“It’s not. There are no parts, apart from the part where we get Dad into shape.”
Lauren scowled at me. “And you’re definitely going to the presentation evening now?”
“Uh-huh.”
I’d had a big change of mind about that one, at training the week after Bev’s talk. Megan had pulled me to one side to whisper that she was starting a collection to buy Hannah and Katie a present, and asked if I wanted to contribute. I’d said yes, of course, and she was about to suggest how much when I saw Katie approaching so I had to change the subject fast.
“So … er … what are you wearing to the presentation evening?” Don’t ask me why I asked that. I haven’t a clue.
Megan frowned, giving me the sort of look she usually reserves for Amy – then when she saw Katie looming, she replied, “Jeans and my England shirt. What about you?”
“Er … same, only Foxes shirt.”
There. I’d committed myself in front of my coach and captain. I would have to go now.
“But you hate discos,” Lauren now reminded me.
“I won’t be dancing! I’ll just be mingling.”
“Mingling!”
I sighed. “I don’t want to be like Tracie was, missing out on things because I’m self-conscious.”
“I’m self-conscious,” Lauren said.
“What about? Your dyslexia?”
“No. My nutty best friend!” she whooped, giving me a shove.
I shoved her back and then darted along the path. “Race ya!” I shouted.
“As if,” she shouted back – but I could hear her running.
14
It was Saturday 3 May, three weeks after the Lutton Ash match, and I awoke to the sweet chirruping of birds outside my window. I flung back my curtains, blinking as the sun streamed in. “Hello, pretty birds.” I waved at them. “Hello, pretty cherry tree. Guess what today is? It’s the last match of the season! And after that, the presentation evening and disco.”
I joined them in a little singsong and danced round the bedroom. I caught sight of myself in the wardrobe mirror and giggled, pulling my baggy PJ bottoms up at the same time. They were looser these days.
Downstairs, I filled the kettle, warmed the teapot and prepared my breakfast. Boiled egg with buttered wholemeal toast soldiers. Nutritious and delicious. I’m a poet and I know it!
Once I’d set out my eggcup and put the bread in the toaster, ready, I took the tea up to Dad and Tracie. Tracie was sitting up in bed, looking bemused. “Wow! Thank you, Holly. This is a treat.”
I shrugged. “Don’t worry, it’s a one-off,” I told her, setting the tea on the bedside cabinet. I glanced round. “Where’s Dad?”
“You’ll never guess,” she said.
“Gone to buy a paper?”
“Gone for a jog!”
“No way!”
“It’s true.”
“That’s good,” I said. “That means he’s taking things seriously.”
Tracie grinned. “Thanks to you!”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to us both.” She took a sip of her tea. “And you’re sure you’re OK with me coming to watch you play?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” I said.
Having Tracie come to the match didn’t seem such a big deal now. Who cared if the Mowborough lot fussed round her or if she said annoying things about the game? She was rooting for me and that’s all that mattered.
She had chosen a good match to come and watch. Greenbow United were third in the league, just below the Grove Belles and the Tembridge Vixens. We were still sixth, but there were only three points separating us. A win today could make a big difference to our final positions – as Dad kept telling her.
“That is, if Hannah wises up and puts her strongest side out,” he added, before launching into a long-winded description of what Hannah should and shouldn’t do.
“Is he always like this?” Tracie asked me.
“Yep,” I said. “I recommend earplugs.”
When we reached the pitch it was obvious Greenbow wanted to celebrate the last match of the season in style. There was a Caribbean steel band pounding away and they had quite a crowd. The parents even brought round plastic cups full of home-made lemonade and gigantic chocolate-chip cookies for everybody.
“It’s not always like this,” I explained to Tracie, taking a cookie and putting it in my kit bag for later.
“Pity,” she said, bobbing her head in time to the music.
I left her and Dad standing arm in arm and went to join my team-mates. Hannah was sitting on a camping chair, her leg resting on our heaped bags. “Just go out there and have fun, girls,” was her advice before she read out the starting line-up.
She chose Petra and me for the back, with the twins on the wings, and Nika and Tabinda up front.
“I’m not scared today,” Dylan told me.
“No, they’re not choppy girls, this lot,” I reassured her.
“And Mrs Woolcock’s here for if I fall over, like at school!”
I laughed. “Yeah, she is.”
Do you know what? Bev was totally right about having breakfast before a game. I was on fire! I know that sounds really big-headed, but I was. I was marking up and jockeying and blocking passes left, right and centre. I felt as if I could do anything today. The best bit was when Megan was caught out of position and I cleared a dead cert off the goal line. The Greenbow coach, a cheerful guy with dreadlocks, clapped me. “Bostin’ defendin’, Parrs.”
“Holly, you’re playing another blinder!” Hannah told me at half-time as I scrambled for my water bottle.
“That’s ‘cos I had a boiled egg and toast for breakfast, after what Bev told us.”
“Well, have two eggs when we play the Belles next season. That’s an order!”
Even if I was playing a blinder Hannah still brought me off, putting Amy on in my place instead, so I strode across to stand near Dad and Tracie for a bit.
“Now what’s she done that for?” Dad chuntered.
“What?”
“Put Minto in instead of you. Terrible decision. Terrible.”
“Dad. Shut up.”
But as if to prove his point, Greenbow scored. Their striker, who’d been a threat all through the first half, dodged round Amy easily and side-footed the ball into the right-hand side of the net before Megan could respond. The Greenbow spectators celebrated in style, whooping and throwing ticker tape in the air.
“There you go,” Dad muttered.
“We’ll equalize, don’t worry,” I said with confidence.
And we did. Five minutes later Nika had a shot – but it hit the post. Luckily, Eve was there to gather the rebound and she blasted the ball home.
“Better!” Dad praised. “Much better.”
It was still one-all with about ten minutes to go. Greenbow were getting the better of us, and I could see that Amy was feeling the pressure as the ball ended up more and more in our six-yard box. Megan was bellowing instructions, but Greenbow wanted another goal and were playing flat out to get it.
Katie called me across. “Holly! Get ready to swap in for Amy.”
“About time,” Dad said.
“Dad! Zip it.” I told him as Amy jogged towards me.
The look of relief on her face was so telling. “Finally! I thought she’d never swap me over. I need to check my texts!” she said to me.
“No you don’t, you fibber – you’ve just had enough!”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She grinned.
I homed in on their keen striker immediately, making sure I was wherever she was. It meant I gave away throw-ins when I intercepted passes near the touchline, but at least it slowed Greenbow down and meant we had more balls played forward. Gemma had a couple of shots, but nothing came of them.
Final score: one-all.
Nika was named player of the match, but Hannah singled me out for praise as well. “Sterling defending from Holly. Sterling! And Petra, I
liked the way you—”
Hannah never got a chance to finish. The Greenbow parents and players had formed a conga line and wanted us to join in. At the front was their coach, who grabbed hold of Katie, and Katie grabbed hold of me and I grabbed hold of Dylan and she grabbed Eve and so on until we were weaving all over the place. Poor Hannah was left sitting there, laughing her head off.
“Well, that was great!” Tracie said when we finally managed to escape.
A bit OTT was Dad’s opinion.
“If you think that was mad, wait until tonight,” I told him.
“Tonight?”
“Dur – keep up, Dad. The presentation evening!”
15
You know how time is really strange sometimes? Like some afternoons when you get in from school seem to stretch for ever and ever, because there’s nothing on TV, and you’ve done all your homework, and you don’t feel like reading – and you end up waiting for bedtime because you’re so bored? But other evenings are so fantastic that they just go in a flash? That’s what happened on the presentation evening. It went in a flash. Not even that. A supersonic flash – and that’s like a million times faster than a normal flash.
One second I seemed to have only just arrived and then, before I knew it, everyone was hugging each other and saying: “Goodbye” “See you next season” “Have a great holiday!” To remember that whole, amazing event properly, I have to go on the Parrs website and click the Under 11s page. I scroll down the fixture list and the match reports until I reach the photo gallery. Then all the pictures appear and the night is brought back to life, making my heart thud all over again.
The first shot is of us all in a group when we’d just arrived, arms round each other’s shoulders, smiling at the camera. I’m at one end of the row in my Foxes shirt and Megan’s at the other in her England shirt, and Amy’s in the middle in her denim miniskirt, pink tights, Ugg boots, white spangly top, crimson waistcoat and perfectly straightened hair. We made her take her sunglasses off.
Then there are a few random photos of us in small groups, chatting, laughing, drinking from plastic cups and headbutting balloons.
After that come the more formal ones. Pictures taken as the awards were given out. Bev was our guest of honour, and the first one is of her with all the trophies on a table before they were awarded. There were loads of them. It turned out we were all going to receive a prize. “Typical,” Dad had tutted when Hannah made the announcement. “Everybody wins something whether they deserve it or not.”
“Zip it, misery guts,” Tracie had told him – beating me to it.
He was wrong, actually. If you check out that photo on the website you’ll see that four of the trophies were larger than the rest – while most were palm-sized engraved shields, four were bronze statuettes of a girl in a stiff pose, her back foot positioned as if about to kick the bronze ball glued to her boot. It was obvious that even if everyone did walk away with something, some trophies were a little more special than others.
The next few photos show Bev awarding the smaller shields to Amy, Tabinda, Dylan, Eve, Jenny-Jane, Nika, Petra and Lucy.
After that come the shots of the main awards being presented. What you don’t see is me with my fingers crossed for Megan. What you do see is:
Bev giving the first trophy to Daisy for Most Improved Player, and Daisy, wide-eyed and speechless, almost dropping it.
Bev presenting the second award to Gemma for the Coaches’ Player of the Season, with Gemma’s face obscured by her hair as she tries to hide her embarrassment.
Bev awarding Megan with her trophy. There are two shots of this one. In the first, Megan has a ginormous grin on her face as she leans forward to shake Bev’s hand, and in the second she’s holding the trophy above her head. The caption on the website reads: “Megan Fawcett, Parsnips’ captain, receives the prestigious award for ‘Clubman’ – the one who has contributed most to the club. Quite right too – who could have contributed more than our Meggo?”
And finally, Bev presenting me with the award for the Players’ Player of the Season. Yes, me! Even now I can’t believe it – I still have to keep going to the website, even though I’ve got the trophy on my dressing table at home to prove I won.
In the picture of me receiving the statuette I look exactly like Daisy did when she received hers: wide-eyed and speechless – but maybe a bit more overwhelmed. The caption reads: “Holly Woolcock receiving the trophy for the Players’ Player of the Season. Why she should look so surprised we don’t know. Among the reasons her team-mates gave for nominating her were: ‘She always explains things to me if I’m stuck’ (Nika); ‘We work well together at the back’ (Lucy); ‘She so gets me’ (Amy); ‘Hollybolly saves me from the highly mean girls’ (Dylan); ‘I feel better knowing she’s alongside me in defence’ (Petra); ‘She is super-reliable – plus I wasn’t allowed to vote for Petra!’ (Megan). So well done, Wonder. Awesome!”
“I thought you said defenders never win,” I said to Dad afterwards as I showed him the trophy.
“Well, there’s always the exception that proves the rule.” He sniffed, wiping his eyes with a hanky.
I peered closer. “Dad, are you crying?”
“Men call it hay fever,” Tracie whispered.
Then the website photos become more informal again. Ones with us crowding round Hannah and Katie when we presented them with enormous bouquets of flowers. Ones of us all dancing to “Here Come the Girls”. Ones of us all enjoying ourselves, whatever shape or size we were. Ones of us, the Parrs Under 11s. The best girls’ team on the planet.
Final Whistle
Well, that’s my bit over and done with already. As you can see, we stayed sixth in the league at the end, with 29 points — but I think that’s pretty decent for a first season, don’t you?
Looking back, if I were to pick out my highlight, it wouldn’t be when I won the Players’ Player of the Season award, brilliant though that was. It would be when Megan dragged me out of the toilet (well, not out of the toilet itself, but you know what I mean). If she hadn’t done that, I would have missed Bev’s talk, and Bev’s talk changed my life.
Without it, I’d still be missing meals before matches and training, then ending up starving and stuffing myself silly afterwards.
Most important of all, I wouldn’t be racing Dad and Tracie along Saddlebridge Common every weekend on my new bike. Cycling’s nearly as good as playing football. It gives you such a head rush when you go fast down a slope — though Dad’s still not convinced.
I could go on and on about recipes and body shapes and feeling self-conscious, but if I did I’d use up all Nika’s space and that wouldn’t be fair. She’s going to tell you all about when some of the Parsnips took part in a seven-a-side World Cup competition over the summer. They stayed at a holiday camp and had to share chalets and everything. Cool or what! I would have loved to go with them, but the date clashed with our summer holiday in Italy. Shame.
So I’d better be off. Goodbye, my friends (in Italian that would be arrivederci amici miei).
Until next season (alla prossima stagione).
Except you, Smelly Shell (tranne te, Smellyo Shellyo).
Holly Wonder xxxx
Helena Pielichaty (pronounced Pierre-li-hatty) has written numerous books for children, including Simone’s Letters, which was nominated for the Carnegie Medal, and the popular After School Club series. A long-standing Huddersfield Town supporter, there are few who could write with as much enthusiasm about girls’ football. A local girls’ under 11s team helps with the inspiration and tactical know-how, but Helena has been an avid fan of women’s football for many years. It clearly runs in the family: her aunt was in a women’s team in the 1950s and her daughter has been playing since she was ten (she is now twenty-four!). Helena lives in Nottinghamshire with her husband and has two grown-up children.
The Girls FC series
Do Goalkeepers Wear Tiaras?
Can Ponies Take Penalties?
Are All B
rothers Foul?
Is An Own Goal Bad?
Who Ate All The Pies?
What’s Ukrainian For Football?
So What If I Hog the Ball?
Can’t I Just Kick It?
We’re the Dream Team, Right?
Has Anyone Seen our Striker?
Do Shinpads Come in Pink?
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.
First published 2009 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
Text © 2009 Helena Pielichaty
Cover illustration © 2009 Sonia Leong
The right of Helena Pielichaty to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-4264-2 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
Who Ate All the Pies? Page 5