Football High: Fire Up Read online

  I nod.

  ‘Well, that’s all. You can go. Make sure you report back to the office at lunchtime for clean-up.’

  I nod again and get up out of my seat, but before I can escape out the door, Ms Vale stops me. ‘And Nick, one more thing …’

  Why is it that when adults are lecturing you, they always have to add something right at the last second?

  I turn and look back. Her face looks a little softer now. Less like a principal, more like how Mum looks when she’s worried about me.

  ‘I realise it can’t be easy to have a famous dad, but I want you to know that we chose you for the scholarship program because you were Nick Young, not Shane Young’s son. This whole thing with your father … Don’t let it swallow you up, okay?’

  I nod. My mum said something similar to me at the end of last term – something about not living in my father’s shadow – but somehow I keep getting sucked back into the black hole of my dad’s fame.

  ‘Thanks, Ms Vale,’ I say. ‘I’ll try.’ Although I’m really not sure at this point that not getting swallowed up is an option. It feels like I’m already falling headfirst into the belly of major disappointment. Maybe that’s why my football’s been so bad lately.

  ‘Good luck next week against Green Hill High,’ she says as I leave.

  I’d almost forgotten about the next round of the State Cup Knockout. But right now I don’t want to think about football. I just want to disappear.

  I go to class and do the next best thing. It’s English and for the first time ever I’m actually relieved to be reading a book, especially one where the character’s problems are a little worse than mine. Poor Victor Frankenstein has a vengeful monster to deal with. He wants Victor to build him a monster bride.

  At least things aren’t that bad for me. Not yet, anyway.

  NSF Fields. State Cup Round Two:

  NSF Cannons vs Green Hill High

  Week Four: Thursday

  It’s a rainy afternoon and we’re up against Green Hill High for round two of the State Cup Knockout. The ref blows the whistle to begin the second half and I’m grateful to still be out on the field. To say it hasn’t been my best performance would be an understatement. My performance so far has been as miserable as the grey clouds overhead.

  I think there are two main reasons for this. First, I’m playing against kids I know because we either went to primary school together or played together on the weekend in the Green Hill Rangers. The problem with this is that they know me. And they want to let me know that just because I go to the National School of Football doesn’t mean I’m better than them. I know this because, before the game started, one of the boys I used to play with in the Green Hill Rangers – Justin Chambers – came up to me and said, ‘Just ’cause you go to a fancy school doesn’t mean you’re better than us, Young!’ It was basically what Kane said last week right before I ended up in the principal’s office. Why does everyone think that I think I’m better than them? I never feel better than people. I generally feel a lot worse.

  When we got on the field, Justin and every other kid in the Green Hill High team set out to prove I wasn’t better. They were all over me right from the first whistle, rushing in to push me off the ball and shutting me down any time I tried to find some space. It was frustrating. It also meant that Kane wasn’t marked as closely as he should have been. At one point in the first half he was able to combine with Marcus through the centre and Elvis on the wing to provide some good pressure. Eventually Elvis snuck one past the goalie from out wide and we took the lead. One–nil, no thanks to me.

  The second reason for why I’m having a shocker is that I just can’t get my head into the game. There are too many things rolling around in it for me to focus on football. I keep thinking about the pack of journalists and photographers stalking our house, trying to get my mum and me to do an interview about my dad. The phone’s been ringing nonstop, too, and people hardly ever call our home phone. There were even reporters waiting outside the school for me until Principal Vale threatened to call the police if they didn’t go away.

  It’s making big news in England, too. Dad flew straight back there the day after the game and was bombarded with questions about me when he arrived at the airport in London. It’s weird how you can go from being everyone’s hero one minute to a big fat zero the next. They’re really making him out to be a jerk for walking out on Mum and me to play football all those years ago. But to be honest, it’s not as if no one knew I existed. It was all there on the internet, if anyone had bothered to look. And yes, it wasn’t good that he didn’t recognise his own son, but how would he? I’m not the famous one, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t seen any recent photos of me.

  But that’s not the only thing on my mind. There’s Grace as well. I haven’t spoken to her all term and I still keep wondering what it means that she snubbed me twice. Does she like me or not? Or does she just like ignoring me?

  And the other thing I’m thinking about is why I can’t stop thinking about things and just play football!

  Anyway, this is all the stuff that’s floating around my head like space junk orbiting Earth. It keeps spinning round and round at a million miles an hour and it’s hard to focus on anything else. That’s why, when I actually get a touch of the ball, I can’t find my rhythm and then I can’t find my speed and that means I keep turning it over. I think the only reason I’m still on the field is because Mr Antonelli seems to think I’ve been deliberately drawing the defence away from Kane. It’s definitely not because he feels sorry for me. At half-time he just grunted in my general direction and said, ‘You, number ten, keep drawing the defence in and sharpen your control. Too sloppy. Stop thinking so much.’

  He’s right. I have to stop thinking and just play. Like Kane. He never seems to be distracted. I think that’s why he’s so good. He just plays, no matter what. As much as I dislike him, I know I have to play more like him. He’s all over the Green Hill guys. I mean, right now, before the back four of Green Hill can react, Kane scores another goal, this time set up by a ripping cross from Matti on the right side.

  Luckily Mr Antonelli has us using a 4-3-2-1 formation so even though I may not be making the quality plays that I should be, by playing in the midfield behind Kane and the two wingers, I can still feed through some quick passes and draw in the defence, a bit like when I play as false nine. It does mean fewer scoring opportunities for me, but I finally get my chance when Bazzo makes a nice steal and tears a hole up the centre before running into the second line of Green Hill defenders.

  ‘Baz!’ I call as I sprint ahead.

  Bazzo pulls off an audacious kick that nutmegs not just one defender but the referee as well. I snatch up the ball like a dog on a bone and suddenly I’m away and I’m not thinking. I’m running and weaving and turning, moving the ball through the rain with absolute precision, despite the slippery conditions. I stop, start, then go and beat two defenders. When I’m in range, I cock back my leg for the shot and bang!

  The ball goes nowhere. Instead, I hit the muddy ground. I’ve been tripped. Justin Chambers gets a yellow card and I get a penalty kick.

  Right now we’re up 2–0. One more goal will probably seal it.

  I walk in and line it up, taking my time. I want to make sure I have this.

  ‘Come on, Young, you can do it. It’s an easy one,’ Kane yells. ‘Don’t blow it!’

  Despite everything, I think Kane actually genuinely means it. If there’s one thing Kane cares more about than showing me up, it’s winning.

  But now he’s got me thinking again. Thinking about what happens if I get it.

  And what happens if I miss.

  I close my eyes and shake off the bad thoughts. I can do this. Breathe. Don’t think. Just shoot. And don’t miss.

  I take one final look at the goalie, then run in and strike.

  It misses by a mile.

  We win the game 4–0 but I watch the final ten minutes from the bench after being pulled from the f
ield by Mr Antonelli for the second time in two games. Just to make the benching sting a little more, it’s Kane who scores the last two goals and he isn’t shy in his celebrations.

  I should feel happy that we’ve won but it’s hard to enjoy a victory when you had no part in it. I’m really starting to worry about my spot on the team.

  When we hit the change rooms, everyone’s still celebrating. I sit and watch from the corner. I know it’s pathetic but I can’t help feeling jealous of Kane as he stands in the middle of the change room, basking in the glory of his performance. I want it to be me.

  There’s my monster standing right in front of me, I think to myself, and, like Victor Frankenstein, I just want him to disappear and stop tormenting me.

  Instead I do the next best thing. I disappear.

  School has already finished so I grab my bag and slink off. I don’t even wait for Bazzo. One second I’m there, then I’m gone. I’m the incredible vanishing boy.

  Thornberry Station

  A Little Later …

  When I get to the train station I see Grace sitting on a seat – with a large book in her hands, of course. I wonder if she’s going to snub me again. I soon get my answer.

  ‘Hey Nick,’ she says with a smile. She moves her backpack so I can sit down.

  What the …?

  I take a seat and, after a pause, I say, ‘So …

  The girls’ squad won their State Cup game today?’ I already know they did because the girls played before us and absolutely creamed Green Hill High, 7–zip. Lexi scored three goals from three blistering solo runs down the centre and Grace grabbed a cheeky goal that deflected off the goalie’s hand.

  Grace nods and smiles.

  ‘Nice goal,’ I say.

  ‘Just lucky,’ she replies. ‘Did the boys win? I didn’t stay.’

  ‘Yep. Four–nil.’

  ‘Did you score?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The train comes and we hop on and grab a seat. We sit next to each other and I realise her shoulder is just inches away from mine. Every so often, when the train bounces on the track, our shoulders touch and it sends tingles down my arm.

  I can’t think of anything interesting to say. We just sit there in silence but every so often we bump shoulders and Grace smiles and looks at me with her amazing green eyes. I don’t remember her having bright-green eyes, but maybe I’ve just never been this close to her before.

  When I get off the train, I feel a little dizzy, but in a good way. And I’ve almost forgotten about my missed penalty kick.

  Almost.

  NSF Fields

  Week Six: Tuesday, Period One

  The whole of year seven has been divided into two groups – attack and defence – based on the positions we normally play at club level.

  I’m with the attackers, of course. So is Kane, but I’m keeping my distance. I really want to avoid getting into any more trouble.

  We’re all standing next to a series of cones in front of the goal posts. It’s unlike any drill set-up I’ve seen before. I look over at the defence group on the other side of the field and notice Bazzo chatting and laughing with Kristy.

  ‘Okay, forwards, today is your day to shine,’ announces Jase with his usual super-enthusiastic grin beaming from his face like laser light. ‘We’re going to be working on your speed and finishing skills when attacking the goal area and that means you’re going to be running flat chat for a lot of this session!’

  ‘More running?’ I hear Matti grumble behind me. ‘My blisters are going to have baby blisters!’

  A few kids laugh at Matti’s joke but the truth is I’m feeling happy to be focusing on football and nothing else, for once – even if it involves lots of running. Besides, anything that might improve my form has to be good after my lacklustre performance so far on the Cannons rep squad.

  ‘All right, people. Let me explain what you need to do …’ says Jase. ‘Running speed for forwards is crucial for maximising scoring opportunities, but too many goals are blown by poor finishing. This drill was used by Wayne Rooney to improve his shooting. You need to negotiate the series of cones, running back and forth between the channels until you get to the final cone. When you get there, you’ll need to set up your shot, stay focused and put it in the net. That’s where I’ll be waiting.’ Jase smiles and pulls on some keeper’s gloves. ‘You have to get it by me or you go back and run again.’

  We line up to run the drill and that’s when I see a familiar figure ahead of me in the line. It’s Grace. She starts running and I speed after her.

  She hears me coming and turns her head but she doesn’t smile or say hello. She just turns back around and keeps running. In fact, she speeds up.

  I’ve been snubbed again!

  That’s it. I speed through the cones, weaving back and forth around them in an effort to catch up to Grace. I see her shoot for goal, but Jase manages to bat it away. No goal but a decent effort.

  I reach the final cone. I line up my shot quickly and fire it at Jase.

  At least I think I do.

  It’s an absolute stinker. It misses Jase and the goal by a metre.

  Jase frowns. ‘Not your best, Nick. Try again!’

  I shake my head. Now I’m really mad. It’s everything swirling around inside me. The space-junk thoughts about Kane and my dad and my place on the team zooming around in my head. The hissing snake inside my stomach wants to make them all go away.

  I see Grace back at the end of the line and let fly. ‘Oh, so you’re back to ignoring me, are you?’ I say, as I line up behind her.

  ‘What? Nick? What are you talking about?’ she says, pretending to be surprised.

  I launch into the mother of all dummy spits. ‘You know, I don’t get you, Grace. You think you’re so much better than everyone else, with your big fancy books and their big fancy words, and you’re all “I don’t even really like football, I’m just really good at it”, and you talk to people one minute and ignore them the next, as if they’re invisible, as if you can’t even see them or something.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m near-sighted,’ she says matter-of-factly.

  ‘Yeah, like you’re really near-sighted …’ I say, mistaking her tone for sarcasm. Then it clicks. ‘Wait, what?’

  ‘I’m near-sighted. I wear contacts. Except lately they’ve been hurting my eyes so I take them out. Why do you think I missed that shot?’

  For a moment I say nothing. Instead, I think about each of the times Grace snubbed me and realise that yes, I was probably too far away for her to see me clearly without her contacts in. It explains the bright-green eyes on the train, as well.

  Still, I am already in top angry gear and it’s hard to suddenly hit reverse and switch to grovel mode.

  ‘Well, how was I to know that?’ I whine. ‘See? You think you’re too good to tell people that you’re near-sighted and that you might not recognise them when they come back from holidays all excited to see you. You really need to let people know these things before you go around randomly touching their arms.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘On the last day of last term. In front of the lockers. You touched my arm and I thought that meant … I thought it meant you liked me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says.

  And I can see from her face that maybe it was just a random arm touch after all.

  ‘Just how many year-seven boys’ arms have you randomly touched, anyway?’

  Okay, that last bit was probably taking things too far.

  ‘You’re a jerk!’ she says.

  Yep, way too far. But I can’t back down now. My boyhood pride is at stake. I need to hit her where it hurts.

  ‘Oh yeah? Well you’re a big … nerd!’

  She looks at me in two-thirds shock and one-third disgust. ‘Grow up!’ she says, then she starts running the drill again.

  I just watch her go. Then I give myself the mother of all facepalms. I really am a bad finisher.

  NSF Fields />
  Twenty Minutes Later …

  Bazzo and I meet up after the session and hit the change rooms. I don’t tell Bazzo about Grace. I don’t need him thinking I’m a jerk as well.

  After we change into some less sweaty gear and emerge from the change rooms, we bump into Lexi and Kristy.

  Kristy doesn’t hang around for long. ‘See you guys in class,’ she says, although she seems to be speaking more to Bazzo than to Lexi and me.

  ‘Sooooo … What are we doing now?’ asks Lexi brightly, as if we’re not at school and the bell hasn’t already gone for period two.

  ‘Heading to Maths,’ I say matter-of-factly.

  ‘Hmmm … I was thinking I might have a flexi-lesson. Wanna join me?’ she says with a devilish grin.

  ‘Flexi-lesson? What do you mean?’ quizzes Bazzo.

  ‘You know, a sneaky period you take off when you really can’t be bothered going to class,’ explains Lexi.

  ‘My mum has flexidays at work,’ I offer helpfully. ‘But … you know, real ones.’

  ‘How would we do that?’ asks Bazzo, suddenly sounding much more sensible than usual. ‘Mr Vannan takes the roll every lesson.’

  ‘Easy-peasy. You just turn up in the last five minutes and say you were in the toilets spewing your guts out!’

  ‘All three of us? That’ll never work!’ says Bazzo.

  ‘Okay, we could pull the “Someone took my bag and we spent the whole period looking for it” scam,’ suggests Lexi. ‘I used that one a few times in primary. The teacher gets annoyed but there’s not much they can do.’

  ‘That could work … Baz?’ I smile at Bazzo optimistically but he’s not buying it.

  Then the second bell rings and Bazzo freaks out. ‘I’m going to class,’ he says, and runs off to catch up with Kristy.

  I turn back to Lexi, who’s staring at me with that devilish grin again. ‘You game for a flexi with Lexi?’ she asks with one eyebrow raised daringly.