Football High: Fire Up Page 2

  ‘Well …’ I hesitate.

  Heck, I’m in so deep already I might as well go all the way.

  ‘Yep, I think it will include all the Sydney FC players,’ I say. ‘It’s VIP, right?’

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice Bazzo shaking his head.

  ‘Hey, what about Jase and Mr Antonelli?’ asks Raymond. ‘They’re part of the team too! And the bench players … Do they all get to come?’

  ‘Of course! The more the merrier, I always say. My dad will take care of everything,’ I blurt, like an out-of-control soft-serve machine squirting ice-cream over everything and everyone.

  Bazzo looks at me and raises his eyebrows in a rather accusing manner. I shrug and screw my face up. I know I’m just making it worse but I can’t stop. It’s as if I’ve lost control of my mouth. Maybe I have. Maybe I’m possessed by an insecure 12-year-old show-off. Okay, maybe I am an insecure 12-year-old show-off. But if you think I know when to quit, you obviously don’t know me that well yet.

  ‘You know what you should do?’ suggests Matti helpfully. ‘You should make an announcement to the whole team about the game when we get back. You know, to raise team morale for our first State Cup match next Thursday.’

  ‘Great idea,’ I say. ‘I think I will.’

  There you have it. I’ve finished digging the hole and now I’m standing in it and covering myself with dirt. I’m the stupidest boy in the world. To top it off, Bazzo passes me the ball and I’m so distracted by what I just said I’d do that I completely miss it.

  ‘Nooo! Quick, get it!’ screams Baz.

  Luckily Matti comes to the rescue, darting back and toeing the ball before it comes to a stop. Good thing, too, because eagle-eyed Jase is watching. He may be a super-cool, super-nice teacher, but he’s a tough trainer. I have no doubt that he would give us that extra lap in a heartbeat.

  When we finally stagger back after the last lap, most of us drop to the ground in sheer exhaustion. Except Kane. He looks hardly puffed. I guess all that bullying and nasty scheming keeps him in peak physical condition.

  We don’t get long to rest. A moment later I feel a cold shadow pass over me. I look up and there are the steel-blue eyes of Mr Antonelli peering down at me. He’s like a vulture that’s just spotted some day-old roadkill on the highway.

  ‘What’s this?’ growls Mr Antonelli. ‘There’s no time for lying around and sunbaking like catwalk models on a day off! We need to start training. We have a very important game in just nine days!’

  Mr Antonelli may be grumpy but he’s also right. We need to win all of the four pool games to make it through to the final 16 of the State Cup. If we lose even one of the pool games, we’re out. I guess that’s why it’s called the State Cup Knockout. It also means we have to come out firing from game one.

  ‘Yeah but first I think Nick has something really exciting to tell us!’ says Matti, his eyes wide with excitement.

  I look back at him with my eyes oozing dread.

  ‘No time for announcements – training time!’ barks Mr Antonelli.

  ‘It can wait …’ I mutter. ‘It’s really not that important.’

  ‘Yes it is!’ says Matti.

  Mr Antonelli harrumphs like the grumpy father bear in that fairytale about three bears, a girl and some porridge, but Jase is a little more positive.

  ‘Okay, Nick,’ he says, ‘out with it. What’s so exciting?’

  ‘Oh …’ I say, looking around at the rest of the team. Each team member is staring back at me.

  ‘Well,’ I say, clearing my throat loudly and pausing for effect – but also because my heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my rib cage and fly away like a duck flying south for the winter. ‘As most of you know, my dad Shane Young plays for Arsenal …’

  I see Bazzo slap a hand to his face in an almost comical facepalm moment, except that, of course, for me the situation is hardly funny. I continue anyway.

  ‘And I just wanted to officially announce that my dad has offered to provide the whole team with VIP tickets to next week’s Arsenal versus Sydney FC friendly at the stadium out at Homebush. We’ll get to watch the game and meet all the players and everything. It’s gonna be great!’ I say, except when I say the word ‘great’ my voice squeaks unexpectedly and I sound a bit like a cat being strangled.

  I look at the team and for a few seconds no one makes a sound. I see Bazzo remove the hand from his face and look curiously at the rest of the kids.

  Then the cheering erupts. It’s a volcanic eruption of joy. I’ve never seen a group of kids so happy before. Even Jase and Mr Antonelli look excited.

  ‘Okay …’ says Mr Antonelli. ‘This is good … a good thing you do for the team. I have always been a big fan of your father.’ Then he winks at me.

  I manage a smile but to be honest, it kind of freaks me out. I look over at Bazzo, who has now implemented an emergency double-facepalm and covered his face as much as his hands will allow.

  He’s right. This is bad. So bad.

  Nothing can save me now.

  Cavendish College Grounds,

  Trundlemere. State Cup Round One:

  NSF Cannons vs Cavendish College

  Week Two: Thursday

  ‘What a save!’ screams the commentator, as the goalie slaps away my hurried shot at goal. ‘Solid work by the Cavendish keeper there to deny the National School of Football boys once again!’

  The commentator, by the way, is just a skinny, red-headed year-ten kid from Cavendish College, who has an overdose of self-confidence and a microphone. Still, it’s quite impressive that they have a commentator. In fact, they seem to have everything at Cavendish College, including two soccer fields, two rugby fields, a tennis court and an Olympic-size swimming pool with a diving board. The school buildings are enormous, too, and they’re all made of fancy old sandstone. It’s quite different to the brightly coloured modern design of the NSF.

  We’re here for our first pool match of the State Cup and it’s a must-win. They all are, if we want to progress to the finals. But while we’ve had some chances at goal so far, we don’t seem to be able to capitalise on them. Something’s just not clicking today, especially for me.

  I pick myself up off the finely manicured Cavendish College pitch after another failed attempt at goal and scamper back into position as the Cavendish team works the ball into their attacking half. I can’t help feeling a little frustrated. It’s 30 minutes into the first half, it’s still nil all and I’m playing rubbish. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  ‘Never mind, Nick,’ calls Elvis Hernandez from the wing. ‘Let’s just keep the pressure building. They’ll eventually crack.’

  I give Elvis a thumbs up but when I turn back around I see one of the Cavendish midfielders carve open our defence with a dazzling burst of pace, before snapping a pinpoint cross to the striker. Their number nine leaps up for an easy header that sneaks inside the far post before Bull Ant, our goalie, can get his paws on it.

  Just like that, we’re down 1–0. What’s worse is that we’ve had most of the possession and we still haven’t found the back of the net.

  I glance over at the visitors’ bench. Jase has his hands on his chin and looks nervous. Mr Antonelli looks as stony faced as ever. The man gives nothing away but if I had to guess, I’d say he’s not overly happy. Time to step things up, I think. I need to employ the false nine position to suck in the defence. Then I can put Kane into scoring range.

  ‘Four-three-three,’ I signal to Kane, as he gets ready to restart play with a kick-off from halfway.

  Kane shakes his head.

  ‘Come on, false nine!’ I mouth.

  ‘No!’ he mouths back, clearly annoyed.

  I guess he is captain, but still, that doesn’t mean I can’t suggest things, does it? After all, it worked well in the trial match last term, and that was against Westwood Sports High.

  When the Cavendish team gets the ball back from a throw-in, I drop back, despite what Kane says. Even thou
gh the rest of the team stays in the 4-4-2 formation, I look for my chance to find some space but the stocky Cavendish centre back isn’t fooled. He sticks right on me while the remaining back three Cavendish players hold the defensive line. When Bazzo manages to jag a stray Cavendish pass back to me, the Cavendish kid is all over me like a seagull on a dropped chip. I try to pop the ball up over him to find Kane, but I mistime it and it balloons past everyone and is easily cleaned up by the keeper.

  I glance back to the bench again and see that Jase is now biting his nails. Mr Antonelli is stroking his chin, slowly. He looks far from impressed with that effort.

  Okay, that was a rather boneheaded play. One more mistake like that and I’ll be sitting out the second half.

  But a few moments later I see my chance to make up for my mistake. One of the Cavendish backs slips when chasing down a pass and I intercept the ball and race through the space. The fullback is storming in for a tackle but I have the goal in sight. I line up the top right corner – it’s my sweet spot – and strike the ball hard with my left foot.

  The ball pierces the air like a bullet … But it’s a bullet that’s way off target. It zooms about a metre over the crossbar.

  I can’t believe it. It was a total gift and I blew it. What’s wrong with me? I usually nail these type of shots.

  The Cavendish goalie gets away a long clearing goal kick and his teammates control the ball to protect their lead, locking up play as the clock winds down to the half-time break.

  My fear about being replaced is confirmed when Mr Antonelli subs me off for most of the second half. I have to watch from the bench as my substitute, Geoffrey Keen, orchestrates a beautiful high ball from a corner kick that Kane latches onto and slots neatly past the goalie’s gloves. Then, with ten minutes left on the clock, Kane bags a double from a free kick.

  We win our first pool match 2–1 but the victory feels a little hollow from my spot on the bench. If I play another game like this one, I might not be sitting on the bench at all. There are still another 24 boys back at school who would kill to be playing in the State Cup.

  Mr Antonelli doesn’t say much after the game except ‘Well done, boys,’ and, to me, a less-than-friendly ‘Next time, stay in your position!’

  I nod and head towards the change rooms but not before Jase calls after me.

  ‘Hey Nick, I’ve got the school bus booked for next week’s match. Can’t wait to meet your dad!’ He looks even more excited about it than most of the team.

  ‘Great,’ I say. Then I hurry off. Suddenly I feel quite sick.

  My Gloomy Bedroom

  Week Two: Friday

  It is useless. My fate is sealed. I wait but for one event, and then I shall repose in peace. Nothing can alter my destiny. Listen to my history and you will see how irrevocably it is determined.

  Now I ask you: do you even understand one word of that? Because I sure didn’t when I read it. It’s from the Frankenstein book that Miss Blasco is making me read. Apparently Mary Shelley was only 19 when she wrote it. I think you have to be over 19 to understand it. I had to look up half the words on Google. ‘Repose’ means ‘rest’ and ‘irrevocably’ means that you can’t change it – it’s irreversible.

  This part is from the start of the book where this Captain Walton dude, who’s sailing through the Arctic, finds this other dude, Victor Frankenstein, on the ice. Victor tells the captain his story of how he was so into science he decided to create life by reanimation, which is a fancy word for bringing someone back from the dead. Except the dude he brings to life is a hideous monster with superhuman strength who escapes and goes on a killing spree.

  Luckily the book has pictures or there’d be no way I could understand any of it. But I guess I do kind of sympathise with Victor – he just wanted to do something amazing and good for humankind but it all went wrong and he didn’t know how to stop it. Like he says, it’s irrevocable. Some things can’t be stopped.

  Just like the game between Arsenal and Sydney FC. It was going to happen, whether I wanted it to or not. And the team was going to find out that I lied about the tickets – and probably find out the truth about me and my dad as well – and there wasn’t anything I could do about that, either.

  Except maybe … Of course! I could run away. Just like the creature in Frankenstein does – but perhaps without the murderous killing spree.

  Before I can flesh out a proper running-away strategy, I’m interrupted.

  ‘Enjoying the book?’

  I turn from my spot on the bed, tucked up against the wall, and see the silhouette of my mum in my bedroom doorway.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say.

  ‘I had to read Frankenstein for my HSC English exam,’ says Mum. ‘Not the comic version though, the proper version. Count yourself lucky that yours has pictures!’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to sound interested rather than tormented by my impending doom – because I knew I wouldn’t really run away.

  Mum looks at me curiously. ‘You okay, sweet pea?’

  ‘Yes!’ I exclaim. ‘And don’t call me that. I’m not your sweet pea!’

  ‘Okay! Geez, someone’s touchy,’ says Mum. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that Garth is here and he has a surprise for you.’

  ‘Mum, I really don’t feel like playing World of Wizardry tonight,’ I say.

  ‘That’s not the surprise!’ says Mum. ‘I think you’re going to want to check this out.’ She smiles mysteriously.

  I drag myself off my bed and follow her into the living room. Garth is watching telly or, rather, standing in front of the TV with the remote, channel-surfing.

  ‘Hey buddy!’ he says cheerfully.

  I nod a hello.

  ‘So … um … anyway,’ says Garth. ‘I was wondering what you’re doing around seven-thirty this Thursday night?’

  I shrug, then it hits me. Thursday night. That’s the night of the match between Arsenal and Sydney FC. I open my mouth but before any words fall out, Garth is flashing a wad of tickets in my face. My heart leaps in my chest. It can’t be. Surely not. How would Garth possibly …

  But I see the type on the tickets.

  ‘But how? What? Are they real?’ I ask finally.

  ‘Oh, they’re real all right,’ says Garth, laughing. ‘One of my online World of Wizardry buddies, Trevor, is the Corporate Box Manager at ANZ Stadium. I mentioned that you went to the National School of Football and loved soccer –’

  ‘Football,’ I correct automatically.

  ‘Yeah, that too,’ says Garth. ‘Anyway, Trevor said he’d see what he could do and this afternoon these arrived at the office … Twenty-five VIP tickets! I figured you’d want to take some friends from school.’

  I throw my arms around Garth and hug him with all my might, almost knocking him over.

  ‘Thanks, Garth.’ I’m on the verge of tears but I can’t help it. It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.

  ‘Woah! Hey, you’re welcome, little man,’ says Garth, laughing.

  I finally let him go and quickly wipe a stray tear from my eye. This is too much of a coincidence. ‘But how did you know that …’ I’m about to blurt out the whole thing about me promising everyone tickets but stop myself when I see Garth smile awkwardly.

  Mum cuts in. ‘I kind of checked your laptop the other night while you were asleep and read your email.’

  ‘WHAT? You read my email?’ I shout. I’m trying to sound outraged, but the truth is that I’m too grateful to be angry.

  Mum looks at me for a moment with this weird, sad look on her face that I haven’t really seen before. ‘I didn’t know that you felt that way about seeing your dad play,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I mentioned it to Garth and he called Trevor and now you and your team can go and watch the match and you can finally see your dad play in person, not just on the telly!’

  I nod. I can’t squeeze any words out of my throat at the moment to express the relief I feel.

  Then Garth says something that makes the relie
f disappear almost instantly.

  ‘Trev also said that they often let VIPs come down to the players’ areas to meet them. He reckons that given you’re all part of the NSF, it shouldn’t be a drama. The clubs love the players having photo-ops with kids.’

  ‘And it might be a nice way to see your dad, Nick,’ says Mum. ‘You know, with all your friends there with you for support.’

  She smiles at me gently and that’s when it really hits me.

  Mum might know that I promised my friends tickets, but she doesn’t realise that no one at school – besides Bazzo and Lexi – knows the truth about me and Dad.

  I gulp.

  In six days I am going to see my dad. Six days.

  I’m not relieved anymore. I’m petrified.

  Science Lab

  Week Three: Monday, Period Two

  Despite my nervousness about seeing my dad for the first time that I can remember, I was still feeling pretty awesome this morning. I woke up before my alarm and got up without Mum having to yell at me. I made it to the train station early and actually found a seat on the train. I even managed to save a seat for Bazzo. And when we got to school I wasn’t worried about running into Kane or any of the other guys from the rep team because I didn’t have to lie about the tickets anymore. Finally I had a reason to smile, and I haven’t stopped smiling all morning.

  I’m still smiling now, but that could be because Bazzo, who’s sitting at the lab bench in front of me, just turned around to do a slow reveal of the pencil stuck up his nose. Plus, I’m in my favourite subject: Science with Mrs Martin. She’s awesome. She always lets us do cool stuff with chemicals, like blow things up or light things on fire. Today is no exception. The experiment we’re doing is called Elephant’s Toothpaste. Mrs Martin demonstrates by adding potassium iodine to hydrogen peroxide in a long flask. The result is a sudden, large explosion of foamy suds, which looks a lot like a gigantic squirt of toothpaste. Yay for science!

  ‘All right, year seven, now you try,’ says Mrs Martin.