So What If I Hog the Ball? Read online

  But Ronnie wasn’t our Billy. He was just a ten-year-old kid in a mucky Arsenal shirt and I couldn’t give a crusty kebab about his “or else”. I glared at him and as I glared, the mucky red of his shirt turned to a vivid, garish pink. Anger darted through me, fast, furious, and catching me out with its intensity like it always does, so that I had to concentrate on the emblem to stop myself from shaking. “What you wearing that shirt for?” I hissed at him, my fists clenched. “I bet you don’t even know who they are.”

  He began frantically picking at a fresh scab with his blackened fingernails. “Course I do,” he snivelled.

  “Can you name the manager?”

  “Could if I wanted.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Don’t want to, do I?”

  “That means no. Can you name your top goal-scorer?” I challenged.

  I knew I was being nasty, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was like a car on the edge of a cliff with the handbrake off.

  So was Ronnie. A flash of his hands and the box of shapes was sent crashing onto the carpet. The pieces scattered everywhere. “Parky’s off on one!” someone shouted just as Ronnie lunged at me, his face radish red, his arms outstretched like a zombie’s.

  I was too quick for him, though, and dodged out of the way easy. “Glory supporter!” I yelled, ducking round the other side of the table and tipping it up on its side like a shield. “Come on, then! Come and get me if you dare!” My breathing was short and hollow in my chest, my stomach was somersaulting, and all I could see in front of me was thick, pink fog.

  Before Ronnie could take up my dare, Mr Upton somehow managed to pin his arms to his sides and march him into the corridor while Ronnie screamed words to make your hair curl.

  Mrs Law was left to sort the rest of us. “All right, folks, show’s over,” she said, her eyes flicking from me to the four others in turn, like a lion-tamer not sure which lion’s going to leap next. It wouldn’t be me. I’d had my blow-out and all I wanted to do was creep into a corner and sleep.

  “Good scrap,” Clayton White complimented me as I righted my table.

  Not long after, Mrs Kelly stuck her head round the door and crooked her finger in my direction. “May I see you in my office, please, Jenny-Jane?” she said ever-so-politely.

  When we got there, I told her word for word what had happened.

  “Well, thank you for your honesty,” she acknowledged, looking up from the notes she’d been making.

  “Why, what did glory boy say?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “Ronnie? I’m afraid I won’t get much out of Ronnie for a while. Mr Upton’s still trying to calm him down.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Mrs Kelly tapped her pen on her desk. “Did anything happen before the incident, Jenny-Jane?”

  “How do you mean, Miss?”

  “What happened to make you so annoyed with Ronnie? To wind him up like that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Had you had an argument at home, perhaps?”

  Like I’d tell her if I had. “No.”

  “I’m not being nosy, Jenny-Jane, it’s just that when people lose their temper at one thing it’s often because of something entirely different.”

  “Nope. Nothing happened earlier.”

  Mrs Kelly shook her head. “So all this was about a football shirt?”

  “Yes,” I said truthfully. “It was.”

  Ronnie didn’t come back to class for the rest of the day. Turns out when he loses it, he loses it. “You won’t see him for months,” Clayton told me at lunch. Suits me, I thought.

  7

  To make my day even more perfect, only Billy and Brendan were there to greet me when I got home. Apparently Dad had taken Mam to the supermarket as a special treat. “The lazy mare didn’t even leave us any sarnies,” Brendan complained.

  “That’s all right. We’ve got our little sis home now,” Billy said. “I’ll have ham and pickle, sweetheart.”

  “Same here,” Brendan added. “Two rounds.”

  “Get lost,” I said. I didn’t care if I got a clip round the ear for being cheeky. I was that cheesed off I probably wouldn’t even feel it.

  To my surprise, they both just threw back their heads and started laughing so much I thought their Adam’s apples would seize up. After about five minutes, Brendan slid a pound coin over to Billy. “You win,” he said.

  “Course I do,” Billy replied, flicking the coin in the air before pocketing it.

  “You had a bet on whether I’d make you a sandwich?” I asked.

  “We did.”

  “You’re weird.”

  Another surprise: he agreed. “That’s us. The weird and wacky Bayliss brothers.”

  “Tell us about your day, JJ,” Brendan chipped in cheerfully. “We’ve had a good one. First we signed on…”

  “Which is always a riot,” Billy sniffled.

  “Then we bumped into some old pals of ours, who asked us to store a few items for them for a little while…”

  “In exchange for a few quid, of course,” Billy added, sounding more upbeat than he had in months.

  “Cool,” I said, knowing that meant there’d be money coming into the house. “What items?”

  Brendan wordlessly slid a silver iPhone out from behind the biscuit barrel.

  I whistled, knowing it was top range. “Quality,” I told him, sliding it back.

  “Have it. We’ve both got one.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and hid it away in my bag.

  “Don’t flash it about just yet, mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Best make yourself scarce tomorrow tea-time, too. They’re dropping the stuff off then and don’t want an audience.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got footy practice,” I reassured him.

  I waited for our Billy to make some sarky comment, but he didn’t. What he did was pull out the chair next to him and pat it. “Come on, Jenno. Sit. Take a load off. Tell us about the unit.”

  “Why?” I asked suspiciously, remaining where I was.

  “We’re interested.”

  “Yeah. We’re interested. Even we never ended up in a unit.” Brendan laughed.

  I shrugged. “It’s the same as everywhere else,” I said. “Full of people bossing you about and telling you to do things you don’t want to do.”

  “Ha! Sounds like the dole office!” Billy replied good-humouredly. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew smoke high up to the ceiling. “‘Mr Bayliss, we need to see some evidence that you are actively seeking employment,’” he quoted in a high, silly voice. “‘Have you thought about warehouse work? There are temporary jobs going.’”

  “And what was it you said to her?” Brendan asked.

  “I said, ‘I’ve thought about it, duck, but last time I did a warehouse job I ended up in the nick.’”

  Billy and Brendan both thought that was hilarious and began hooting and slapping the edge of the table.

  “Classic! Classic!” Brendan cried, flinging his mug in the air and sending frothy amber liquid cascading down the sides.

  I rolled my eyes then. It wasn’t tea they were drinking, but beer. So that was why he and Billy were being so friendly. They were sloshed. I might have guessed.

  “See you later,” I said, and left them to it.

  8

  I didn’t sleep much that night, and it wasn’t just because of the racket my boozing brothers were making. Every time I dozed off I saw these beige cuboids flying around everywhere, or else I got these stomach cramps that made me curl up in a tight ball.

  Next morning the cuboids had gone, but the cramps hadn’t. I thought about asking Mam if I could stay home, but I knew Billy and Brendan would have hangovers and I’d rather face twenty zombie Ronnies than the pair of them with splitting headaches.

  Luckily, Mrs Law didn’t attempt to make me “mix” and Ronnie didn’t show, which meant I was left in peace. In fact, I had a half-decent day in the end, so I wondered why I still h
ad stomach cramps when I got home.

  It wasn’t until I tramped upstairs and drew back the bedroom curtains I’d kept shut since Saturday that it dawned on me. I had cramps because I was worried about going to training.

  I gazed out over the main pitch, dappled in late-afternoon sun. It looked like it always did, welcoming and inviting. I held my head up and stuck my chin out. I wasn’t going to miss training just because I’d been the only one with the guts to say something about the away kit. Why should I?

  So I set off even earlier than normal. I almost wore the yellow nap off my tennis ball, I worked it so hard. When I heard Hannah’s car, I stopped and strolled casually across the field, whistling softly like I didn’t have a care in the world, though the cramps were snatching at my belly like nobody’s business.

  Hannah and Katie were about to unlock the equipment shed. “Here she is, the early girly.” Katie smiled as usual.

  “Miss Keen,” Hannah said, pulling back the door and disappearing inside, only to emerge a second later with a set of slalom poles, which she handed to Katie. “For the first drill,” she told her. “About two metres apart to start with.”

  “Got you.” Katie nodded and strode away towards the training pitch.

  “JJ, you grab some of these cones,” Hannah said to me.

  “OK, boss.”

  As she slid them over to me with her foot, Hannah cleared her throat. “So, calmed down now, have we?” she asked.

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “Sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sure you’re sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good – because you know, JJ, sometimes you have to decide which battles are worth fighting and which ones aren’t, and missing a match because of the colour of your away strip is one that isn’t. OK?”

  “I guess,” I muttered.

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “But it’s pink,” I said.

  “That’s irrelevant, JJ,” Hannah replied. “The bottom line is that you put aside your opinions and get on with it for the team’s sake. Like Megan did. Yes?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled.

  “Good, because I’d hate to think of you on that bench every week.”

  “Would you really do that?” I gasped. “You’d drop me?”

  She looked at me and nodded. “Yes, I would.”

  I felt as if I’d been plunged into a fish tank full of electric eels and they were all taking tiny bites out of my skin. “But I’m a good player.”

  Hannah rapped her knuckles lightly on my forehead. “Hello? Is anyone in there? This season is all about playing as a team, and there’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’, as the cliché goes.”

  “I know, but…”

  “No, you don’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Remember how Petra said we were days of the week?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Well, you were meant to be my Wednesday against Hixton Lees, bang in the middle.”

  “Oh.”

  “We needed your fighting spirit, especially in the second half. You were missed.”

  I stared down at the dusty floor of the shed. I hadn’t really thought of it like that. Them missing me. I’m not used to being missed by anyone.

  Hannah reached behind my head and lifted the set of hoops off their hook. “So, are you ready to try again?” she asked.

  “Yep,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  “Awesome. You can start by putting those cones out!”

  As I trundled to the field with the stack of cones, I realized I felt different. The stomach cramps had almost disappeared. Instead I felt all pumped up, because Hannah had made everything better. She’d explained things in a way that made sense, so I could see a reason for them. No lame targets like the ones Mrs Kelly set. No bribing me to do things like Mam does.

  When people began to arrive, I wanted to run up to them and say something about Saturday. To tell Tabinda I was sorry for overreacting. To tell Megan I’d been out of order for having a go at her, too. To tell everyone thanks for missing me. But I just couldn’t do it. It felt too weird. Instead I worked really, really hard.

  If I messed up on the quick-step ladders, I went back and did the exercise again until I got it perfect. If I touched one of the poles during the slalom drill, I went back and repeated the run until I aced it. During the short match at the end, I bet I covered every blade of grass on that playing area, I was so determined to show Hannah how much I cared and how much I wanted to play for the Parrs. I’d be any day of the week she wanted me to be.

  In the end, it was one of the best training sessions I’d ever had.

  I arrived home feeling all bouncy. “Evenin’ all!” I called out, banging the kitchen door and getting a scowl from Mam, who was watching Holby City, and a frown from Billy, who wasn’t. He was just staring into space, smoking. “Where’re Dad and Bren?” I asked.

  “Putting something in the shed,” Mam said in a hushed voice.

  “Oh, yeah! The stuff! That iPhone’s ace.” I stood on tiptoes and glanced out of the window. Bren was almost collapsing under the weight of boxes in his arms, and a fat bloke with a bald head kept giving him more.

  “Don’t look!” Mam barked.

  “I’m not,” I said cheerfully, filling a glass with water from the tap and remembering how smoothly I’d taken the ball round the slalom course during that last drill. I downed the water in one, and was just about to rinse the glass out when I felt a sharp slap on the back of my head. I dropped the glass; it fell with a clatter into the sink. “Ouch! What was that for?” I cried, turning to stare at Billy, already knowing it was him.

  “For not listening to what you’ve been told, laddie-lass. Start flaming listening or else.”

  “I was listening. I was just getting some water,” I protested.

  He raised his hand again. “Do you want another?”

  “Mam!”

  “Don’t bring me into this,” she said, turning the telly up louder.

  I glared at Billy before galloping up to my room. One day, I thought, rubbing the back of my head. One day.

  9

  Ditto what I said last time about the rest of the week. Got up, went to the unit, came home, Billy was Billy, Mam was Mam … blah-blah-blah. Moving on to the good part: Saturday. Parrs v. Cuddlethorpe Tigers. 10.30 kick-off. No tickets required.

  The Cuddlethorpe Tigers were nothing special. The only thing that I remembered from last time we’d played them (and beaten them 4–1) was that one of the players was called Serena. I only remembered that because her dad had shouted her name out when she messed up, and the others had gone on about how awful he was – but I’d just thought, why was that awful? At least he cared enough to shout. My dad couldn’t even be bothered to get out of bed, let alone turn up to a match.

  Anyway, I arrived at the ground well early – at just gone nine. After I’d jogged round the field a couple of times and done a few muscle stretches, I got out my tennis ball and practised with that.

  Eventually I became aware of other people arriving. In the distance I saw Hannah and Katie dragging out the goalposts, then Holly and Lucy and Nika helping to erect them. Every time I looked across, more people had arrived. When I saw Katie dump a net full of balls by the touchline, I dashed across to grab one for myself.

  “Morning JJ.” She grinned at me.

  “OK, boss,” I said, then hiked over to a spot furthest away from everyone. I practised quick turns and dribbling with both feet along the byline, until I was called over to join in the warm-ups.

  Before I knew it, we had two minutes to go and Hannah was gathering us round for the pre-match chat. Everybody linked arms round shoulders; and I huddled up with Nika on my left and Eve on my right and listened.

  “OK, then, girls. First home match of the season. Are you up for it?” Hannah asked.

  “Yessssssssss!” we cheered.

  “Conditions are perfect. Sunny but not in-yer-eyes blinding, slight breeze b
ut not gusty enough to affect the ball.”

  “In other words, we’ve no excuse for losing!” Eve joked.

  “In other words, I want to see you all moving to the ball and I also want to see evidence of what we’ve talked about – awareness of one another’s positions.”

  “Give us a nice, fluid passing game, as our coach is always telling us,” Katie added.

  Then came the best part – the bit where Hannah told us who was up first. Feeling a bit queasy, I bowed my head as she listed us. Would she give me a go after last week?

  “Petra, I’m putting you in the centre…” she began.

  “What? You mean I do the toss-up and everything?” Petra asked, a look of panic on her face.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Choose to kick off if you win it,” Megan advised.

  “… and, Jenny-Jane, you’re midfield on the right,” Hannah continued.

  I nodded briskly, not wanting to show how elated I was at being one of the first selected. Midfield on the right. That’d do me. I jogged across the pitch, raring to go.

  The Cuddlethorpe centre, looking smart in her blue and white striped shirt, stood opposite Petra. “Er … heads,” Petra squeaked when the ref tossed the coin.

  It was tails. Cuddlethorpe went for the kick-off, and Petra chose the bottle-bank end to defend first.

  The second we kicked off I sprang like a greyhound out of its trap. Ten seconds after that, the one and only Serena, who was way too slow to the ball, gifted me possession.

  “Wake up, Serena!” I heard her dad call from the touchline.

  Stay asleep, Serena! I thought. I put my head down and dribbled, keeping the ball close to my feet as I pounded down the touchline. I loved running along the channels; it’s more of a challenge then – preventing the ball from going out of play while trying to keep possession.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Dylan waving at me to pass, but she was so easily bundled off the ball and I couldn’t risk it. I pushed on, heading straight at a Tigers defender. Swerving easily round her outstretched boot, I reached the edge of the box in no time. Sometimes the seven-a-side pitch is just too small!

  A quick glance told me Petra was in a space quite close by, but there was no point passing if she was so nervous; she’d only bodge it. Instead I stopped, steadied the ball, looked for other options and saw none. I was prepared to push close to the corner flag if I had to, so I could try for a tight angled-cross into the penalty area – but that was when two Cuddlethorpe players arrived out of nowhere. I tried to turn, but they were closing me down good and proper… I blasted the ball at their legs, hoping for a rebound, but it bounced into the path of a third Tiger and she hoofed it down the middle.