They were also huge. Massive. Either tall and lanky or tall and stocky. Under 11s? No way! If I’d been speaking to Jenny-Jane, I’d have said something like, “If that’s their Under 11s team, what’s their Under 12s like? Shrek?” If I’d been speaking to her. Which I wasn’t, so I didn’t.
The stern-faced referee we’d had for the Vixens game had a brief word with Hannah, then went to stand on the touchline opposite. She must be their coach, I realized. She didn’t look half as friendly as the Vixens one. And not a hundredth as friendly as Hannah and Katie.
Our referee this time was one of the tracksuited blokes from the podium. He blew the whistle and we were off. “Come on, Parsnips! You can do this!” the parents on our side cheered.
The Belles won the toss and kicked off. They had the ball in our box – and their first goal – within four passes. That fast – one-two-three-four and in! Ouch! They caught us napping – especially Megan. Any other day she would have saved the shot, as it didn’t have that much power behind it, but it bounced out of her arms and over her shoulder.
“That’s your fault,” JJ hissed, as the Belles celebrated.
“Mine?” I said, giving her a look.
“She’s totally off her game because of you. She can’t concentrate at all.”
No way was she getting away with that. No way did I have to creep round Jenny-Jane Bayliss today. “Huh! For your information, it’s your fault we’re not speaking, not mine.”
Jenny-Jane sniffed. “What? ’Cos of the sleepover thing? Pathetic!”
“It might be pathetic to you.”
“I thought Hannah was supposed to be having a word? To sort all that out?”
I frowned, not realizing at first what she meant.
“She said she’d phone you,” Jenny-Jane prompted.
“She did phone. How did you know?”
“It was me who told her to. Fat lot of good it’s done.”
I didn’t reply, partly because the Belles had scored again and partly to let what Jenny-Jane had said sink in.
“And as for that whole sleepover thing, I told Megan she was being daft, saying you couldn’t be there.”
I didn’t see that one coming! “Did you?”
“Course. Just ’cos you and me don’t see eye to eye doesn’t mean we’d show it at her house, does it? Or on the pitch.”
I gawped at Jenny-Jane in disbelief. “That’s what I told Megan!”
Jenny-Jane shrugged. “I didn’t even want to stay at her house; I knew our Bi– … I knew the reason I didn’t want to be at home would be out.”
“Your brothers?” I said. I kept my voice down so no one could overhear.
She looked at me, as if sussing out how much I knew, then nodded. “Yeah. I knew those two wallies would be in the pub all night celebratin’ so they wouldn’t be around to get at me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. It was inconvenient staying at Megan’s, to be honest. I was meant to be babysitting.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t tell her that, though.”
“I won’t.”
“And I didn’t sleep a wink. I like my own bed, me.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t tell her that, neither.”
“I won’t.” I blinked, reeling from all this information. It was just so different to what I’d thought had happened.
“And all she did all night was talk about you and what a special friend you are and how upset she was because you’d fallen out and she didn’t know what to do. Talk about pass the sick bucket! Like I said to her, what’s the big deal? I fall out with my mates all the time.”
I frowned. “Well, we don’t! It’s new to us.”
“Huh! I worked that one out. Weirdos! You both want to get a life!”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I just didn’t know what to say – but as Jenny-Jane was still lecturing me it didn’t matter.
“You could at least help with her nerves. I’ve been trying all morning, but nothing works. We’re getting hammered out there and we don’t need to be.”
As if to prove her point, the Belles scored again. “They are the best team around,” I pointed out.
“They’re not all that!” Jenny-Jane said with contempt. “We’re giving them too much respect. They just need rattlin’, that’s all.”
We were distracted by more cheers from the crowd opposite. The Belles had scored again. What was that – four or five? To rub it in, the Grove players didn’t even celebrate. They had bored expressions on their faces, as if they couldn’t be bothered.
Megan picked the ball out of the back of the net. She looked as dejected as the whole of Southfields Athletic put together. “If you were any sort of mate you’d do something, Wardy. And quick,” Jenny-Jane told me. “Even Hannah can’t sort this one.” She walked away, leaving me with my head spinning.
19
At half-time Hannah gave everyone a hug. “Come on, girls, heads up, now. We’ve done well to get this far.”
No one agreed. It wasn’t because we were losing – we’d expected that – it was because we knew we could do so much better, like Jenny-Jane had said. For the first time I realized how Megan and me falling out had affected the whole team. Gemma might be the best player, but Megan was the leader, the one who yelled encouragement and fired everyone up. She hadn’t done that today because she’d been upset. I admit I felt a tiny, tiny bit chuffed then – it took something huge to distract Megan from her football, and for her, like for me, falling out was huge. But we hadn’t fallen out any more. She just didn’t know it yet.
Hannah checked her notebook. “OK, let’s have Nika off for JJ and Tabs off for Amy. Er…” She looked at Megan. “Meggo, do you want a break?”
Megan scowled and her eyes filled with tears. “No!”
“You sure?”
“Definitely!”
I was amazed Hannah had even asked such a dumb question. This was Megan Phoebe Fawcett she was talking to! In it to the bitter end.
Hannah gave her another lingering look, then checked her notes. “OK. Petra on for…”
You know I said the butterflies in my stomach weren’t going crazy or anything? Cut that. They’d woken up big-time and decided to throw a party. Even the heavy-pastry feeling would have been preferable to the whirlpool my tummy had become. I took a deep breath. “Please may I go in defence?” I asked, in case she put me in Eve’s position again.
Hannah looked at me searchingly. “You sure?”
“Definitely.”
“OK, then, you swap with … Holly.”
I nodded and gave Holly a high five.
“Good luck. They’re so fast,” Holly told me.
I followed Megan onto the pitch as we took up our positions for the second half. I knew she was nervous and upset. I couldn’t do much about the nerves, but I could stop her from being upset, like Jenny-Jane had for me. I had to let her know I wanted to be friends again, and I did it in the only way I knew how. “Lor, Miss Fawcett, you’ll forgive me for saying so, but I can’t ’elp but notice your on-field performance has been lackin’ a bit,” I told her in my best Dickens.
Megan turned, giving me a fierce scowl. “Don’t you…” she began – then stopped because she could see that I was smiling. Her eyes shone and her shoulders sagged with relief. “Well, Miss Ward, that may well be true. I fear I have been rather distracted of late,” she said with a dramatic sniff.
As for me, I just wanted to cry, but that would have done no good at all. Instead I returned to my normal voice and let her have it. “Distracted? What kind of lame excuse is that, you big wimp? Ha! Watch and learn, Fawcett,” I said. “I’m going to get Man of the Match after this half … or whatever you get on a girls’ team.”
She snorted and tapped her red bandana for luck. It was the first time I’d seen her do that all tournament. It meant she was back! “In your dreams, Wardy.”
“In your sweaty armpits, Fawcett.”
“In your g
reasy earwax.”
“In your crusty bogies.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“High five?”
“High ten!”
As we smacked hands, we heard a round of applause from the touchline. Turning, we saw Hannah and Katie clapping us. How embarrassing!
“What’s that about?” Megan asked.
“Don’t ask me,” I told her.
20
The Belles thought they had us licked. They walked back on with such a casual air about them. Big mistake. We’d been told to be awesome, so we were. As soon as the whistle blew, Gemma and JJ blazed in the middle, fighting for every ball. I could see what Jenny-Jane had meant about rattling them. She was like a wasp now, not in a jar this time but in a pair of baggy knickers! The Belles tried to swat her away – and only made her more irritated when they did. The trouble was, once she had the ball she wouldn’t let it go to anyone else, on either side. She’d run with it for a bit, then have a wild shot from anywhere, but too often it went out for a goal kick or a throw-in. Still, the Belles didn’t like the change of pace. They were shouting more to each other and their coach was bellowing instructions from the touchline. “Who’s on number 8?” and “That’s yours, Becky!” and “One of you!”
For my part, I was sticking with their number 23, a short-haired girl with a long nose. She used her long nose to look down at me, reminding me instantly of a horse. That was a pity. For her.
Then the ball was with the Belles again and coming this way. I thought my heart would stop! Their centre crossed to the left wing and found their number 7. I sensed Horseface was about to make a run from our wing into the box, but I kept with her, darting in front with my back to her, and we ended up doing this sort of weird dance together near the dead-ball line. She muttered something under her breath, then I felt her shove me hard in the back. The whistle blew and I thought it was because of that – but it wasn’t.
The referee was running to the other side, where the Belles’ number 7 was rolling about on the ground, clutching her ankle. Above her, Jenny-Jane was shrugging Lucy away as she tried to restrain her and yelling at the Grove player to get up. “You’re not on telly, you know, you dirty diving diva…” and then she let out a string of swear words I can’t repeat or I’d be grounded for life.
The referee blew for a direct free kick to them – and as soon as he did, the number 7 was on her feet and running to take it.
Unfortunately that annoyed Jenny-Jane even more. “That’s how you win all the time, is it? By cheating? Falling over fresh air?” she called out, chasing after her.
“Referee! That’s harassment!” their coach called out from the side.
The referee nodded and called Jenny-Jane over to have a word.
“Uh-oh,” said Megan.
“What?”
“She’s not very good with authority figures.”
I could tell. Jenny-Jane was arguing away and in the end the referee called for Hannah to take her off, though he did allow Holly to replace her.
“Good rattling,” I told Jenny-Jane as she stormed past.
She looked at me and grinned.
21
We’d never done a free kick before in a match and had only practised them a couple of times. There were four of us in the wall: me, Holly, Gemma and Lucy. Behind us, Megan called out instructions. “Left a bit – I can’t see,” she shouted. “No, not that much!”
We shuffled along until Megan was happy and the ref was happy and the number 7 was happy. “Bend it like Becky, Becky!” the Belles coach called out, and everyone in the Belles crowd laughed.
“Hold steady!” Hannah called to us.
I was shaking. My heart was pumping. The butterflies in my stomach were doing the samba, and for the first time, as I waited for this girl I’d never met in my life to try to score against my team – my team with me in it – I got it. I really, really got it. What playing football was all about. Ten out of ten.
Becky placed the ball and stepped back five, six, seven paces. There was a hush as she ran and kicked. Whack! I twisted round as the ball flew past us and watched as Megan leapt majestically and palmed it away for a corner. Yes! We ran to mob her, celebrating as if we’d won the tournament. “Brilliant!” “Great save!” “Go Meggo!”
“Gerroff me!” Megan protested – but I could see she was chuffed.
The Belles had already lined up to take the corner. Again, I marked up Horseface and prevented her from getting anything out of it. Lucy saved the day this time, by heading the cross out of danger and onto the unmarked Gemma.
For once, the Belles were caught off guard. Everyone had been crowding round our goal, so there was no one in midfield to stop Gemma and no one back in defence apart from the goalie. It was one on one. “Go on, Gemma! Go on!” we all screamed. Their goalie came off her line and dived dramatically at Gemma’s feet, but Gemma checked herself in time, sidestepped the goalie and tapped the ball into the net, calm as you like. We had scored! We had scored against the Belles!
And the crowd went wild! Even the lady in the sun-dress was jumping up and down. I thought my lungs would explode, I whooped so much.
The ref had to blow his whistle about six times before we were brought to order. Mintiness overload!
I’d like to say we made a dramatic comeback after that, but come on – keep it real. The Belles made two substitutions, turned it up a notch and scored twice more before the end of the match. We’d lost seven–one – but it didn’t matter. We walked off with our heads held high. Megan and me had our arms round each other’s shoulders like we always do and then I called Jenny-Jane across to join us. The three amigos!
22
Katie and Hannah called us together for a post-match hug and made us all big-headed by telling us how fantastic we’d been. “That was brilliant! True teamwork,” Hannah beamed before going through our good points individually. “… and as for Petra … what ace man-marking! You’ll be fantastic at jockeying when we look at that.”
“Jockeying? No thanks! I don’t want anything to do with horses!” I laughed – then my mouth flew open. “Horses! Hang on, guys! Back in a tick!” I untangled myself and dashed to my bag and found my mobile.
There was a text from Charlotte. About time! Her team had come sixth out of thirty-two; that’s pretty impressive. She had told me they’d be ecstatic to reach the top ten. DIDN’T SLIP OFF BB ONCE! RESULT!! she put.
I sent her a quick text back congratulating her and telling her about our team. I had just pressed SEND when I felt a tug on my elbow. I turned to see Daisy McNeil, in full kit, staring at me. Behind her were the rest of her family – Dylan, her mum and dad, and her twin brothers, Declan and Darwin.
“Hello, Petrasaurus,” Daisy said, “have we missed anything?”
“No, Daisy,” I told her, trying not to laugh. “Not a single thing!”
Final Whistle
I expect you can guess who won the tournament. The Grove Belles, of course. They beat the Tembridge Vixens five—two in a riveting final. It was interesting to see two top teams playing each other. It made me realize what a high standard girls’ football could achieve. “Do you think that’ll be us one day?” I asked Megan as we clapped both teams off the pitch.
“I don’t know,” Megan replied, linking her arm through mine. “I don’t care, either. It’s not winning tournaments that matters, is it? It’s playing together, as a team, with your friends all on the same side as you.”
“Aw! You sloppy thing.”
We walked across to join Jenny-Jane at the podium. She had refused to watch the final. “Who wants to see that bunch of bigheads show off again?” she’d said.
We were all happy enough to receive our participants’ medals, though. I wore mine for days afterwards!
Lucy Skidmore is going to tell you what happened next, so until next time, dear friend (as Dickens might say), I wish you good health and minty merriment, whatever your sport.
Your
s truly,
Petra Ward
The Girls FC series
Do Goalkeepers Wear Tiaras?
Can Ponies Take Penalties?
Are All Brothers 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?
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.
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
Can Ponies Take Penalties? Page 5