A wave of excited murmuring ripples through the crowd. Even though no one knows it’s me, yet, I know it won’t take long for them to work it out.
I glance over at Bazzo. His mouth is hanging open in shock, as if someone just told him he’s about to meet the Queen. He looks over at me excitedly and then notices my name tag, spotting the ‘Young’. He actually does a double-take, looking from my name tag to my face and then back at my name tag again.
‘You’re him. He’s you. You’re …’ He pauses for a moment as his brain catches up. ‘… Shane Young’s son!’
I squirm a little in my seat and smile awkwardly.
‘Well, year seven,’ continues Ms Vale, ‘as our very first group through the National School of Football, I wish each one of you 80 students every success – not just on the field but in the classroom, as well. So, take each opportunity to be your best this year and live out our school motto Ad victoriam in vita et doctrina: “To victory in life and learning.” Have a wonderful first day and an amazing first year of high school!’ she says, and she actually pumps her fist.
Everyone claps but I forget to. Thanks, new principal, just throw the grenade and walk away.
NSF Campus
A Moment Later …
‘Wow, you’re really Shane Young’s son?’ says Bazzo, as we exit the auditorium and follow our designated house teacher to homeroom. Luckily they asked the parents to leave first, so I didn’t have to suffer any disappointed glares from Mum. I don’t think she would have been too impressed when she found out how Principal Vale knew about my dad.
‘Yep. So “Bazzo” – is that a nickname or something?’ I ask, trying to change the subject.
‘No, it’s just my last name. I couldn’t fit my full name on the name tag.’
‘What’s your full name?’
‘Roberto Augusto Antonio Bazzo!’ announces Bazzo in a flourish of Italian accent-ness. ‘Most of my friends just call me Rob, though.’
‘So why didn’t you just write “Rob” on the name tag?’
‘Oh yeah. I didn’t think of that.’ He chuckles.
‘Well, I think I’m gonna stick with Bazzo,’ I say. ‘It’s kinda catchy.’
‘Whatever,’ says Bazzo, except he doesn’t say it in a sarcastic teenage way, just in a casual, ‘everything’s good’ way. ‘So why don’t you live in England with your dad?’
Yep, here come the questions.
‘He and my mum … aren’t really together anymore,’ I say.
‘Oh,’ says Bazzo. ‘That’s cool. I mean, not cool, but you know …’ He smiles awkwardly.
‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘I know.’
‘Still, you must get a lot of Arsenal merch sent over for your birthday, right?’
‘Um … yeah,’ I lie. ‘But I actually go for Chelsea so …’
‘Wait, what? No way!’ says Bazzo, so loud it’s a little scary. ‘So do I! Quick, which A-League team do you –’
‘Wanderers,’ I say.
‘Oh. Em. Gee. Me too! This is unbelievable!’
I’d swear he was joking but he seems genuinely shocked. ‘Yeah, it’s weird, huh?’ I say, happy that we’ve stopped talking about my dad.
‘All right, here’s the big one,’ says Bazzo. ‘Favourite player of all time on the count of three. One, two, three …’
‘Messi!’ we both say at the same time.
‘What? That’s crazy!’ says Bazzo, and I laugh. Now I’m impressed as well.
‘Well, I don’t need to look any further, I’ve found my football brother,’ says Bazzo. He raises both hands for a double high five and I slap them happily – although I can’t help but be reminded a little of Garth. We talk about football all through homeroom and just like that I’ve made my first friend.
After two periods of boring homeroom stuff like getting timetables and being told the school rules, we finally get a recess break, which is good because I’m starving after all that listening, and the new-carpet smell of the classroom is starting to give me a headache. At least our house teacher, Mr Farrah, seems cool. He even lets us call him by his first name – Jason, or ‘Jase’ for short. Our house teacher is also our PE teacher, football trainer and general fitness and motivation expert. All of the house teachers have played at elite football levels but they’re all qualified teachers as well, which is probably a good thing, because with 20 kids in each house they have their hands full. Mr Farrah – I mean, Jase – doesn’t seem too fazed, though. After just two hours, he’s learnt all our names and has even started making up nicknames, which he calls out as we exit the classroom. Mine’s pretty obvious.
‘Nick Young, the young gun!’ says Jase with big smile.
I head outside into the sunlight and look for a good spot to eat my apple and fruit and nut bar. As I turn around to see where Bazzo’s gone, I hear a couple of kids talking about you-know-who.
‘Which kid do you think he is? I didn’t even know Shane Young had kids!’ says a blonde-haired surfie-looking girl as she walks right by me.
I look down and realise I still have my name tag on. I rip it off quickly before they see it. Phew! Close call.
That’s when I hear Bazzo’s voice.
‘Him right there! See? Shane Young’s son. His name’s Nick and he doesn’t even go for Arsenal; he’s a Chelsea supporter like me!’
Great. Thanks, Bazzo.
Before I know it, a crowd of kids are gathering around me. The surfie girl, whose name turns out to be Lexi, starts playing 20 questions.
‘So you’re Shane Young’s son?’
I nod.
‘You as good as your dad?’
I shrug.
‘I mean, did you see that goal he scored against Liverpool in the quarters last year? It was better than Beckham. What a freak! Your dad’s so awesome!’
I nod again and bite hard into my apple. So it begins. My Life in the Shadows. It happens whenever anyone who’s interested in football finds out who my dad is. Suddenly everything I do, especially on the football pitch, is compared to something he did. It happened at Green Hill Primary, it happened at the Green Hill Rovers, and now it’s happening here. Suddenly it’s as if I’m here but I’m not here. No one can see me. All they see is Shane Young’s son.
Of course, when they find out that I don’t actually know my dad, they tend to stop asking questions. I decide not to mention that. Being semi-famous is annoying, but losing your semi-famousness because you don’t really know your famous dad is just humiliating.
Anyway, I spend the rest of my first day wandering around the school, looking for my classrooms and dealing with conversations that start with ‘Are you Shane Young’s son?’
Well, at least my first day can’t get any worse, right?
Wrong. When I walk into class for period five, the last lesson of the day, I see the lady with the black bob and cat eyes staring back at me from the front of the classroom. And the first thing she does is hand us a huge list with about a million books on it. At the top in big bold letters and underlined, it says:
Miss Blasco’s Reading Challenge
Instantly I break out into a sweat. I have a little confession to make. I’ve successfully managed to avoid reading a whole book since year three. Shocking, I know, but there it is. See, I was fine up until then because the books were short and had lots of pictures, but when they got longer and the words got bigger … Well, who has time for that? Especially when football is calling. Besides, why read the book when you can just watch the movie? So that’s what I did. Whenever we were assigned a book to read, I watched the movie instead. The Cat in the Hat – movie. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – movie. Charlotte’s Web – boring movie. (It has a pig and a spider in it and they’re friends? Yeah, right!)
I guess I hadn’t really grasped the consequences of my underdeveloped reading skills till now. As a scholarship student I need to achieve a C average in all my subjects, which I thought would be hard enough already. But as Miss Blasco stands in front of the class and proudly ann
ounces what she has planned for us this year, I realise that getting a C average in English will be pretty much impossible.
‘Hello, year seven, and welcome to English. I know that many of you are here at NSF because you have a passion for football and that is … excellent. But I, too, have a passion. A passion for literature.’
What-it-cha?
‘This year, I want to inspire the same passion in you all. That’s why you have the challenge or, really, the privilege, to read at least ten classic works of literature from my list. And the challenge starts today.’
Noooooooooooooo!
Kill me now. My life is over.
On the Train
Week One: Thursday
I’m on the train speeding towards school. I think I’m even more nervous today than I was yesterday and not just because it’s my first time catching a train by myself. Today will be our first full day of classes as well as our first Football Skills and Fitness class. I can’t wait to get out on that pristine, green pitch but at the same time I can’t help wondering just how good all the other kids will be.
The train pulls into a station and I jump out of my seat when a lunatic starts thumping my window with his fist. Then I realise the lunatic is Bazzo. He waves excitedly, then hops on board.
‘Football brother!’ he shouts at me happily. The crowded carriage of school kids and business people all turn to stare at us.
All the way to school, we talk about Premier League results and Messi’s greatest goals. Suddenly we’re pulling into Thornberry station. From there it’s a ten-minute walk to the NSF campus.
When we arrive at school, the main quad is buzzing. Everyone seems excited about our first Football Skills class. I also notice a few senior students wandering around or chatting to each other in little clumps. Jase explained in homeroom yesterday that this year, while most of the students at the school are in year seven, there is also one hand-picked year 11 class starting as well. These students are practically superstars already. Most of them play in the NSW state team and some are Joeys – that’s the name of the Under 17s Socceroos squad. Jase said two of the boys even have A-League contracts! One of the seniors with legs as long as my whole body and actual facial hair notices me staring and gives me a weird look so I quickly turn away.
When the bell goes, all of year seven head down to the sparkling green NSF soccer fields. The school has its own greenkeeper, whose sole job is to look after the six practice fields and the main match-day pitch which has a large grandstand as well as its own kiosk and office. Whatever he’s doing, he should get a pay rise. I’ve never seen grass so green before. He must water it every hour!
As Bazzo and I walk down to the fields, I notice a few kids pointing at me and whispering to themselves. I decide to try to ignore it. Maybe they’ll eventually just forget who my dad is …
‘Guess who?’ says a raspy, high-pitched voice in my ear. Someone has covered my eyes from behind.
‘Principal Vale?’ I ask.
‘Ha! Principal Vale! Classic! No, it’s just me,’ says the voice, relinquishing control of my eyes and leaping out in front of me. I realise it’s that blonde girl from our homeroom I met yesterday.
‘Um … Lexi, right?’ I say.
‘Yeah. Or Lex. Whatever.’ She smiles at me and stares intently for a moment, making me wonder if I’ve grown a second head.
‘You know, my family are crazy Arsenal fans. So am I,’ she says. ‘One day after school you should totally come hang out at my house. My dad would go nuts!’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ I say looking desperately for an escape hatch. I spot one in the form of Bazzo. ‘There’s my friend. Gotta go help him find his … thing.’
Okay, no one’s going to forget that I’m Shane Young’s son.
I run towards Bazzo as quickly as possible. Waiting for us on the fields are the four house teachers.
‘All right, year seven, listen up,’ says Jase. ‘First we’ll be doing some warm-up laps, then we’ll be moving on to your first skills session. We’ll be starting with the skills a lot of you already know: striking the ball, first touch, running with the ball and one-on-one tactics. So that you can learn to sharpen those skills, this term we’ll be having a mixed five-a-side in-school futsal comp. The winning team will get their names engraved on the inaugural Futsal Champions Cup.’
There are a few oohs and aahs from everyone and some excited chattering.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Start running! Three laps!’ says Jase.
After three laps of the massive field my lungs are burning, and even though it’s only 8.45 am, I’m already sweating bullets. Although they’re only meant to be warm-up laps, we’re all trying to outdo each other.
I’m pretty happy to finish third out of 80 kids. The tall kid who comes first seems happy with himself, as well. He keeps pumping his fist and smiling.
‘Great stuff, Kane,’ announces Jase.
Kane’s house teacher high-fives him and he looks even more pleased with himself. ‘Oh yeah!’ he grunts, and pushes back his spiky brown hair.
I noticed that Lexi is pretty competitive, too. She hasn’t stopped cracking jokes or teasing each of the boys as she passes them. Zingers like, ‘Is that all you’ve got? If you were any slower you’d be a tree!’ and ‘You run just like my grandma, only slower.’ I’ve got to give it to her – she’s gutsy.
There’s also this other really tall, serious-looking girl who gives all the boys a run for their money.
‘Well done, Kristy,’ Jase says to her as she sprints in just a few paces behind me. ‘Good to see a goalie with a bit of leg speed!’
Kristy doesn’t even crack a smile. She just gives Jase a little nod.
Wow, she’s intense.
‘All right, let’s get down to some serious stuff,’ says the Cahill house teacher. ‘Today we want to see how well you strike the ball.’
And that’s when the real skills session starts. First the teachers divide the year into two to give us more room: Schwarzer and Farina house on one field and Cahill and Warren house on another. We pair up to practise our short passes, and next we work on our striking with some goal shots at unprotected goals.
Once we’ve all had a go, the Cahill house teacher moves into the goal box.
‘Okay, kids, here’s the real challenge,’ says Jase. ‘Alex here – I mean Mr Cruz – was starting goalie for the Mariners just a few years ago and before that he was second string goalie for Crystal Palace. Anyone who can get it past his gloves will have the personal satisfaction of knowing that they scored against a Premier League goalie!’
A wave of ‘Woah!’s ripples around the four house groups and soon everyone is lining up to take a shot at goal. I hang back a bit to psych myself up. Bazzo does, too. Kid after kid shoots for goal and each time Mr Cruz slaps the ball away. A couple of kids get close but Mr Cruz is too quick, too smart, too good.
Bazzo has a good shot at the top left corner but it deflects off the post. Then it’s Kane’s turn. He still seems cocky after coming first in the laps.
‘I’ve got this. It’s Kruger time,’ he says to himself, but loudly enough for everyone else to hear.
Wow. Did he just turn his last name into a catchphrase?
He strikes the ball well, curling it towards the corner of the goalmouth, but Mr Cruz’s glove knocks it down.
Kane shakes his head. ‘Forget it, you’ve got no chance,’ he says to me as Jase throws me a ball.
I shrug and notice that everyone is watching. They want to see if Shane Young’s son can shoot.
I close my eyes and focus on seeing the goal in my head. I just need to block out everyone else and imagine that I’m at home in the backyard, kicking goals at the washing on the clothes line.
I open my eyes and glance at Mr Cruz. He’s centred and low, ready to spring either way. But if I hit it right, it won’t matter which way he goes. The ball will be unstoppable.
I’m not that far out, so I don’t bother with a big run-in, just a few
steps to get my standing foot close to the ball. I want to make it swerve through the air, so I strike the ball at the centre bottom with my left foot, giving it some force, but not too much. I try to hit it crisply, driving it up through the air.
I look up and watch the ball curve sharply. The dip makes Mr Cruz hesitate so that by the time he gets his hand up, the ball’s already past him and heading to the back of the net.
Goal!
The whole grade cheers. Even the other teachers clap. Mr Cruz applauds after offering a little shrug.
‘Leftie, hey?’ says Jase. ‘You really are Shane Young’s son.’
I give my own shrug but I can’t lie – it feels pretty good.
Then I notice Kane Kruger staring at me intently. There’s a sour look on his face, as if he’s just sucked his way through a bag of lemons.
I may have just made my first high-school enemy.
Thornberry Station
Week Three: Monday
‘Come on, Bazzo, we’re gonna miss it!’ I yell as the train slides into the station.
‘But the chips!’ Bazzo cries.
‘There’s no time, dude!’ I say.
There’s a wild look of desperation in his eyes but it gives way to joy as the lady at the train-station food stand hands him his cup of hot-chip goodness.
‘Woo hoo!’ he cries as we run for the train door and just manage to jump in as the guard blows the whistle. The doors quickly close behind us.
‘That was close,’ Bazzo says as he offers me a chip. ‘Oh no!’
‘What now?’ I ask, taking a handful.
‘She forgot the chicken salt!’ He sighs.
I shrug and we head downstairs to find a seat.
Buying hot chips at the train station has become our little after-school ritual whenever one of us manages to scrape together $2.50. (Usually it’s Bazzo – there’s never much spare change around my place.) It’s amazing how quickly you can form a routine. I can’t believe we’re already into our third week of school. The first two weeks have gone by quickly, but it also feels as though we’ve been doing this for ages.
Football High: Young Gun Page 2