by Pete Kalu
‘Marky! Wait!’
It was Horse. Horse’s huge legs staggered as he ran, like they were going to buckle. Marcus stopped. Horse leaned on him while he got his breath back. His panting slowly became deep breaths.
‘Where. Are. You … Going?’
‘Out of here.’
‘What’s up?’
Marcus shook his head. He knew he’d cry if he tried to talk.
‘C’mon, bro.’
Marcus shook his head again.
‘Hey, it’s me, Horse. I got your back.’ Horse’s face was so close into his own their eyebrows almost rubbed.
Marcus pulled away. He fought back tears. Anyway, what could Horse do? Diddly squat. He started walking again.
‘Don’t do it, Marky, don’t!’ Horse flung himself at him, stuck his head into Marcus’s chest, clamped his arms around him and squeezed Marcus, tugging him left, then right.
Ordinarily, if anybody attacked Marcus like that, Marcus would have fought him off, even Horse. It wasn’t physical strength Marcus lacked, it was energy. He let Horse wrestle him to the ground.
‘See?’ Horse grunted, when they both tumbled down. Horse sat right on top of him and pinned Marcus’s arms to the tarmac. ‘I got the strength of three men,’ Horse said, ‘Don’t mess with me. Don’t get me mad. Ha! I’m like the Incredible Hulk! I’m gonna rip off my shirt next!’
That was ridiculous, Marcus thought, so ridiculous it was funny.
‘You’re smiling now, Marky, you smiled,’ Horse said. ‘C’mon. Nothing’s ever that bad. What’s got you messed up, bro’?’
Marcus sat up and told Horse what had happened. ‘It’s sick,’ Marcus said, ‘they’re messing with my head. I can’t take it. Why?’
‘I seen Miss Podborsky pick on you. It’s like you’re the cleverest black kid in the class, hell you are the cleverest kid in the class. And she don’t like it. She’s a racist, bro.’
‘But why?’
‘There’s no why to racism. It just is. But you know, we all on your side. You’re representin’ us, know what I’m saying? And we got you.’ Horse scratched his head and eased his legs. ‘We can fight back.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m on the School Council. I can raise it there.’
‘C’mon. That’s litter-picking and recycling.’
Horse jumped up. ‘I know! A petition! We’ll get a piece of paper with everyone’s name on it saying we object. That’ll do it. The whole team. If everyone signs, they’ll have to give in. Else it will be like the French Revolution. Off with their heads! We can say we won’t play unless they put you back on the team. A strike!’
Horse’s enthusiasm was infectious. ‘You think they’ll listen?’ Marcus asked. ‘Ropey Face and Ozone?’
‘It’s worth a try. Come on,’ Horse said, standing up. ‘We’ll find the others, get them to sign up. If we rush back, we’ll hardly be late. It’s art. Miss Siddique always forgets to take the register. No one will hardly have noticed.’
They sneaked into art and their luck was in, the register was still sitting on Miss Siddique’s desk. Somehow news of Marcus’s suspension from the team had already got around. At playtime, most of the team said they’d sign the petition. Only Leonard refused, saying it was Marcus’s own fault he’d got suspended.
The last lesson of the day was PE. As they got changed for basketball, Horse went round to get the last few names on the petition. Mr Davies came out of his office and walked up to Marcus.
‘That’s enough, Marcus,’ he said, loud enough so everyone heard. ‘I know this hurts. Half an hour ago I was in Mr Wrexham’s office and told him not to do this, especially its timing, I begged him, but he refused to budge.’
The whole team had gathered and was listening. The atmosphere in the changing room was rebellious, torch paper waiting for a match.
‘So your petition’s not going to work,’ continued Mr Davies. He turned round and talked to everyone. ‘Horse, you’ll make a great trade unionist one day, but you have to pick your fights. A petition’s not going to work. But we can still win the game. We can. And you’d want us to win it, wouldn’t you, Marcus? After all the work we’ve all put in: All the training in the freezing cold, David training on his birthday, Ahmed missing a funeral, Sanjay breaking his nose and playing on? You’d want us to win after all that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course,’ said Marcus awkwardly.
‘So let’s get a grip,’ Mr Davies rallied. ‘Tell your parents there’s a special practice session tomorrow. I’ve worked out some new tactics. Leonard, are you here?’
‘Yes,’ Mr Davies.
Leonard came forward. His pleasing smile firmly in place.
‘Right,’ said Mr Davies. ‘We’re going to slot Leonard into Marcus’s place in midfield, see how it works.’
‘The traitor,’ Marcus thought, ‘the only one who hadn’t signed the petition.’
‘Marcus, we need you there tomorrow even though you’re not playing. Be another set of eyes for me. Are we all good?’
There were vague murmurs of yes.
‘Listen, we can still win this league. Come on,’ Mr Davies called out. ‘Are we up for it? Yes?’
‘Yes!’ went someone meekly.
‘Are we up for it?’ the coach fired, he sounded wounded now, like he wished he hadn’t started this cheering thing.
Leonard jumped up on a bench. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ The noise grew as one by one the team joined in with him. Leonard’s smooth face and smart air-punching roused them like a top politician at a rally. By the time he was done, he had Horse and everyone cheering to the rafters. As the din swelled to its loudest, Leonard turned and looked down at Marcus. In the middle of his face was a wide smirk. Then he laughed in Marcus’s face. Marcus showed him one slow middle finger. Leonard turned his back on him and whipped the frenzy up even higher. They all piled out of the changing rooms in high spirits, slapping each other’s backs. All except Marcus.
Marcus dawdled. On the floor, he spotted his torn, muddy, discarded petition. He picked it up, crushed it into a sodden mass then flung it down again. He texted Adele.
LATE NIGHT PENALTIES
The school bell went for home time. Everyone swarmed past Marcus, chasing for the buses, running for friends, waving to parents in cars. Marcus started for home, alone. A heavy rain began falling but he avoided the bus stop. He liked the rain. It took him thirty minutes to get to his house and he was drenched when he got to the door. His bag was soaked, his shoes squelched, his clothes stuck to him. His mum tried to give him a hug but he shrugged her off.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
He ignored her and she went back to practicing her magic circle card tricks. His dad was in his headphones, miming music with his lips like a goldfish. Only Leah seemed to care. She gave Marcus an extra big smile when he picked her up and she cooperated for once when he fed her.
After tea, he sloped off to the bus stop by the primary school playground. Adele sent him a text saying she wanted to meet up. He gave her the street name of the school. His spirits lifted. The sky thundered as he walked along, but it didn’t rain. He juggled his ATC up to the bus stop. As luck would have it, Leonard was there, with Horse and Jamil. Leonard was stood up, doing most of the talking. The sound of Leonard’s voice had Marcus grinding his teeth. He sat down on a spare seat. Horse came and stood by Marcus, Horse’s back leaning against the glass of the bus shelter.
‘The thing is,’ Leonard was saying, ‘it’s a matter of tactics. Most of these matches are close …’
Marcus listened sceptically, missing words here and there, but not caring. Getting the nod from Mr Davies had filled Leonard’s lungs and swelled his head, Marcus thought.
‘… and it’s often a penalty that decides the game,’ Leonard continued, ‘so that’s what we need to practice. Penalties.’
‘Unless we get played off the park,’ Jamil said.
‘Mr Davies already told me we can beat them. And we ca
n, with the right tactics. Isn’t that right, Marcus?’ asked Leonard.
‘What do I know, Lenny?’ Marcus replied. ‘You seem to have got it all worked out anyway.’
Why was Leonard suddenly the team leader? Marcus thought. He was only a sub. That meant there were at least eleven players better than him. What did the others see in him, listening to him like this?
‘There is a way, Bowker are not unbeatable,’ Leonard resumed. ‘So let us say, for the sake of argument, it comes down to who sticks the ball in the net from twelve yards when the whistle for full time blows. Now I’ve done some research and …’
Leonard was a smooth talker. By the time he had finished speaking, everyone had agreed to practice penalties.
‘Marcus, since you won’t be playing, you can be referee,’ Leonard said, holding out a whistle.
Marcus shook his head in disbelief, yet took the whistle off him. They climbed over the primary school railings and scrambled through the thick bushes into the field. The goalposts in the primary school field were not full scale ones, but Leonard said it didn’t matter, the technique was the same.
Each of them took turns to be goalkeeper. By the end of four rounds, everyone had missed a penalty except Leonard. By round ten, Leonard was three strikes ahead of his nearest rival, Jamil. Everyone was impressed, even Marcus, though he made sure he didn’t show it.
‘You want to know how it’s done?’ Leonard, called out. There was no answer. ‘Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway!’ That made them laugh. They were eating out of Leonard’s hand, Marcus thought, Leonard was now Prime Minister, Top Comedian and Star Football Manager all rolled into one.
‘It’s in the eyes,’ Leonard said. ‘You look one way, shoot the other. The goalkeeper always goes the wrong way.’ He showed them how he did it. ‘When … wait a minute,’ Leonard said, turning suddenly and looking into the gathering dark. ‘You see someone there?’ he said, ‘by the bushes?’
Everyone turned, startled.
‘Hey!’ Leonard called out.
Nothing moved. Everything looked normal.
‘Right there!’ Leonard insisted, pointing into the gloom. It looked like two bin bags in the bushes at the railings by the gate.
Everyone stared. Suddenly the bags moved. A shadow stood forward of the outline of bushes.
Marcus recognised the silhouette instantly. Adele. He waved her over.
‘Is she who I think she is?’ Leonard called to Marcus, as Adele neared them.
There were giggles from Jamil and Horse.
‘Depends who you think she is,’ replied Marcus. Adele was standing next to him now.
‘The Bowker Vale captain’s sister?’
‘My name’s Adele.’
More giggles from Horse and Jamil.
‘She’s a spy,’ said Leonard.
‘She isn’t,’ Marcus snapped.
‘I’m not. I was just trying to surprise him,’ said Adele.
Leonard ignored her. ‘Then what was she doing there?’ he said to Marcus. ‘Why was she watching us from the bushes? If that’s not spying, what is? Is she your girlfriend?’ he pressed.
Everyone was waiting. Marcus felt daft trying to explain. So he simply said, ‘Yes.’
Jamil whooped, Horse slapped his thighs.
Leonard snorted. ‘That’s nice, I’m happy for you both. But she can’t watch.’
‘Why? I don’t see the harm.’ It was Horse.
‘Let me explain,’ said Leonard, placing his hands together like the Head at assembly. ‘We’re talking tactics. Tactics are most effective if they are unknown to the opposition. And she’s got a hotline to the opposing team’s captain. Sisters and brothers tell each other everything.’
‘She might not,’ said Horse.
‘True, might not. But this is going to be the biggest match we’ve ever played, maybe the biggest in the history of the school. We can’t take that risk. Right?’ Leonard looked round to the others for support. They all nodded. ‘Understand now, Horse?’ Leonard asked, all nicey-nicey.
Horse looked across at Marcus and then shuffled the ball at his feet. Marcus felt sorry for him. He could see his dilemma, to side with Leonard and the rest of the team, or with him.
The weather decided for them all. Thunder smashed across the sky and rain fell in huge dollops. They ran for the cover of the bus stop shelter. By the time the rain eased, everyone was chatting about all kinds of stuff and Marcus slipped away with Adele.
SPY TRIAL
‘Are you a spy?’ Marcus asked. They were walking along the primary school road, side by side. Their hands had brushed a couple of times, but they’d not actually held hands.
‘Yes, I am,’ Adele said, spinning round to look him right in the face. ‘I’ve got a spy hat and secret writing ink under the stairs.’
Marcus tried again. ‘Did Anthony or your dad ask you to come here?’
‘Okay, stupid. What would I report? “Six lads running around in the rain.” That’s hardly gonna get me a spy medal is it?’
It was like wrestling with an eel, Marcus thought. Not that he had actually wrestled any eels. ‘Why did you come then?’
Adele looked at him. She was about to say one thing, he could see it in the dance of her eyes. But she said something else.
‘Dad wanted me out of the house. They’re both talking about you non-stop. You are “A-Phenomenon”, I don’t get it. They see the Lady Gaga of football, I see some sweaty boy with a … ball at his feet. Anyway I’ve got good news for you.’
‘What’s that?’ said Marcus, sceptical.
Her hand was resting in his now as they walked. He didn’t know how that had happened.
‘The Bowker Vale coach has got cancer and can’t do the team anymore. My dad thinks he can step in. And if my dad steps in, it will be all about Anthony.’
‘So you’re a spy, but you’re a spy for us?’ Marcus said, swinging her hand a little.
‘Or maybe I’m a double agent?’ Adele said. ‘Pretending to spy for you but really spying for them? Or pretending to spy for them, but really spying for you? Or a triple agent. Pretending to you that I’m pretending to spy for them and actually spying for you, but really I’m spying for them?’
Marcus tried to work it out. She had him all twisted up.
‘And if I’m a spy,’ she smiled, ‘that makes you James Bond, don’t it?’ She nudged him in the ribs.
Marcus liked that. He saw himself as more Will Smith than James Bond, but nevertheless.
‘Isn’t there a film called The Spy Who Loved Me?’ she asked.
Now he knew she was teasing him. He flicked water off a wet tree leaf at her, then chased her.
THE PROPERTIES OF
MATTER AND
ANTI-MATTER
It was the final practice session before the match that would decide who won the schools league. Mr Davies was in the middle of the pitch. His brow was furrowed, his head down. ‘Alright, let’s concentrate. Where’s the bibs, Leonard? Two teams. Red team. Green team. Red team is …’ The coach called out six names. ‘Blue team is …’ He called out another six names.
‘Which one am I?’ asked Marcus. He hadn’t heard his name.
‘Red. Over here. Marcus, are you looking at me?’
Marcus nodded.
‘You’ve got a special job today. You’re the canary.’
‘What?’
‘Listen,’ the coach said, putting an arm around him. ‘In the old days, they sent a canary down coal mines in a cage, to test for gas. If it came back up dead, the miners knew not to go there.’
‘So I’m going to end up dead?’
‘Don’t be soft.’
‘What then?’
‘You’re going to be Anthony Vialli. And our midfield’s going to practice tackling you. It will be rough, but, if you pick up a little knock here in practice it won’t matter because you’re not playing.’
‘I’m expendable?’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah, for today.
Now listen you’re Anthony, their key player, the ugly one with the bent nose, you know him, right?’
Marcus nodded, smiling. Somehow Mr Davies could always get under his skin, even when he was trying hard to sulk.
‘Leonard, Horse and the green bib rabble, are us, Ducie. So Bowker’s Anthony gets the ball. How do we stop him playing? Horse and Leonard are going to be looking to get the tackle in. Understand so far, heard everything?’
Marcus nodded.
‘Right. What would you do if you was Anthony and you’ve got Horse and Leonard on tow, middle of the pitch?’
‘I’m dropping deeper, get away from them and get the ball,’ Marcus replied.
‘Fine, takes the canary out of the danger zone. Next question. Horse or Leonard. Who’s going to give you more grief?’
‘Horse is twice the size. Leonard’s faster on his feet. I can lose Horse, not Leonard. But Leonard can’t hurt me.’
‘Okay, thanks Marcus, let’s see how it goes.’ Mr Davies blew his whistle and gathered everyone around to explain the exercise. The pitch was going to be narrowed, the goalposts were cones. And it was midfield versus midfield.
‘We’re coming for you!’ warned Horse. He linked arms conspiratorially with Leonard.
‘Got to catch me first,’ replied Marcus. Horse wouldn’t get anywhere near him, he was sure.
Everyone took their places. The coach blew. The reds played the ball from the back and made the pass to Marcus. Horse steamed in. Marcus vaulted over Horse’s first scything tackle. Leonard followed in, both feet flying, and caught Marcus’s thigh with studs. Marcus fell to the turf.
For a moment, Leonard stood above him, grinning. Then he stepped away to high-five with Horse.
A thin line of blood oozed out of Marcus’s thigh. It was just a scrape.
‘Again!’ the coach called.
The ball came to Marcus again. He dropped a shoulder, sending Horse the wrong way. Leonard came steaming in. Marcus trapped the ball between his heels and hoiked it into the air, carrying the ball and himself over Leonard’s high tackle. He dropped down and flighted the ball perfectly to Jamil, who smashed it between the green’s cones.