Page 31 of The King Contract
Noah laughs. “Bring your camera, nerd.”
We’re out of the car and heading towards the exit of the car park when I notice Noah exhale, rolling his shoulders for good measure.
Is he nervous? It hadn’t once occurred to me that Noah wasn’t in complete control. His cockiness and confidence seem to come so naturally to him and this whole date was his idea. I figured he’d choose somewhere he’d be comfortable and at ease.
You’d better pretend you like me. You’d better act like my girlfriend.
I repeat the words Noah said to me when we signed the contract. It’s a type of mantra or a trigger, a way for me to remind myself of why I’m participating in this idiocy.
With one final deep breath, I step closer to Noah’s left side. I contemplate grabbing his hand, but chicken out at the last minute, instead going for linking his arm. He looks down at me and I smile at him.I’m acting like I like you;I try to communicate without speaking. I’m unsure how to take his expression, but part of me believes it’s gratitude in his eyes, as he pulls me closer in response. “Let’s go, Maelstrom.”
We head through a VIP entrance, but once we’re inside, we’re mixed in with everyone else. Noah dons a pale blue surfingcap, which would look ridiculous on anyone else, but suits him perfectly. He steers me in the right direction, my right hand gripping onto his upper arm to ensure we don’t get separated. I’m sure I’m holding on uncomfortably tight, but Noah doesn’t complain.
We line up to grab a drink and Noah explains the rules to me while we wait. I do my best to remember what I can, but Noah keeps mentioning extra details on top of the basics, and I barely retain half of what he says. I get distracted by how pink his lips are, his white teeth sparkling behind them as he talks animatedly. They always look like they’re freshly coated in lip balm, popping against his tan skin. And his five o’clock shadow isalwaysa five o’clock shadow. How do men do that?
Once we head inside to where the green grass and enormous grandstands come into focus, my eyes don’t know where to look. The towering floodlights, the thousands of people heading to their seats, the giant TV screens stationed around for better viewing. Noah’s right. Lots of people love their cricket.
We have great seats, but we’re not in a box or VIP section. We’re in general admission, amongst everybody else here with family and friends, laughing and shouting, putting buckets on their heads and waving flags.
“Welcome to the best night of your life, Maelstrom,” Noah says, waving an arm out in front of him.
I sit down in my seat, careful not to spill my drink. “Oh, please.”
Noah grins. “We simply have to sit here and look like we’re enjoying ourselves.”
“I can do that,” I say, more so to myself.
Noah sits down next to me. “Maybe try dropping your shoulders. They’re up to your ears.”
He’s right. I’m sitting like someone’s tied a wooden plank to my back, my shoulders up and my chest proud. But there’s no need. Nobody has looked twice at us since we got here.
“We’re about to start, so quick pop quiz, Maelstrom,” Noah says, as the music in the stadium kicks up a gear. “How many points if the ball touches the ground, but reaches the boundary?”
“Four.”
Noah nods. “And if they belt it out on the full?”
“Six.”
“Let’s hope if that happens, they hit it our way.”
I frown at him. “It can reach this far?”
“Mate, you wait until you see some of the hits these boys can do.” He places his cup between his feet and rubs his hands together in excitement.
The game starts with cheers and screams from the crowd, clapping for their teams as they enter the field of play. The atmosphere is surprisingly electric, and I smile at everyone’s enthusiasm. Noah points out different players, giving me updates on their cricketing success like a kid excited to share a story. I might have my reservations about cricket, but there’s something charming and wonderful about listening to someone speak excitedly about their passions.
It turns out, Big Bash cricketisfun. Music blasts from the speakers between plays, the positive energy drifting around the stadium contagious. In between snapping pictures of people in the crowd cheering, I wince at the close calls and scream when the batsmen smash the ball with everything they have. We witness multiple groups of people lunge for the ball as it launches into the crowd, and one poor bloke has his beer sloshed over him in the process. Noah explains additional rules when I’m unsure of what’s happening, laughing hysterically when I callbullshiton a call of ‘unfair play’.
Halfway through the match, a batsman gears up for his third swing, the previous two being sixes that landed in the crowd.
“Come on. Do it again,” Noah pleads.
The batsman swings and the ball catapults into the sky, heading in our general direction. Despite the alarm ringing through my body, I hold my camera to my eye and capture a heap of snaps as the ball comes careening towards our row. In a matter of seconds, the woman in front of Noah launches herself up and catches the ball on the full, tumbling into the people next to her as she lands.
The entire section jumps and screams, clapping and high fiving her as she holds the ball up. She smiles directly at me as I take her photo, the stadium continuing to erupt.
“I’m so glad she caught it,” I laugh, lowering my camera. “I reckon I would’ve had a smashed camera to the face and a concussion if it came any closer.”
