by Tony Wilson
Joel handed the ball to the goal umpire. Exhausted, he limped his way towards the pavilion. Coach Gallus met him out on the ground.
‘Forty-nine possessions and a game-saving mark on the siren,’ the coach said, patting Joel on the shoulder. ‘Good boy, Joely. Good game.’
‘Not good, Joel! That’s so naughty!’
Mum had been called to the principal’s office at the primary school. Joel had his head down, staring at his sneakers. The shoes were hand-me-downs from Adam. They were scuffed and worn and had taken the sort of thrashing Joel was taking now.
‘You threw stones!’ Mum said. She spoke through clenched teeth and shook her head in annoyance.
‘Not at anyone,’ the principal said, perhaps fearing that Mum was already angrier than he was. His name was Mr Herman, and he was a smiley and even-tempered headmaster. Like Joel, he barracked for the Cats. He’d throw Joel comments like, ‘Great win last week!’ or ‘D’you reckon we can make the eight?’
For this meeting, though, he wasn’t smiling. ‘Joel, why did you throw the stones over the fence?’ Mr Herman asked. ‘You know they landed on the kindergarten roof? The kids there got frightened. One of them thought a giant was attacking.’
‘A giant?’ Joel echoed. ‘Why would a giant attack the kinder?’
Mr Herman nodded. ‘They’re little kids, Joel. We shouldn’t be throwing stones on their roof.’
‘As if you don’t know that,’ Mum said. She was still giving him her iciest look. It got even icier as Mr Herman continued. ‘The other thing I wanted to talk to you both about is footy cards.’
Joel bit his lip nervously. He had a bit of an idea what this might be about.
‘We’ve had a complaint from one of the prep mums. Have you come across a younger kid called Chris Oliver, Joel?’
Of course he had. But he said, ‘Um … I can’t really remember.’
‘Chris’s mum says that Chris was taken advantage of in a card-swap deal. Is that possible?’ the principal asked.
Joel’s face turned bright red. The stones-on-the-roof thing had been naughty, but this was something he felt really bad about. It hadn’t even been his idea. His friend Frul was the first one to venture down to the preps’ play area. He convinced an eager five-year-old to give up his mint-condition David Schwarz for five common-as-mud checklists. Then all the grade fours swooped. Joel thought little Chris had been happy to receive five cards for his gold-edged Wayne Carey Star Power card. And yes, Joel might have exaggerated when he’d said that Hawthorn onballer Richard Taylor was ‘the most sought-after card in the whole pack’. In truth, Chris’s Wayne Carey card was. And yes, Joel did have the Richard Taylor card eight times over.
Somebody must have told Chris Oliver.
Chris Oliver must have told his mum.
‘Mrs Oliver was really cross,’ Mr Herman said. ‘We’re going to ban trading between big kids and little kids.’
‘Don’t worry. Joel will be giving that card back!’ Mum said. ‘And he’ll apologise.’
‘Muuuum,’ Joel moaned. ‘He traded it to me. We all make bad deals. If we give it back, how will he learn?’
Mum’s eyes narrowed. She spoke very clearly and very slowly. ‘You — don’t — fleece — preps,’ she said.
When they arrived home, they saw a crowd of kids gathered in the front yard, gazing up. Joel followed their eye-line. Mum was squinting through the windscreen.
‘Oh no, Scott’s on the roof again!’ Mum said as she pulled up the handbrake and leapt from the car. Joel was right behind her. He hated heights himself, but even at eight years of age, Scott was a mad climber. Joel had seen him use the rose trellis and the verandah guttering to climb onto the roof.
‘Scooter! Down!’ Mum yelled. The kids in the front yard started to back off towards the footpath when they saw her.
Scott seemed worried about losing his audience. ‘Hey, everyone!’ he yelled. ‘Hula bum!’ He started moving his hips around in big circles. Some of the kids laughed and clapped. Joel couldn’t help but giggle, although he knew any reaction would only spur Scott on. And it did. ‘Nude hula bum!’ Scooter squealed, turning his back and pulling his shorts down to his ankles. The neighbours were going nowhere now. Boys and girls pointed and cheered and laughed. High above, Scott hula-bummed like his life depended on it. His little white backside beamed against the red roof tiles. The kids applauded. Mum did not.
‘Scott Selwood, pull up your pants and sit quietly on that roof while I get the ladder! And this is minus ten points! At least! Your father and I are absolutely sick to death of your climbing. Kids, sorry, but no playing now. My boys are just behaving like … lunatics.’
Less than a minute later, a fire engine raced into the street with sirens blazing. For a moment, Joel thought it was Mum calling for a serious ladder. But the truck roared past number fifteen, heading for the cul-de-sac at the top of the street.
‘Fire!’ Scott called from his vantage point at the top of the house. ‘I can see smoke!’
Joel and the rest of the kids started running up the hill, chasing the truck.
‘Be careful!’ Mum said, but she was moving that way, too.
The truck pulled up outside the Marchingos house. The air was hazy with smoke. The smell filled Joel’s nostrils. Within seconds, two firemen wearing helmets were running a hose through the Marchingos’ side gate and out the back of their property. There was woodland there. It was wild and twiggy and bone dry after a three-year drought. Joel and his brothers often went there to play bushrangers or spies. It was also where Joel had once spotted Adam doing a little ‘studying’ with Laura Arthur, the girl he had seen with him at the milk bar. Joel had noticed it had involved a lot of close talking and laughing, and not many books.
‘Is it going to be okay?’ a girl asked. ‘Can they put it out?’
Joel spun around. It was Laura Arthur! She gave him a worried smile. Her normally white cheeks were flushed bright pink, and there was dirt across her forehead. Laura lived half a suburb away. This was quite weird. Joel began to wonder …
He glanced around the backyard. Sure enough, there was Adam, too. His face was smeared with soot and there wasn’t a trace of a smile. Adam seemed to be just rooted to the spot in silent fear.
From the woodland, they heard the hiss of steam. It was all over in a matter of minutes. The firefighters walked back through the Marchingos’ yard, receiving claps and cheers from all the kids and neighbours.
Adam was still too stunned to move. Joel was about to go over and speak to him, but Mum got there first. She grabbed Adam by the wrist and whispered in his ear. Joel saw tears in Adam’s eyes. He wondered if Adam was in big trouble, but then he saw Mum giving Adam a hug. Mum was blinking away a few tears, too. Troy sidled up to Joel.
‘It was Adam’s fire,’ he said. ‘He and Laura went up there to toast marshmallows and smoochy smoochy.’ Troy made the smoochy-smoochy noise with his lips. ‘Adam thought he put the fire out. Turns out Adam is about as good at putting out fires as he is at smoochy smoochy.’
Joel listened, wide-eyed. ‘Is Adam not good at smoochy smoochy?’
Troy shrugged. ‘How should I know? Ask Laura. I just know he’s not good at putting out fires.’
‘It’s almost like you’re trying to behave badly,’ Mum said. She had her Behaviour Bank scorecard on the kitchen bench. ‘Joel, your balance drops to negative thirty-two. Scooter, you’re way down at negative thirty-five. Adam — given you set fire to half the neighbourhood, you drop to negative forty. And Troy, you scared an old woman at the pool when you took your bathers off and did a nude lap. Negative thirty-three!’
‘How did I know she’d be looking?’ Troy asked.
‘She was swimming laps!’ Dad said. ‘She was wearing goggles.’
Troy frowned. ‘Adam dared me. Why doesn’t he lose points?’
Dad shook his head. ‘Adam has no more points left to lose. None of you have any more points left to lose. We don’t know what’s up with you four,
but the Behaviour Bank isn’t working.’
‘And apparently, the Hanns and the Fitzgeralds are having the same problem,’ Mum continued. ‘It’s like you’re all deliberately being as naughty as possible.’
‘Maybe we don’t like the Behaviour Bank,’ Troy replied. ‘Maybe we’re trying to break the Behaviour Bank. Maybe we liked it how it was before?’
Mum stared at Troy, as though the truth was sinking in. ‘Well, here’s where we’re at now. One more false move, one more score against you, and you’re grounded for a week. As in, totally grounded. Nothing other than school and home. Do you understand?’
All four boys nodded.
‘Okay, let’s see some real improvement, starting with setting the table right now.’
The following day, the boys were kicking the footy on the tennis court. They were playing a game called ‘Lines’ in which each brother stood on a corner of the court. The idea was to kick straight along the lines of the court so the other person didn’t have to move. It was a quiet game by Selwood standards, and it gave them a chance to talk about Mum and Dad’s threat.
‘Did they mean footy, too?’ Joel asked. ‘Mum and Dad wouldn’t stop us from playing footy, would they?’
Adam marked the ball and stabbed it across to Scott. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘I think she meant nothing but school and home and footy.’
Troy agreed. ‘Yeah, it’d be like punishing themselves to keep us from playing footy. They love it as much as we do.’
Scott wasn’t playing for the Sharks yet. He was a boundary umpire, as Joel had been a few years earlier. ‘They can’t stop me playing,’ he said. ‘I don’t play!’
Joel felt reassured by the conversation. Of course his parents wouldn’t ban him from footy training and games. That would be madness! Footy was the one thing that mattered to him — to all of them.
Joel was lost in his thoughts when Adam sneaked a little closer up the line and torpedoed a kick at his head. He ducked just in time and the ball thumped into the wire fence. All three of his brothers were giggling madly. ‘Were you daydreaming, Joel?’ Adam asked. ‘Were you thinking about Georgie Rath?’
Joel picked up the footy and started chasing Adam. Adam ducked and weaved as Joel launched a return missile. The ball made sweet contact with his foot, but he’d got under it, and it flew over Adam, spearing low and hard, spinning upwards.
‘Noooo!’ the boys cried together as the ball flew towards the fence.
‘Stay in!’ yelled Troy.
The ball teased them. It slammed into the top of the paling fence, then kicked up. It bounced once on the top, like a teetering let in tennis, then fell over the other side and out of sight.
‘Nooooooo!’ the boys repeated as wild barking erupted in the next yard.
‘Roxy,’ said Scott, uttering the one word that filled them all with fear.
Mad Mr Norman was their next-door neighbour, and Roxy was his insane terrier. Roxy had a sweet name, but a not-so-sweet personality. She yapped non-stop, only pausing if she sensed that a tasty piece of Selwood flesh might stray into her backyard. Then she growled.
She was growling now.
‘You kicked it, Joel, over you go,’ Troy said.
That was pretty much the rule. Joel knew there wasn’t any point arguing. He had to get in there before Roxy chomped into their precious footy.
‘To your posts!’ Adam commanded. The other three sprinted for the far end of the fence. Even though they wouldn’t be going into the rabid saliva pit next door, they would be part of the distraction team.
While Joel vaulted the fence near the footy, his brothers dangled their arms and threw food and danced jigs — basically anything to draw crazy Roxy away from Joel.
Roxy charged for the twins and Scott. She flung her brown-and-white Jack Russell body into the fence like Michael Voss hitting a pack. She wasn’t fooled for long though. As soon as Joel’s feet hit Mr Norman’s garden bed, Roxy had him in her sights.
‘Arrrrrgh!’ Joel squealed as the killer canine came hurtling towards him. Like a bullfighter, he jumped aside at the last second, and Roxy sailed past at full pace. Joel then charged for the ball with all the speed and skill he could summon. Roxy was back at him, and Joel fended beautifully, with the ball as his shield.
‘Go, Joel!’ his brothers barracked.
‘You can make it!’
As Roxy regathered herself, Joel kicked the ball over and sprang for the fence. Roxy was right behind him. She scampered and growled and leapt for Joel, grabbing his shorts with her teeth.
‘Arrrrrgh!’ Joel cried. ‘Get her off me!’
A deep, male voice boomed across the yard. ‘What are you doing to my dog! Leave her alone, boy! Roxy, come here, my sweet. Did the boy hurt you?’ Mr Norman flicked his long shaggy white hair and clicked his tongue in disapproval.
At the sound of her master’s voice, the dog released Joel’s shorts and trotted over to Mr Norman. ‘If you hurt this dog of mine, I’ll call the police!’ Mr Norman threatened. ‘I’m serious! I want you to leave my Roxy alone!’
Joel scissored his legs up to the top of the fence, where Adam was there to catch him.
‘She attacked Joel!’ Adam said, his voice shaking with the injustice.
‘She did not!’ Mr Norman retorted. ‘She would not!’
‘She did!’ Joel said. His heart was beating out of his chest. ‘Your dog is nuts! She goes for us every time!’
‘Well, stop kicking your ball over the fence,’ Mr Norman said with a glare. ‘This is my place!’ With those words, he picked up his sweet little Roxy and strode inside.
Fifteen minutes later, they were huddled around the telephone in Mum and Dad’s room.
‘Let’s see if he’s hungry,’ Adam said, picking up the receiver.
‘Should we do this?’ asked Joel. ‘Mum said we’re on our last warning.’
‘Oh come on, Joel. After what Mr Bonkers Norman just said to us, I’m not taking that lying down. And how will he know it was us?’
Someone must have answered on the phone. ‘Um, yes, we’d like eight pizzas and a garlic bread please,’ Adam said. ‘Home delivery.’ Adam gave plenty of unnecessary detail. He wanted a Hawaiian with no pineapple. He wanted a capricciosa without anchovies. ‘Yes, delivered right away. Just as soon as you can.’
Adam hung up with a satisfied grin. Joel felt a fraction uneasy, but convinced himself that the prank was justified. Mr Norman had been awful. He could have lost a leg!
It was funny watching the pizza boy arrive, staggering under a huge pile of boxes.
It was funny watching Mr Norman wave his arms wildly, no doubt saying that he hadn’t ordered the pizzas.
It was funny watching the pizza boy pull out a mobile phone and make a call, with Mr Norman yakking away furiously the whole time.
It was less funny when the pizza boy retreated down Mr Norman’s drive, turned right, and walked straight up to the Selwoods’ front door.
The boys could at least drown their sorrows in pizza. Mum, despite her fury, had allowed them to eat the proceeds of their crime.
Of course, they had to pay for the order with their own money. Sixty bucks is a small fortune, Joel thought. Adam agreed to pay twenty-five dollars because it was his idea. Troy fifteen dollars. Joel and Scooter paid ten each.
But that wasn’t the worst of the punishment. They had to apologise to Mr Norman, in person. They had to offer to mow his front lawn and nature strip for two months, without pay. They had to promise that no pizza mischief would ever happen again.
But that still wasn’t the worst of the punishment either.
‘Okay, you were warned,’ Mum said, when they returned from Mr Norman’s. ‘Dad and I said we were going to ground you if you did anything else naughty. Now we make good on that. You’re all grounded for seven days. You’re either at home or you’re at school. And that’s it. Understood?’
Joel could see from Mum’s face that she was super serious. Dad was packing up the pizza box
es. He stopped to look at them.
‘But what about footy?’ Joel asked. ‘We need to go to training. And we’ve got our games on Sunday.’
Mum and Dad looked at each other. Joel realised that they’d been preparing for this moment.
‘No footy,’ Mum said sternly. ‘That’s what your father and I have decided. We’ve threatened, and punished, and huffed and puffed and you’ve just been little terrors, so now we’re speaking a language you’ll hopefully understand.’
Joel’s mouth was wide open. The twins had promised him. They’d said Mum and Dad wouldn’t dare! ‘But … but … the main selector for Vic Country is coming this week!’ Joel was on the verge of tears.
‘He’ll have to watch you another week,’ Dad said softly. ‘And this isn’t even your year, Joel. You’re not Under 12 until next year.’
‘But … but … he still wanted to watch!’
Dad looked away. Mum hadn’t unfolded her arms. They didn’t look like budging.
‘We’re playing the Panthers,’ said Adam. ‘Do you want us to lose top spot?’
‘And I’ll lose my lead on the goal-kicking ladder,’ Troy added. ‘This is crazy, Mum! You can’t ban us from footy! That’s not right! It’s the one thing that matters! You can’t take away footy!’
Mum started walking out of the room. ‘We just have.’
There was no shifting Mum and Dad on the one-week footy ban. Joel tried tears, arguments, more arguments, apologies, bribes, promises. ‘I’ll give up my pocket money for a year,’ he said at breakfast on Thursday. ‘Pleeeeease, Mum, this is so unfair.’
Joel called up Mr Gallus and asked him to talk some sense into his parents.