Authors: Poppy Inkwell
Alana got up to go. “By the way,” she said, pausing at the door, “how come he leaves a toy truck?”
Flynn gave an embarrassed grin. “Daniel
Tucker
? It rhymes with
trucker
. Get it?”
A look of understanding entered Alana's eyes as she wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Yeah, I know,” Flynn conceded. “He's a jerk
and
a moron. But he's
my
jerk,
my
moron.”
Alana placed a big cross through the date on her calendar which she had circled in red months ago. The girls' soccer team had been training all season for this day, and Alana's heart was pounding. She tried to push her nerves aside as she balanced a ball on her ankle and flicked it into the air. The
pum, pum, pum
of it bouncing off her foot echoed down the stairs.
“What? What? Who is it?” Emma groaned muzzily from the doorway of her office.
Alana jumped the final few stairs and landed with a
thump
next to her mum.
“Big game today, Mum. Remember?” Alana said, half in reproach. Her mum had obviously forgotten about the soccer match â¦
again
.
Emma peered through her bird-nest hair, lips working silently in concentration. “Ooh, ooh, The Big Game. Of course. I remember.” Alana glared at the lie. “Well, okay, I didn't remember it was
today,
but I did know about it. I even invited Oliver. He said he liked sport, and I thought we could do brunch afterwards.”
“So you're seeing him again?” Alana asked, automatically measuring out Emma's coffee into the
Atomic
coffee-maker and putting it on the stove-top. It wasn't long before the pungent aroma of ground beans filled the small kitchen. Harry-or-Leo paused mid-scurry to take an appreciative whiff before scuttling into the shadows.
Emma smiled weakly. “I'm not sure,” she answered vaguely. “Brunch with you and your friends isn't really a date, is it?”
There was a knock at the door. Khalilah burst in, bouncing with excitement, as usual. Sofia followed her in, weighed down with more good-luck charms than ever before. She could barely lift her head. The rest of the team were meeting them at the field.
“Breakfast, anyone?” Alana offered.
“Ooh, no, I feel too nervous to eat,” Khalilah said with a rueful rub of her stomach. “Maybe just a cheese toastie?”
“No food for me,” Sofia said, equally anxious, “but I'd love a cup of tea.”
The girls had their breakfast in silence, each submerged in her own thoughts. A crackling silence filled the kitchen. Alana held her soccer ball close in one arm like a security blanket while she ate a slice of toast. Khalilah made a second toastie for extra power, and Sofia tipped her cup upside-down to read the tea leaves.
“Either a hurricane is coming,” she said, looking up with a worried frown, “or we're going to lose.”
Khalilah looked thoughtful. “Yes, but where do we stand statistically?”
“
Statistically,
we're due for a win. But,” Sofia gazed out at the cloudless sky, “it's not exactly hurricane weather.”
Alana laughed. “Sydney doesn't get hurricanes, Sof. Come on. Think positive! Rub a Buddha belly, or something.”
While Sofia got rubbing, and Khalilah packed a third toastie for the car, Emma returned with the news that James would give them a ride. Emma's ute had still not recovered since the high-speed car chase.
Khalilah hung out of James's car window like an excited toddler, pointing out all the tourist spots along the way. “That's where I took my aunt and uncle,” she said of Chinatown and, “We went there, too” as they passed Darling Harbour. By the time they were crossing the Sydney Harbour Bridge, Khalilah was beside herself. “We walked all the way to the top!” she said proudly. “My brother was so jealous, but Bapa said he would take him again when he comes.”
This came as news to her friends.
“What? You didn't say your brother was coming!” Sofia exclaimed.
“When?” Alana asked, grateful for the diversion.
As Alana and Sofia pumped Khalilah for more information (Jefri was coming next year, after graduating from Religious Studies), Emma flicked through the pile of CDs for some music to listen to. The cover of one of them caught Alana's eye.
“Ooh, please can we play that one, Uncle James?” Alana begged. A bit of hard-core rock would be just the thing to smash the butterflies that had invaded her stomach.
Emma looked at the cover dubiously. Three canines in various stages of decay were dressed in Tudor costume. The dogs were enclosed by an ornate, golden frame. James smiled at Emma and deftly exchanged the CD for another. “I think I'd much prefer to play
this
one.”
Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah (Drumsticks - One, two, three, four)
You think you can handle this?
Oh yeah ⦠I don't think so.
You think you're so hard to resist?
Oh yeah ⦠I don't think so.
Alana, Sofia and Khalilah grinned at each other. It was
their
song, âStormy Heart' â the one that had won them the Original Song competition and tickets and backstage passes last year. The three girls jounced in the car seat as they sang along. Even James and Emma joined in the chorus. By the time they arrived at the oval, everyone was in a jubilant mood. Maybe the Soccer Academy
weren't
going to win this year.
Alana and her friends tumbled out of the car to look for the rest of their team. Fans of the Soccer Academy's BlueJays were easily spotted, in their customary blue-and-green-striped scarves and jerseys. It looked like almost everybody was touting a
Go BlueJays!
flag or poster. The Gibson Gibbons' gear looked childish in comparison, with yellow squiggles on dirty grey t-shirts, because â as the school-uniform designer had pointed out â they were bound to get dirty anyway. Alana spotted a handful of supporters from their school huddled close to the hotdog stand. Spring was just around the corner, but it was still nippy at 8:30 in the morning.
Khalilah jumped up and down. She always fidgeted when she was excited. Maddie, Prita and Preyasi had joined them. The whole team was here now. “So, are you pumped?” Khalilah asked them.
“Bring it on,” Alana and Maddie said together, and then burst out laughing.
Sofia handed good-luck charms to each of the players: a strip of four-leaf-clover fabric she tied around their heads
kamikaze
-style.
Maddie looked at it, puzzled. “How come this material looks familiar?”
Sofia shrugged casually, “That's coz I cut up my lucky shorts.”
“Eww, Sofia,” Khalilah squealed, “You mean this used to rub against your butt?”
“Umm, girls,” Prita interrupted. “I think we have more â”
“â important things to worry about,” Preyasi finished.
The BlueJays team strode onto the field. Blue and green streaks of sunscreen slashed their cheeks, warrior-style. Each wore an expression of fierce concentration as they began their warm-up. From their footwork, they were a tight team. The next 45 minutes would not be easy.
Sofia turned around and clapped her hands decisively. “Right. Okay. They don't look too bad. Let's warm up too, shall we? Stretch our muscles? The leg ones. And arm ones,” she said, bending and lunging, and then twisting at the waist. The others followed suit and then began to practise with their own ball. They called a halt after ten minutes â the coach had arrived, but it was not who they were expecting.
“Coach
Kusmuk?
But where's Coach McNeeson?” Prita asked, clearly disappointed.
“Hamstring injury,” she snapped. “That's a
leg
one,” she aimed at Sofia with a sneer. “I don't expect you to get very far with today's competition, so let's get the humiliation over with. I've got better things to do with my Sunday than babysitting you lot,” she said. “Let's go.”
Sofia was loath to draw attention to herself, but had to protest. “Coach McNeeson usually gives us a pep talk before the game ⦔ she trailed off.
Coach Kusmuk sighed. “Fine. Try not to get yourselves killed. Okay, talk over. Let's go.”
Friends and relatives of the team arrived with cameras and mobile phones to take a commemorative shot. Even with all the tricks James had up his sleeve as a professional photographer, the team's smile was strained and Coach Kusmuk's expression was filled with boredom.
The referee turned up and, with him, a different BlueJays team. The Gibbons turned to each other and the coach in bewilderment, as the team they'd been expecting to play walked off the field.
“Wha-?”
“Who?”
“That was the BlueJays Under-9s Team. You're playing the Soccer Academy's Under-13s B-side â the BlueJay Bruisers,” Coach informed them with a familiar smirk.
Sofia gulped. “â
B
-side'?”
Maddie looked up at the towering Amazons. “Looks like some people hit puberty years ago.”
Emma knew little about the rules of soccer, and spent most of her time asking questions of James, and Sofia, who was in reserve.
“Are you sure that girl is allowed to do that?” she asked as one of the Bruisers shoved Alana out of the way and took off with the ball. Alana followed in hot pursuit.
“The Soccer Academy is certainly playing a rough game, but that's soccer,” James shrugged, and then cringed as Maddie hit a wall of flying feet and flailing elbows.
“I don't think shin pads are enough protection. They look like they could do with full-body armour,” Emma said faintly.
At which Alana landed at Emma and James's feet, squashed by a much bulkier girl, who used Alana's head as support to lever herself back up.
Emma crouched down until she could see Alana at eye-level. “Are you having fun, LaLa?” she asked in concern. James, meanwhile, yelled about “fouls” and being “offside”, and when that didn't get results, began saying unkind things about the referee's mother.
Alana hoisted up her shorts and spat out a mouthful of grass. “Okay,” she growled, “if
that's
how you want to play⦔
What followed was a brutal game that was still locked at nil-nil at half-time. The teams headed for opposite sides of the field for a drink of water and a word from the trainers. The BlueJay Bruisers' coach, known around the circuit as Battle-Axe, was giving his team a severe tongue-lashing. At 135cm high, he looked like a toddler having a tantrum.
“Unacceptable!” he squeaked, “What are you doing out there? You're running around like a bunch of hairdressers!” There was a long-standing rivalry between the Bruisers' and Gibbons' coaches. The competition between the two coaches went beyond the mere game of soccer; it went further than the geography of the field. The pair had been fighting for years. The thought of one of his teams,
his teams,
being beaten by âBig Mac' McNeeson was unthinkable!
Coach Kusmuk turned around to face the Gibson Gibbons with something nearly resembling a smile. “Okay, you've survived the first half. Now it's crunch time. You've got a decent shot at winning, much more than I thought, so listen up, here's what I want you to do.” The six girls formed a tight huddle while Coach Kusmuk rapidly explained the game plan.
The crowd took advantage of the ten-minute break to queue for coffees. The sky had turned overcast; weak sunlight struggled through the thick skein of cloud cover. Parents stamped their feet to generate more warmth and wrapped their hands around hot beverages, while young children pretended to be soccer heroes, dodging tackles, scoring goals, knees skidding in the dirt in triumph.
“Goal!” yelled Maddie's little brother, Troy, arms thrust out in flight as he did a victory lap of the field. “Goal!” echoed Cassy not far behind.
James checked his camera's counter and grimaced. “I haven't got many shots of Alana playing. I always get too involved in the game.”
Emma gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That doesn't matter. It means a lot to Alana you just being here. It means a lot to
me
. It's really special.”
James looked at Emma's hand, which was still holding his arm. “She's a special girl,” he whispered.
There was something about the way he said it which made Emma think he'd stopped talking about Alana.
Emma snatched her hand away. “Anyway,” she said, nervously, “I'm sure Oliver is around here somewhere taking shots. He promised to bring his camera.”
“Ah, yes. The Boyfriend,” James muttered darkly.
There was a loud commotion and the crowd parted. What emerged was not a famous, book-writing Teen Expert as Emma expected, but two cart-wheeling cheerleaders in mini-skirts who definitely weren't from Gibson High â they were far too old for that. The onlookers looked bemused as the pair gave each other Rs, Is, Bs, Bs, Os, Ns and Ss and yelled, “Go Ribbons!” to nobody in particular.
“It's Gibbons, not Ribbons, you dags,” Emma admonished good-naturedly.
“Ribbons, Gibbons, same-same lah!” Ling Ling panted.
“Oh hi, James!” Katriona cried, spotting the photographer, who was doing his best to hide. She shook her pom-poms and wagged her bottom in what she thought was a cute manner. A pose was struck. Another of her favourites: bent leg, hand on hip, while the other lifted a pom-pom in victory. “Cheese,” she said through clenched teeth.
James mumbled a hasty âgottagotakealeak' and rushed away.
Katriona watched his retreating back, looking miffed. “You know, there's something funny about that guy.”
“Who? James?” Emma asked with half an ear as she continued to scan the crowd for Oliver.
“Uh-huh,” Katriona said with narrowed eyes. “I think he's,
you know
.”