the notepad. "Now, focus." Exhaling a frustrated breath, he said, "In rugby, the backs are positioned behind the forwards at the start of play. That's the norm. That's how it's played."
"So, all these guys here form the scrum?" I asked pointing to the numbers 1 to 8. "The forwards?" Frowning, I added, "And they bind, set, and engage with the other team when the referee calls for a scrum?"
"Yes," he agreed, nodding encouragingly.
"What's a bind?" I asked, thinking back to what Claire, Helen, and Shelly had told me about the sixth-year girls having a competition about binding him.
"Binding is when your front row connects with the opposition's front row," Johnny explained.
"Like smashing together?" I asked. "Connecting by force?"
"It's a little more complicated and technical than that, but yeah," he replied, scrunching his nose up at the thought. "For the sake of our lesson, let's just call it that."
I frowned at the notion, not finding it one bit enticing, before asking, "And the scrum-half throws the ball into the scrum?"
"Exactly."
"And the ball has to be played backwards and behind the players at all times? A forward pass or throw results in a penalty?"
"Yes." His eyes lit up. "That's really good, Shannon."
I flushed bright pink from the praise.
Encouraged, I listened intently to him.
Rugby seemed to be his life and I wanted to learn all about it.
Every teeny, tiny, insignificant detail.
It was pathetic on all levels, but I consoled myself by telling myself that it was a harmless way of passing the time.
Johnny continued to talk, trying to teach me the rules of the game and the roles of each individual player, not to mention different plays and formations.
To be honest, there was a huge amount of information to take in and much of it went clean over my head, but when he began to explain about the role of a center, I listened intently.
"So, on a team, you have two centers – the inside center and the outside center. Playing center means my job is about breaking down the opposition's defensive line," he explained. "We also have to keep our own defensive line, read the opposition's play, anticipate the direction of the ball, know when to make a defensive attack and know when to not."
"That sounds incredibly complicated," I admitted, feeling a little overwhelmed and awestruck.
"It's not an easy position to be responsible for," Johnny agreed. "Everyone talks about the fly-half, but the two centers are paramount to play. I guess you can say they are the midfield of a rugby team."
"But you said you were a back."
"I am a back."
"But you just said you were a midfield."
"I am."
"How?"
"Jesus, please stop asking questions and hear me out." Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered several swearwords under his breath. "I'm explaining this the best I can, Shannon."