Katie's Big Match

by Holly Webb

  “Mrs Ross, Mrs Ross,” squeaked Katie in excitement, “Megan’s had the best idea, can we just tell you about it really quickly? Oh, and sorry about Annabel,” Katie added quickly, catching sight of her sister jogging across the field at mouse-speed and clutching her side in an obvious attempt to show everybody that she was dying of the worst stitch anybody had ever had. “She didn’t mean it, honestly.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Mrs Ross managed, but at least it wasn’t a “shut up and go away” kind of hmmm, so Katie took it as encouragement, and pushed Megan forward.

  “Please, Mrs Ross, can we arrange a kind of charity football match, between us and the boys’ team? Everyone pays for tickets, and we get to show them how good we are!” enthused Megan.

  Mrs Ross brightened up. “What a good idea!”

  “We checked with the rest of the team,” Katie reassured her (this was true, Sarah had given her a massive thumbs-up in assembly that morning, so she reckoned that they had the whole squad on side). “Everyone wants to. Do you think the boys will go for it?”

  Mrs Ross grinned, looking at the boys, who were over the other side of the field with a different teacher. Only three of the boys’ team were in the triplets’ Year Seven class: Max (the triplets’ personal worst enemy), his mate Ben, and David, a boy who’d only moved to Darefield quite recently. David was actually really nice, and the triplets had invited him to their birthday party a few weeks earlier, because Becky thought he needed a bit of looking after. Now, though, he was looking quite chummy with Max, and the pair of them were shooting dagger-looks at Katie.

  “I think Mr Anderson might have trouble holding them back,” Mrs Ross said, nodding in Max and David’s direction. “Looks like the news is spreading fast. I’ll talk to the rest of the PE staff about your idea.”

  Annabel came puffing back from her trip across the field, an agonized, martyred expression on her face. Mrs Ross gave her a beaming smile, and sent the entire class off to run all the way round the field. “Don’t look like that, Annabel – you must be nicely warmed up by now.”

  At morning break, Katie and Megan found out with a vengeance that Mrs Ross was right. The boys did know about the match, and they were furious.

  David was too nice to do anything apart from grin hugely and tell them, “Watch out, you two – we’re going to win by probably about a million goals.”

  But Max didn’t hold back. He swaggered up to the chestnut tree where the triplets and their friends were sharing Fran’s crisps, and posed arrogantly in front of them.

  “What do you want?” sighed Katie, as contemptuously as possible.

  Max smirked. “Just to let you know that you’re dead. Your stupid girly lot won’t know what’s hit them when they play a proper team. You’re gonna lose big-time.”

  “We’re in the league semi-finals, you know,” Megan put in. “’Scuse me for mentioning it, but didn’t your team get knocked out in the quarter-final last week? I seem to remember you lost three-nil.”

  Max shuffled his feet. “Yeah, well, we were playing decent teams, not girls. You’re only in the semis because the rest of the girls’ teams are even more useless than you. Just wait.” He waved a finger at them threateningly and turned on his heel, leaving the girls collapsing with giggles.

  “Oooh, Katie,” chirped Annabel. “You’re dead! Aren’t you scared? Big bad Maxie’s gonna get you!”

  Max’s ears turned scarlet as he headed back to his mates – somehow the girls hadn’t seemed suitably scared. He hadn’t expected they’d admit to it, but he’d thought they might have got cross, not just think it was funny! He really, really hated Katie Ryan. Perfect hair, perfect face, nasty little perfect smile… Well, he’d show them. The girls were going to get slaughtered – then see who was laughing.

  At quarter to four that afternoon, the girls’ team were gathering by the minibus in the school car park. Everyone was excited – not only were they about to play in the semi-final, but the gossip about their possible fund-raising match had spread round the whole school, and everyone was buzzing with it. It seemed as though it wasn’t just Katie and Megan who’d had encounters with the opposition. Sarah was full of the shouting match she’d had with a couple of Year Eight boys who apparently thought that football was not for girls, ever, under any circumstances – but they were very kindly going to make an exception for this lot in order to show them exactly how useless they were.

  “Go back to knitting! That’s what they said!” Sarah was helpless with laughter. “Can you believe it? I just told them I wasn’t their granny. What is it about football that turns some boys into total and utter morons? Seriously, though” – and Sarah looked round at everybody with a suitably serious expression on her face – “if this match does go ahead, we have absolutely got to win. We’ll never live it down otherwise. We might have to do some extra training.”

  Everyone nodded firmly. Definitely. They had thought of the match as a fun thing up till now, but the boys seemed so furious that they’d even dared consider the idea, and had been such “macho posers” (Sarah’s words) over the whole thing, that it was now deadly serious.

  It felt really good being part of a team, and all being so keen on something. Even Cara had dropped her “it’s stupid” attitude, and was looking as determined as everybody else. Katie looked round at everybody, grinning, and then looked again. Where was Michelle? Surely she couldn’t have not bothered to turn up – a practice was one thing, but not to turn up to a match?

  She nudged Megan, and whispered, “Michelle’s not here!”

  “I know!” Megan hissed back. “Do you think she’s just late? The others haven’t said anything. Shall we ask Sarah?”

  Katie nodded vigorously, and then when Megan gave her a pleading look, sighed and turned to the team captain. “Sarah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’s Michelle? I mean, isn’t she meant to be playing?”

  “Oh! Megan, I’m really sorry, I was supposed to tell you! Michelle’s gone home sick, so you have to be goalie. I was thinking about those stupid boys and I forgot. Lizzie’s coming as sub.” Sarah pointed to Lizzie, who was looking a bit sulky – being dropped in favour of Year Sevens, even when you had missed a few practices, wasn’t exactly flattering.

  Megan flushed scarlet (it clashed with her hair) with pleasure, and Katie hugged her.

  “Excellent! That’s so cool, you’re much better in goal than Michelle. And if you play well in this match too, I reckon Mrs Ross will keep you in goal.” She frowned. “Or maybe she’ll keep alternating us all round, me and Cara and you and Michelle and the others.” Then suddenly she pointed across the car park. “Look! Mrs Ross is coming. I wonder if she’s spoken to Mr Anderson yet!”

  The entire team, even Lizzie, surged across the car park to engulf their coach, but Mrs Ross refused to tell them anything until they were all on the minibus. “It’s a good way to St Helen’s,” she pointed out. “You’re going to need warm-up time, so let’s get moving.”

  Everyone was so focused on getting info out of Mrs Ross that there wasn’t even the usual squabble for the seats at the back – they just piled in and sat there with their ears pricked up, like dogs waiting for a bone.

  At last they were on their way, and Mrs Ross finally agreed to part with her news. “But no shouting out questions, girls – I’m trying to drive here as well. OK. Mr Anderson thinks it’s a great idea—” Here she was cut off by a wave of cheering and waited, grinning to herself. When everyone had calmed down a bit, she added, “And that’s not the best bit – Mr Anderson also said that it’s definitely not fair that you don’t have a team strip, so he reckons that any money you raise, the PE department will match out of its budget. So I reckon your shirts are pretty much guaranteed.” This time the cheering was even louder, and Mrs Ross had to wait a couple of minutes before continuing. “So, we think that next Friday will be the best day, after school.
We might be able to get afternoon lessons shortened if we talk nicely to Mr Brownfield. You think you’ll be ready by then, girls?”

  This was a serious question. Could they be ready?

  “We definitely need to do some extra practice,” Sarah told Mrs Ross. “Is it OK if we organize a session ourselves this weekend? In the park, maybe?”

  “As long as you don’t wear yourselves out. OK, we’re here.” Mrs Ross pulled into the gates of St Helen’s School for Girls, a rather smart school that had a really strict uniform – perfect grey pleated skirts, red and gold ties, and red blazers. Apparently St Helen’s girls were only allowed to wear red hairbands, the staff were that fussy. Their football kit was equally smart, though a bit of an eyeful – completely red, even the socks. And they had smart red fleeces with the school crest to wear while they were warming up. The Manor Hill girls caught a few amused glances at their polo shirts, and felt even more determined – football shirts were a must!

  But despite their perfect turn-out, St Helen’s couldn’t hold out against Manor Hill. The team had been getting better recently – it was as though everyone was actually working towards the same thing, rather than trying to look good and score on their own. At half-time the score was one-nil – Cara and Sarah had set up a brilliant goal between them, and Cara had actually headed it in, looking rather surprised that she managed it. Everyone who was anywhere near had hugged her, even Katie. Admittedly so many people had been trying to hug Cara that Katie hadn’t actually touched her at all, but she still felt very virtuous about it.

  The second half was harder. St Helen’s had obviously been given a serious talking-to by somebody during the break, and they came back on to the field very determined. They still couldn’t seem to score, but they were making a huge effort. Every time one of the Manor Hill forwards did anything it seemed as though a stubborn scarlet person popped up in front of them, and buzzed round them irritatingly like a really determined wasp. Luckily, though, Sarah and Cara had been getting most of the action in the first half, so the defence weren’t paying quite as much attention to Katie.

  Sarah was bright enough to spot this, and next time she passed Katie, she hissed in a not-too-obvious way, “Your turn!”

  Katie nodded, and Sarah and Cara started to do some very fancy “we’re-so-going-for-goals-look-at-us” stuff, which got the wasps practically hyperventilating in their eagerness to shut them down. And left Katie unmarked, and raring to go. There wasn’t much time, though, just ten minutes left, and she was pretty sure that there was only one real chance for this – once she made a clear shot at goal the St Helen’s girls would see that they had three dangerous players to concentrate on, not just two.

  While Katie was worrying about all this, the perfect chance suddenly came up – and it worked! Sarah slipped her the ball, Cara faked a run at it that distracted the defenders and Katie whooshed up the field with it. The St Helen’s goalkeeper was panicked. Nothing had got through the mad-keen defence for a while and she wasn’t ready, now Katie was storming towards her – which way was the ball coming? She didn’t seem to have Megan’s telepathic abilities and dived to the wrong side of the net.

  After that the St Helen’s side went a bit sulky, and spent the last five minutes of the match not really trying. But the Manor Hill girls were jubilant – they were in the final!

  Chapter Seven

  At school on Thursday morning, everyone in the girls’ junior team was wandering about looking like cats that had got the cream. Although, as Becky whispered quietly to Fran as they perched on the chestnut tree in the playground (Becky and Bel had managed to explain their worries about Katie and the whole Dad situation to Megan as well, though they’d carefully not mentioned that it was her dad that had set the whole thing off), Katie seemed to be alternating between cream-stuffed cat and cat that had just fallen in the pond while trying to catch the goldfish…

  At registration, the triplets’ table was positively glowing with pride, and it didn’t go unnoticed. David came up to them to get the details on the match, and Megan and Katie tried to look fairly modest about the whole thing, but didn’t manage all that well. As Megan had pointed out to Max the other day, the boys’ team had lost their league quarter-final match, and now the Manor Hill girls were in the final. It was hard not to gloat a bit, but they tried not to because David was nice.

  “Well done.” He grinned at Megan and Katie. “How did you manage that then, did they have their feet tied together?”

  Katie grinned back. “Ha ha – jealous are we?”

  He made a face. “Yeah, a bit – even if you don’t win, it’ll be really cool to be in the final. You’ll all get those medals.”

  “You’ll probably get in the final next year,” put in Becky generously, smiling at David, which made him blush, and mutter something along the lines of “maybe”. He was still grinning in a tongue-tied way when someone came up behind him.

  “Hey, David! What are you talking to that lot for? Watch it, you might catch something.”

  It was Max, of course, and the triplets and the other girls groaned. Katie beamed at him. “Yeah, why don’t you hang around too, Max? You never know, you might catch our winning streak – you sad loser.”

  Max took a step forward looking furious, and Katie stood up, so they were right in each other’s faces. Max was practically spitting. “I told you before, you play in a stupid girls’ league, and you are nothing – we’re going to slaughter you next week, and the whole school is going to be watching.”

  “Yeah, watching us run circles round you, Maxie.”

  Becky and Annabel had stood up too by now – Katie was in the thick of an argument, and she was enjoying teasing Max, but she hadn’t realized quite how angry he was getting. It really looked as if he would totally lose his temper if the argument carried on much longer, and they were worried.

  David put a hand on Max’s shoulder, and jerked his head at Max’s mate Ben, who’d been watching and smirking a bit. “Leave it, Max. Come on, Miss Fraser’ll be here in a minute, you’ll get in trouble.”

  “Yeah, come on, Max. It’s not worth it, mate,” added Ben, and together they steered him away, still glaring at Katie, who was watching him go with a pitying smile on her face.

  “Katie!” said Becky crossly. “You shouldn’t do that, you know what Max is like! One of these days you’ll make him really mad at you, and then who knows what he might do!”

  Katie sat down and tossed her ponytail irritatingly. “Oh, don’t be a wuss, Becky. He wouldn’t dare do anything.” She looked round at the others, who were all giving her “Yeah, right!” looks, and frowned. “Oh, come on! He’s an idiot, that’s all, he’s not even worth thinking about.” And she smiled sunnily at them, and went back to checking she’d got all her books.

  After the semi-final, the girls’ team had spent the minibus-trip home celebrating, and making plans for the fund-raising match. Katie had happily volunteered Annabel (and her and Becky and all their friends) to make posters and tickets. Annabel was brilliant at art, and so was Fran, so it seemed like the obvious answer – as Katie’d explained to a secretly flattered but pretend-annoyed Annabel that night. Everyone else in the team seemed happy to let them get on with it – it was loads of work! Katie really hadn’t wanted the other major job that had to be done – luckily, Sarah, as captain, had been “volunteered”.

  In assembly on Friday morning Mr Brownfield, the head, had gone through all the usual boring stuff about litter, and the Manor Hill uniform being a badge that people recognized and how this somehow meant you had to behave well in the chip shop, and, as usual, everyone dozed with their eyes just open enough not to get told off. On their first day at Manor Hill the triplets had been really panicked by assembly – there were so many rules at this new school! Now they were much more relaxed.

  Then, suddenly Mr Brownfield got interesting. “Now, I have a special announcement.” He beamed
round at everybody, and most people opened one eye to check whether this was an exciting new litter initiative, or something really interesting, “Could Sarah Barker from Year Eight come up on stage, please?”

  Katie and Megan were bouncing with excitement – the match was official! Mr Brownfield got Sarah to explain what they were raising money for (and she told the whole school it was Katie’s idea to get their new strip!) and then he announced that the match would be next Friday after school, and the teams would get out of last lesson to have time to warm up. It was excellent, and Mr Brownfield plugged the final as well, and said he was sure everyone would agree that such a successful team deserved a proper kit. Katie looked round and saw that the boys’ team were looking green. There was a noticeable lack of admiring announcements about them in assembly at the moment. Katie, nudging Megan to point out the positively evil expression on Max’s face, felt a nervous shiver wriggle down her spine. Obviously she wasn’t scared (of that lot?!) but she had a feeling that the boys were going to be doing whatever it took to win…

  The triplets’ bedroom was very full of people and bits of paper that evening, as Katie had rounded everybody up for a poster-making session. She and Megan were trying to work out exactly what the tickets should say on them before they went and printed them off on the computer, while the other four decorated huge sheets of paper for posters. It was annoying, Annabel pointed out, that because they were organizing the match they couldn’t put what they really felt on the posters, like “Come and watch the fab girls’ team show everyone what a load of two-left-footed eejits those boys are”. Katie pointed out that they did want some boys to come and watch the match as well, though.

  “In fact, as long as they pay for a ticket I don’t care who comes. Does Feathers want to come, Fran?”