Day 2: Kailani (Rugby Practice)

You spend way too long getting ready.

You know it’s just rugby practice. You’re not going on a date. You’re not even going to talk to her—probably. But this is your first real shot at seeing Kailani in person. Maybe speak to her. Maybe make a good impression. Maybe… just not look like you crawled out of a laundry hamper.

So, naturally, you start by trying on five different shirts.

One’s too tight. One makes you look like you’re trying too hard. One’s clean but has a suspicious little mark you never noticed until just now—so, of course, now you can’t wear it. You settle on a dark red button-up that hits the middle ground between “effortless” and “trying not to look like an actual child.” You iron it. Then roll the sleeves up like you didn’t.

Jeans. Not the loose pair. Not the paint-stained ones. You go with the dark ones that hug your legs a bit—enough to suggest you might exercise occasionally, without making promises you can’t back up.

You brush your hair twice. Debate product. Bail on it. Debate shaving. Decide it looks like intention if you leave a little stubble.

Then comes the deodorant-and-cologne panic combo—one spritz, maybe two, maybe that’s too much, okay, crack a window and hope it settles before you leave.

By the time you step outside, you can’t even remember what look you were going for. Casual? Approachable? College guy #4 in the background of a CW show? All you know is, you’re trying. And that has to count for something.

The rugby field is already marked up when you arrive—cones, water jugs, bags dumped along the sidelines. A few players are stretching or jogging, but you’re still one of the first people here.

Correction: you're the only person in the bleachers.

And the only guy, period.

You take a seat near the middle, phone in hand, trying to act casual. Not lurking. Not weird. Just… observing. Totally normal. Who doesn’t love a bit of Tuesday afternoon rugby practice?

You get a few looks as the team filters in. One girl stares openly. Another whispers something to her teammate and laughs. You ignore it. You’re not here for them.

You scan the field as the team forms into lines and starts their drills. Movement, shouting, sprints, tackles. But something’s off.

No Kailani.

You keep looking, convinced you’ve missed her—maybe she changed her hair? Maybe she’s in the locker room? But no. The whole practice unfolds, and she never shows.

During water break, you gather the nerve to approach the edge of the field.

You flag down a player with a long braid and a no-nonsense expression. “Hey, sorry—do you know if Kailani’s practicing today? I didn’t see her out there.”

She gives you a look like you just asked if the grass was made of cake.

“Why, you think she’s gonna give you her number ‘cause you showed up to watch a practice?” She snorts “Classic.”

Before you can explain that you weren’t even asking about that, she jogs off.

You try another. She shrugs and keeps walking.

Another just mutters something about “bleacher creeps.”

You hadn’t even considered how it might look. You—one guy—sitting alone, asking about the most intimidating, most talked-about woman on the team. It doesn’t take much for them to fill in the blanks.

After the practice, you get one girl to pause long enough to actually speak like a human being.

“I dunno. I saw her arguing with Coach yesterday. Something serious. Haven’t seen her since.”

That’s it.

No other answers. No Kailani. No coach to ask— she’s gone before you even finish scanning the sidelines. You circle once more, half-hoping she’ll appear out of nowhere, storming onto the field like she forgot the time.

But she doesn’t.

You head back to your dorm in silence, nerves tangled tighter than before. You’d shown up. You’d tried. And somehow, you feel further away from her than you did yesterday.

No plan.

No progress.

Tomorrow, maybe.

Tomorrow has to be different.