Page 79 of Summer Breakdown
“I bought flowers for you,” Jasmine says, “but you don’t have to take them right now if you don’t want the attention.”
Frankie smiles widely, looking behind her. “They’re Titans colours. You’re so cute. I’ve never gotten flowers before. How many times does something need to happen before it’s a tradition?”
Jasmine hums, ignoring the way her face warmed with Frankie’s compliment. Cute isn’t really a compliment anyway. Lots of things are cute. Animals, pens, random fonts.
“Once.”
Frankie laughs, her shoulders shaking with the force of it, and Jasmine smiles brightly. She likes her so much. “That’s not remotely true.”
“It’s a well-known fact. It’s not my fault your ex-girlfriends were awful,” Jasmine says, then panics a little because she just meant that girlfriends give flowers, not that she thinks she is Frankie’s girlfriend. She’s giving flowers because they’re friendly, and she thought about her enough to think she might want some and because—ugh. “I just mean—“
“I know what you meant,” Frankie says, and Jasmine lets out a slow breath. “I’ve never had a girlfriend either,” Frankie says. Then she takes a deep breath, and it brings her closer, her shoulder brushing against Jasmine’s. “I’m not sure I’d be very good at it. But I do want to try.”
Jasmine smiles at her feet. She feels like a teenager on a first date, if a first date had twenty people not-so-slyly looking at them. Kai might have taken a photo.
“So,” Jasmine starts, “if your tradition is being in the office, why are you here now?”
Frankie swallows, tapping her feet as she whispers, “You know why.”
“I do,” Jasmine replies, smiling at the ground. “But I wouldn’t hate it if you told me.”
Frankie groans, running her hand over her jaw. “I saw you.” Jasmine smiles, but it’s at Frankie this time. “I was hoping to see you. I am always hoping to be where you are.”
“When do you have to go on the pitch?” she asks, with all the confidence in the world. With all the certainty she’s always craved to have because Frankie makes her feel beautiful, and wanted, and good.
Frankie looks at her watch. “Six minutes until we go to the locker room.”
Jasmine stretches her legs in front of her, just a few steps away. She remains seated on the table, but now she’s a little shorter. She slides her hand down Frankie’s forearm, across her palm, and against her fingers. There’s enough time for Frankie to move away if she wants, but she links their fingers as Jasmine rests her head against her shoulder.
“I think you’re going to win,” Jasmine mutters.
Frankie presses her lips to her temple. “Sweetheart, I’m already winning.”
“Ref!” Marcel shouts, and Lani looks at him, then shouts, “Ref!” but the moment is gone. Jasmine likes watching sports from the stands. There’s something weirdly magical about the atmosphere. Everyone screams when their team have the ball, but you can hear a pin drop a moment later.
Jasmine’s heart is in her throat as she watches Ezra throw someone to the ground. She never understood why people said he’s scary, but she gets it now. It’s thrilling and kindof weird to know they are her friends. The people that are being cheered for by thousands of fans are her friends.
Jasmine knows the laws of rugby, even if she hasn’t played in a while, but still, every time a call is made, she looks for Frankie. Is she happy? Does she think the ref is a plonker? Frankie’s mainly stoic, her hands in her pockets, but occasionally, she’ll cheer. Sometimes, she jumps up to see something, or she’ll wave her hands in a specific direction, and Jasmine thinks she’s the cutest thing alive.
“Mama, I think Frankie would let me go on her back,” Lani says.
“Not while she’s real coaching, baby. Maybe for training, but not if she’s busy.”
Lani hums. “‘Kay. Is it almost the end?”
“Yeah. We have like two minutes.”
“Lan,” Marcel says, and she tilts her head back to see him. “Kai is on. Do you want to go on my shoulders for a bit?”
“Yay!”
Marcel takes her from the seats, and Jasmine immediately takes a photo of the two of them in their semi-matching tops.
“Okay,” he says. “You see Johnson?”
“Uh-huh.”
“We want him to get the ball to Azan so he can score over that line,” Marcel says, manoeuvring her until she can see.
