The Secrets Club (9 page)

The night before my first ever proper
league football match I'm so excited I hardly sleep a wink. I'd gone to
town after school that day and bought myself a new pair of football boots because my
old ones from primary school were too small for me. They cost a bomb. Mum would have
a fit if she knew I'd blown all my savings on them. But they're worth
it.

The next morning I give Jade firm
instructions. (‘Meet me at the station in time to catch the five past eleven
train and DON'T be late!') Then I leave the house with my sports bag
packed and ready for the game, to go and meet the others first for our
cake-date.

Donatella's is closed and there is
no sign of anyone. I end up waiting outside, hopping impatiently from foot to foot,
sending ‘Where
are you?'
texts to my absent friends. At last Lissa responds.

I groan aloud. Why does life always have
to be so complicated? There's no way I can get in touch with Jade to tell her
of the change of plan because she hasn't got a mobile and she'll have
left the house by now. And, anyway, I don't want to miss the match!

Just as I'm debating whether I
dare give up and make a bolt for it the shutters go up at last and everyone arrives
more or less simultaneously. Lissa is excited, insisting we all choose a different
cake so we can share, even though Ali and Tash both want the triple chocolate and I
don't want any because I'm so nervous for my first match. Only I
can't tell them that.

The waitress is really chatty, making
lots of suggestions (Aagh! How can there be that many cakes in one little cafe?) and
everyone keeps changing their minds and it takes FOREVER to order, though no one
else seems to mind except me.

Then Lissa starts pulling out things from her bag to show us what
she got for her birthday and Ali and Tash go ‘Aahh!' and
‘Oohh!' so I have to join in too otherwise it looks like I'm not
interested. (I'm not actually, I hate smellies and jewellery and stuff.) And
all the time that I'm ‘Oohing' and ‘Aahhing',
I'm worrying about making it to the match in time. The cakes arrive at last
and we all have to sing ‘Happy Birthday' to Lissa and then Tash sings a
rude version as well that her brother Devon taught her, which, I have to admit, is
hilarious. But amid all this frivolity I keep checking my watch when no one's
looking and wondering how quickly I can scoff my cake and make my exit.

The trouble is we still have to try each
other's cakes because Lissa says so. And then, because she has to make
everything
a competition, we have to give marks for them out of ten and
choose an overall winner. Naturally, this turns into a heated and prolonged argument
because everyone has a different opinion, even though, actually, I don't give
a stuff, it's just a bit of cake and I NEED TO GET GOING!

You see, I'm worried sick that the
match will
start without me. I mean, if
I can't turn up on time for the very first match, Terry will never ever pick
me again. After all this effort, I'll have blown it before I even started!

In the end Lissa's cake is chosen
as the best which I could've told you was going to happen in the first place
and saved us all a lot of time and energy. At last I can spring to my feet.

‘Got to go now, Liss,' I say
in a rush. ‘Sorry. Jade's waiting for me at the station. Thanks for the
cake. It was brilliant.'

And even though I can see her face
clouding over with disappointment I leg it as fast as I can before she has time to
object.

She texts me. I knew she would. I can
hear messages pinging on my phone as I'm running through the streets but I
ignore them. All ten of them.

I arrive at the station, hot and sweaty
and out of breath, and cast my eyes around for Jade. I spot her, sitting alone on a
bench, her head in a book as usual. She looks up, first at me, then pointedly at the
big station clock above us.

‘You're late,' she
says accusingly.

‘Sorry!'

‘You told me not to be, but you are. Nearly an hour
late.'

‘I know.' I swallow hard,
grateful for my stoical younger sister. Mum would go mad if she knew I'd
abandoned her at a train station on a busy Saturday morning. Most kids
would've attracted attention by now, made a fuss, burst into tears and be
surrounded by a crowd of concerned people wanting to take them into care.

Not Jade though. She'd just sat
quietly, lost in her book, and no one even noticed.

‘We've missed the
train,' she points out.

‘Come on. We'll get the next
one,' I say, hoping we haven't missed that too. I glance up at the
departures screen and see there's one waiting on the opposite platform.
‘Quick! It's ready to go!'

We run across the bridge and jump on the
train. As we sink into our seats I breathe a sigh of relief. Phew! I'm going
to make it. Just.

‘You're playing football
this afternoon, aren't you?' says Jade the mind-reader.

‘Might be.' I'm trying
to sound non-committal but it doesn't quite come off. I take my phone out of
my pocket and loads of messages flash
up. Not just from Lissa, but from Ali and Tash too. What do they want?

‘Why won't you tell
anyone?' persists Jade.

‘It's not a secret,' I
protest.

‘Yes it is. You don't even
want Mum and Gran to know.'

I can hardly deny this after the episode
in the park. Jade hasn't spilt the beans; she's not the kind to snitch.
She peers out through the window as I open my first message from Lissa.

‘Do
they
know?'

‘Does who know?'

‘Your friends.'

I look up and follow her gaze. Lissa,
Ali and Tash are standing by the barriers. Ali spots me and points, and she and Tash
jump up and down and wave madly. Lissa, in contrast, seems to be arguing heatedly
with the guy in uniform.

What is going on? Surely they're
not trying to get on the train as well? Please, please tell me they're not
thinking of coming with us?

Lissa must've won her argument
because the guy suddenly holds the barrier open and they all burst through. But my
prayers are answered as our train lurches into motion and I breathe
a sigh of relief and sit back,
glancing down at the message on my phone that I've just opened.

Too late, I jump to my feet. As the train
pulls slowly away from the station, I see my three friends on the opposite platform,
Lissa holding my sports bag containing my brand-new football boots up high like a
trophy.

First ever game for the Blackett Junior
team. I'm late and I have no kit. Great start.

‘Here,' says Terry, flinging
a pair of football boots at me. ‘Lucky for you I held on to the new strip for
the big day, that's all I can say. Now get yourself changed and out on that
field, pronto!'

They're Ryan's old pair and
about two sizes too big for me but I'm in no position to be picky. Everyone
else is already changed and warming up on the pitch. Blue and white shirt, blue
shorts, navy and blue socks. Very smart. Supply your own boots – unless, like in my
case, you've left them on the train.

That was my story and I was sticking to
it. It was bad but not quite as bad as the truth. ‘Sorry, Terry, I left my
boots in a cafe where I
was having
coffee and cake with my girl-mates. Oh yeah, did I tell you that's why
I'm late for this mega-important match?'

Don't think that would've
gone down too well with him somehow. Terry doesn't know what to make of me, I
can tell. On the one hand, I'm one of the best players on the field.
(I'm not boasting, it's true.) On the other hand, I turn up late for my
first match, minus my boots, and I'm inconsistent. (As witnessed by him at the
selection match, when I went to pieces. OK, I had good reason to; if my mum and gran
had spotted me the game would be up – literally – but he didn't know that.)
What's he supposed to think?

I dash into the changing rooms, which we
are allowed to use today for the first time now we're an official team, and
get my kit on. At least because I'm late I don't have to worry about
changing in front of the others, something that I'd been fretting about
quietly all week. Until now we've just played in the clothes we've
turned up in. I slip into my shirt and shorts, loving the feel of their silky
smoothness against my skin. Is that what the boys think too? Then, keeping my own
socks on, I tug the others up
and over
them and lace up the boots. They'll do. They'll have to! A bit loose but
I can manage. I straighten up, square my shoulders and take a deep breath.

This is it, Dani. You won't get a
second chance. Now you have to go out there and prove to Uncle Terry and Ryan and
Vikram and Lofty and Marvyn and all the others and, maybe, most of all, to yourself
that you deserve a place in Blackett United Junior Football Team.

Can you do it?

I stumble over my outsize boots.

Yes, I can.

We take a little while to get the feel
of the game, to get the feel of us playing together as a team. Vikram goes out like
a bull at a gate, rampaging round everywhere, and is cautioned for diving. Ryan is
the opposite, starting off so slow he's almost timid. My boots are a bit of a
problem, but I soon get used to them. Gradually we settle down and slowly,
imperceptibly we take control and are eventually rewarded by a brilliant header goal
from Lofty. At half-time, we're one–nil up.

‘Well done, boys,' says
Terry as he passes
around bottles of
water. ‘But it's not over yet. Brilliant goal, Lofty – more of those
please. Keep it up, Danny, you're playing well. Marvyn, we need more direction
in midfield …'

Marvyn. I'd been a bit concerned
last Saturday after the party that he'd recognized me. I was pretty sure a few
times I'd caught him looking at me but he'd said nothing and today we
have more important things to worry about.

‘Your dad here?' whispers
Lofty. I shake my head and turn to survey the people who've gathered to watch
us. It was quite an impressive number.

‘Mine is. You can't miss
him.' I follow his gaze to where a tall lanky guy is standing head and
shoulders above the rest of the crowd and gulp. Even though he's not wearing
his trademark cord jacket, only one person could possibly be that tall.

Mr Little.

‘Is that your dad?'

‘Afraid so.'

Mr Little sees me watching him and
waves. Oh no, he's recognized me! That's all I need. After my monumental
efforts my cover is about
to be blown by
a beanpole supply teacher who happens to be a dad. Then, beside me, Lofty waves back
and I realize it's him he's waving at, not me, and I'm struck by
how proud he looks of his son. And I can't help wishing my dad was here to be
proud of me too.

But there's no time to think about
that because the second half is about to start and we've got a job to do.

And we do it. Beautifully. Basically,
with a lot of skill and a little good fortune, we run rings round the opposition.
With increasing confidence we gradually seize possession and territory, and though
they hold out and manage a goal somewhere along the way, it's not enough.
Systematically we slaughter them: four goals to one.

And I score two of them, even in boots
two sizes too big for me. It's magic.

Terry is over the moon. We all are. Mr
Little and the other dads go wild on the touchline, jumping and shouting like
it's the FA Cup Final. Our very first fixture and we've stolen the
show.

We head back to the changing rooms in a
blaze of glory, arms wrapped round each other.

‘Leave your kit here and
I'll take it home and
wash it for
you,' orders Terry. ‘Don't want anyone leaving it behind next week
like Dopey Danny here.' He ruffles my hair to show he doesn't mean it as
people start tugging their shirts over their heads and dropping them into
Terry's big bag. ‘And don't forget to shower, you lot, before you
disappear to your parents.'

Everyone groans but does as
they're told. I avert my eyes as boys pull off their kit and make a dash for
the showers. I'd been dreading this.

‘What's the problem,
Danny?' asks Terry, noticing my hesitance.

‘Haven't got a towel. Left
it on the train, didn't I?' He will never know how grateful I am for
forgetting my bag at this point in time.

‘Go on!' he scoffs.
‘Someone'll lend you theirs.' I bite my lip, wondering what on
earth I can say to get out of this, and he adds, ‘I don't want your dad
after me for sending you home dirty.'

‘My dad couldn't care
less,' I say bitterly. ‘He doesn't live with us any
more.'

‘What about your mum?'

‘She's at work. I can have a
shower before she gets home.'

He hesitates. ‘No one watching you today then?'

I shake my head.

His eyes soften and he gives me a wry
smile. ‘Pity,' he says gently. ‘You did well. Your parents would
be proud of you.' Then he ruffles my hair again.

‘Go on then!' he says, his
voice back to normal. ‘Get off home and tell your mum how well you played. See
you next week, Danny. And don't forget your boots!'

‘I won't!' I say
happily and get changed quickly before someone comes out of the showers and offers
to lend me their towel.

I'd got away with it this time.
But how would I manage next week?