Chapter Text
Nick passes through the front office to figure out where he’s meant to be taking Henry, and he gets a lucky break. He’s in Year Six, who have just been let out for their recess time. Nick was supposed to be heading out to supervise recess anyway, but he hadn’t yet scoped out the play areas. Henry escorts him, walking several steps ahead to get out there sooner rather than later.
The junior’s playground is towards the front of campus by the road. Nick probably should have assumed that this playground would be for the older children, given its size. Someone must have made a sizable donation or sponsored an initiative or something to give a state school such an impressive climbing frame. Nick’s a grown man, and he’s fighting back the urge to go up there. As soon as the sidewalk ends, Henry’s taking off onto the mulch and up a ladder. Clearly, the sugar is working for him.
Looking up at it, Nick finds himself surprised by how few of the children have gone up there, although he quickly realizes why. The climbing frame is metal, and the temperature has been climbing up there all day. It’s a miracle that poor Henry and the other brave children up top didn’t scald their hands on the way. He hopes beyond hope that they haven’t. He would hate to have to escort any of them back to the clinic, even though he now knows the route.
The children too sensible to burn their hands for fun have mostly clustered over on the grass next to the climbing frame. Some are sitting out in the grass fanning themselves and catching up with friends after the summer. Others are doing somersaults and having handstand contests. A dozen or so are kicking a football around a makeshift field with rocks marking out the goals, clearly deciding teams for a game
Nick meanders over there and watches. He hasn’t watched football in ages. There were a handful of years when he was really little where football had been his favorite sport. Nick wasn’t all that good at it, but he loved it desperately. He’s never been quick or nimble. He’s too unstable and top heavy as the lads tended to call it, broad shoulders over spindly legs. He’s always had to pace himself and focus when he runs to counteract his natural clumsy streak.
Nick didn’t start playing rugby until year seven. Realizing that he wasn’t a bad athlete, he was just in the wrong sport for his body, was the best day of his life at the time. It was the first step in his ongoing, perpetual journey towards figuring out who on earth Nick Nelson was born to be. He finally had the guts to talk to other human beings, although most of his interactions still started with him saying “hi” and hoping the other person might say more words. Over the course of the year, as he rode the newfound wave of confidence he’d crashed through, he even found it in himself to talk to Pretty People. People like Tara Jones. He managed to string five whole words together the first time they spoke. He didn’t even start crying!
To be fair, those words were “Hi. Is this marker yours?” Not exactly the most creative opening line. Except that it was perfect, because she said “Yeah.” and took it and immediately patted the floor next to her in the corner for him to sit and watch her doodle on her shoes while she idly explained that these markers were the only ones she’d found where ink didn’t run every time it rained. Nick was captivated. It takes a certain sort of bravery to casually vandalize your own sneakers for self expression. He wasn’t able to articulate it then, but he finds shameless self expression infinitely alluring.
Tara handed him back the marker. She said she had more at home. Nick drew all over his Vans with it until the ink ran out. He wore them to the disco and followed her around like a puppy until she noticed him, so he could show her and get her opinion. She said he did a good job, and Nick’s poor stupid brain decided that saying thanks for the compliment wasn’t enough. One of the pretty people was nice to him and telling him he did a good job and he had to do something about this before he combusted. He looked her in the eye and made five more words come out. “Let me kiss you? Please?” Then, she was kissing him, and he was so confused but so happy, and then it was over. Tara said her mum wanted her home soon and made to leave. Nick went home shortly after and screamed and jumped up and down in the living room and retold the most dramatized, romanticized version of the story to his mum. Tara didn’t talk to him again for years, but Nick was too high off the fact that something like this ever happened to him to care about that. He just wanted to be the sort of boy that someone pretty might like to kiss, and it had happened.
It really happened. There were witnesses and everything.
He’s still got that marker in a box at his mum’s house somewhere.
Tara and Darcy have been kicking around the idea of marriage. Aren’t you meant to give brides something old and something new? Maybe Tara would enjoy finally getting her now useless marker back.
She’s said for years that what happened between them was as important to her journey as it was to his. In her words, he was as lovely as any boy she’d ever met, and she still didn’t want him. Sometimes, no is the answer you need to figure yourself out...
"Crap."
Nick silently curses himself for getting too into his head for a bit there. He wasn't sure how long he'd zoned out for. He hadn’t thought about year seven in a long time, but it’s hard not to stumble into memories when you work with kids, apparently. He blinks a few times in the punishing sunlight and refocuses on the game in front of him.
Nick can tell that these boys have a system to their play. Nick pays attention to when they call out of bounds. One sideline is parallel to a broken fence from the house next door to the school, and the other is the sidewalk by the road. On the fence side, you can see breaks in the grass where the children have clearly tried to draw a line so many times, likely to the great displeasure of whoever’s in charge of the lawn.
The Lava Monsters are playing against the Tiger Sharks. Tie game. A handful of the bigger boys had been responsible for most of the unknown amount of points on the imaginary board. Nick plans on bringing a white board out with him at the start of recess the next time to keep the score.
The Tiger Sharks are pretty definitively winning this one, even without anybody properly keeping track. Their captain won the starting game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with a commanding show of paper and got to pick his first teammate. He made a good choice. The boy he chose could probably beat the poor Lava Monsters on his own.
One of the smaller boys on the Lava Monsters finally gets the ball and tries to run up the far side of the field, but he catches his foot on an uneven bit of dirt. He stumbles, and the ball comes loose, bouncing over the sidewalk into the road.
“Look what you did, Smalls! That’s off grounds.”
The captain of the Lava Monsters starts ribbing on the poor boy but not too severely. Nick will have to keep an extra eye out for this one until he determines if it’s all good natured or if he needs to do something.
As soon as Nick is sure the boy caught himself and he’s not about to fall on his face, he’s taking off after it himself. He knows boys this age. They absolutely will run into the road after it, and if anyone’s taking that risk, it’s not going to be a child on his watch. He’s at least smart enough to look both ways as he’s hopping off the sidewalk. Luckily, this is a pretty quiet neighborhood in the middle of the day, so it’s not difficult to outrun the lost football and snatch it up.
Once he’s back on the sidewalk, he shouts.
“Tiger Sharks ball. Where’s the captain gone?”
The team captain’s head pops up, seemingly in shock that an adult had been paying enough attention to remember what team was which.
He’s one of the ones wearing proper cleats, which is absolutely a dress violation. He must have snuck them into the loo and swapped them for his other shoes. There’s probably a secluded bathroom off in a corner somewhere that nobody notices for that. That or there’s a pro sports teacher somewhere who clandestinely hosts shoe change parties. Not that Nick would know anything about any of that. Goody two shoes Nicky Nelson surely never hid his rugby boots or his football cleats at school. There’s no proof.
“Here, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Finlay.”
“Do you know how to head the ball?”
“I want to learn.”
“Wanna try?”
“Huh?”
“Well, you can’t learn if you don’t try. Chin to your chest, then jump.”
Nick pitches the ball into the air aimed just above Finlay’s forehead. He’s very careful to make sure that the ball will fly right over his head if he doesn’t jump for it. Nick’s not about to explain why he clocked one of the boys in the face with a ball. Getting bludgeoned over the head is no fun. He does not recommend it.
As the ball flies across the field, poor Finlay stiffens up for just a moment before taking a breath and gathering up all his resolve.
He jumps.
Cheers erupt from the whole pack of boys as the Finlay, biggest boy among them, heads the ball down the field. There’s no teams now. They completely stop the game to crush around him and try to lift him up.
“Oi, careful. Don’t drop him!” Nick runs over to break the group up just enough to make sure they don’t accidentally hurt the guy.
The revelry gets disrupted by a symphony of bells and whistles from the other staff members. The boys in cleats take off at a full sprint towards one of the buildings for no suspicious reasons, while the others begin to slowly meander back towards their teachers who have come to beckon them inside.
Nick hasn’t felt so in his element in months.