If she hadn’t called me “Ginge”, I wouldn’t have been so blunt in my reply. “Yes, there is a problem.”
“Which is?”
“You lot suck.”
“So? You knew that before we even started.”
“I didn’t think you’d be this bad. You could at least try.”
Crystal let out a squeal. “What are you talking about? We’ve been busting a gut…”
“I wouldn’t say ‘busting’, exactly.”
Crystal folded her arms across her chest and began tapping her foot. “No? What would you say, then? Exactly?”
“I have no words to describe it.”
“Well, that makes a change.”
“Meaning?”
“You never shut up,” Crystal said.
I gasped. “Me? Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“Am I laughing?”
“Watch who you’re talking to,” JJ interrupted.
“Back off, sidekick,” Crystal snarled without removing her eyes from mine.
Ebony stepped forward then. “Yeah, back off, sidekick.”
“That’s enough, ladies,” Sian said, making a frantic T-sign with her hands, but everyone ignored her. JJ began arguing with Ebony and Ebony gave back just as good as she got, while Crystal and me eyeballed each other. Petra kept trying to pull me away and the rest of the girls were staring, open-mouthed, until the moment Sian bellowed at the top of her voice, “I said that’s enough!”
I jumped, and I know Petra did too. We weren’t used to being shouted at. Crystal, however, was. “Oh, here we go,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and squaring up to Sian as if she was some kid in the playground. “Another big fat fibber. ‘I don’t shout,’ she says on the open day. Right, that’s it. Come on, peeps. Let’s go and find my dad.”
They stalked off towards the clubhouse. Meanwhile Serena’s dad was tugging his daughter’s arm. “Come on. I don’t want you mixed up in all this. In the car. Now.”
“But, Dad…”
“Oh, don’t go, Mr O’Shea,” Sian pleaded.
“Shambles,” he said to her, his face contorted with fury. “An absolute shambles.”
8
The four of us stayed to help Sian clear away, but there was a horrible atmosphere. I immediately apologized to Sian, but she didn’t respond and continued clearing the cones in silence. I didn’t know what to do then. Hannah would have had a quiet word, telling us we’d been out of order but not making a big deal of it. Being blanked was harder to handle. We gathered all the equipment up as quickly as we could.
Not quickly enough to escape Gary Browne, though. He strode up to Sian and gave her a reassuring embrace. “All right, then, flower?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, the wobble in her voice telling him, and us, that she wasn’t all right at all.
“Do you mind if I have a few words with your squad?” Gary Browne asked.
“No,” she said.
“Right, you four, gather round.”
We glanced at each other nervously. Was he going to give us the hairdryer treatment? Screaming in our faces like premiership managers do if their team’s played badly?
He didn’t do that. When he spoke his voice was quiet and calm. In a way that was worse because it felt like a trick. “Who’s this?” he asked, jutting his thumb towards Sian.
“Sian,” I replied.
“Nope. Who’s this?” he asked again, turning to Tabinda.
“Miss Lewis?” she said, chewing her lip.
He rolled his eyes as if that was the most stupid answer imaginable. “Who’s this?” he asked Petra.
“Coach?”
“Finally. Coach. This is your coach. The person who is giving up her spare time, free of charge, to help you. The person who doesn’t have to be here with a bunch of ungrateful prima donnas when she could be at home doing a million other things. Next question,” he said, addressing JJ. “Who are they?” He pointed to the bottle bank where the Southfields lot were grouped. I blinked. I’d presumed they’d left ages ago. “Who are they?” Browne repeated.
“The Southfields lot,” JJ muttered.
He leaned closer. “Don’t mumble, lass. I can’t hear you,” he said and tapped his hearing aid. I hadn’t known he used one, but then I’d never been that close to the ogre or his ears before.
“Southfields,” JJ muttered but louder this time.
“Wrong,” he declared and turned to Petra.
“Ebony, Frances, Crystal and Aisha?”
“Wrong.”
Petra frowned. “But…”
It was my turn again.
“Who are they?” His dark eyes burrowed into mine.
I swallowed. I knew the answer he wanted. “Our team-mates.”
“Correct. They’re your team-mates. Anyone got a problem with that? Yes, of course you have,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. “You’re the mighty cup-winning Parrs. You don’t want to be associated with rubbish like that, do you? Well, I’ve got news for you.” He fished out his BlackBerry and tapped the screen. “Based on my observations over the last two sessions, you…” he said to JJ, “… average. You,” he said to Petra, “average. You,” he said, pointing to me, “average, and you…” he said, pointing to Tabinda.
“Average?” she ventured.
“Got it in one.”
My breathing quickened. We weren’t average. We were awesome like Hannah had always told us we were.
Gary Browne didn’t wait for a response. He began to steer Sian, who seemed as stunned as we were, towards the bottle bank, adding: “Right. We’ll go have words with the other half and you lot can get off home and think about your attitude. Oh, and bring some mates along next week. Just for Tuesdays, no strings attached. Drag ’em screaming from their Barbie dolls if you have to.”
“What sort of mates?” Tabinda called out after him. “Mates who play football or mates who are just mates?”
“Any. And if you can’t find any, give us a shout and I’ll bring my lads across. They’ll sort you.”
9
Average. The word attached itself to me like a flea to a cat, irritating me all week. Every spare moment I had, I searched for volunteers to come along to practice, bribing them with promises of lifts to the ground and snacks once they got there and a free go on the table football in Auntie Mandy’s lounge bar afterwards.
Average, I thought as I flung myself at every ball that came my way during the lunchtime matches.
Average. I laughed as I punched in Gemma’s number, my heart racing in anticipation at seeing the expression on Gary Browne’s face when Gemma made one of her trademark runs at the defence. Average, indeed.
I was gutted when Gemma couldn’t come. “I’m not allowed,” she apologized. “I’ve signed a contract with the centre of excellence. I’m only allowed to practise with them. We don’t even play in a normal league; we only play other centres of excellence.”
“Oh no,” I groaned.
Luckily, Lucy and Nika could come, Daisy and Dylan said they’d think about it and Mrs Woolcock thought Holly would be up for it, too. Eve nearly crushed my ribs to pieces when I asked her. “What? I get to be a Parr again? It’s a miracle! I’m alive! I’m alive!” she yelled. Eve enrolled two new girls, too. Wendy Li and Cara Stroud, from her after-school club, and Tabinda managed to entice Aleena, who lived near her, with promises of a lift both ways.
The following Tuesday’s practice couldn’t have been more different. In the end there were loads of us because not only did Daisy and Dylan come along, they brought Ellie Bream, Dylan’s second best friend. Serena turned up, too, which I hadn’t expected. “She’s already signed up here so the Tigers won’t have her back, will they?” I overheard her dad explain to Mr Shah while we all got ready.
A lot of parents stayed to watch, including mine. I think they were all worried after what had happened last week. Mr Shah and my dad had been on the phone to each other several times. They’d agreed that if Gary Browne tr
ied to turn training into a boot camp they’d have to hold an emergency committee meeting.
Maybe Gary Browne had heard because he didn’t even have the decency to turn up. He left Sian to deal with everything. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed, and settled for annoyed. After all the effort I’d made, he could at least have given us five minutes of his precious time.
Sian, on the other hand, with her hair scraped back in a tight ponytail and wearing joggers and a white Airtex T-shirt instead of the tight strappy tops she’d worn in previous weeks, was being super efficient. All the equipment had already been set out and she had a much more confident air about her. I approached her cautiously. We hadn’t exactly parted on a high. “Do you need any help, Sian?” I offered as she went round taking everybody’s names and collecting in all the permission slips.
“No thank you,” she said crisply without even looking at me. “And it’s ‘coach’.”
“She snapped at me,” I said to Petra and Tabinda as we jogged round the field to warm up.
“It’s not just you. My dad told me that she phoned Crystal’s dad and asked him to make sure they didn’t wear their Southfields shirts, and I heard her tell Ebony to take her flower out of her hair just now,” Tabinda told us.
“She’s setting boundaries. You know, like teachers do when they’ve got a new class,” Petra said.
“I hope she doesn’t set too many. You know what JJ’s like with that,” I replied.
Oddly enough, JJ was behaving herself. She’d latched on to the Southfields lot and was acting like some kind of tour guide, escorting them around the field, pointing out various landmarks and pitfalls. “That’s where Albert Pikelet lives. You don’t wanna kick your ball into his garden, you’ll never see it again…”
I knew I should have been doing some befriending too. Crystal and I hadn’t spoken to each other so far, apart from a brief nod as we passed. I’d planned to tag on to her group in one of the drills, but I never got the chance.
After we’d warmed up and as Sian was explaining what she wanted us to do in the first drill, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Gary Browne and a tall, lanky boy, carrying a net full of balls. Browne beckoned me to follow him. “Over here,” he said.
“Why?” I asked as he led me away from the others and over to the far goalpost.
“You’re the keeper, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Better learn how to keep, then, hadn’t you?”
“I already know,” I said, feeling more ruffled by the second.
Gary Browne laughed out loud. “Hear that, Scotty? She already knows. Ten years old and ready to play for England.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Gary Browne raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what I meant, coach.”
“That’s not what I meant, coach.”
“Listen, sweetheart,” he said. “In a few weeks’ time you’re going to be playing your first league game. Of the seven members of your team, take a wild guess at who is going to be the busiest on the park?”
I gulped. “Me.”
“Correct. Shall we get started, then?”
Scotty dropped the net of balls on the penalty spot and began to untie the string. Gary Browne marched across to the side of the field and began staking out poles at short intervals. I went to the goalmouth, clearing stones away from the line with the tip of my boot, trying to seem composed when I was anything but. Was this some kind of punishment for last week? For arguing with Crystal and Sian? When I looked up, Scotty had arranged the balls in a long row. My skin prickled. Was he going to blast them at me?
Scotty must have read my mind. “Relax,” he said. “They’re just lined up so we’re not wasting time chasing one ball all the time.”
“Oh,” I said.
The boy grinned. “I see you’re as bolshy as ever. I’ll never forget the day you challenged coach to a match against us.”
I opened my eyes wide. “You’re Scott? The one he kept calling a dozy waste of space?”
“That’s me. I’m in the City Academy now.”
“Wow.”
“He’s still a dozy waste of space, though,” Gary Browne said, coming to stand alongside Scott. “All right, let’s start with the basics. Do you know the ‘W’ catch?”
I nodded. I’d been doing the “W” catch, where thumbs and fingers make a “W” shape to keep the ball firmly gripped, since day one. Scott threw an easy ball to me and I relaxed. This wasn’t a test or a punishment. It was coaching. Proper one-to-one goalkeeping coaching.
After the “W” catch we moved on to different types of throws, then dives and recovery techniques, with Gary Browne giving the instruction and Scott feeding me the balls. It never got boring. The one I liked best was when I had to work my way along the row of poles, diving for one of Scott’s shots between the first pair, running to the second pair, then diving another way at the third pair, running to the next and back again. It was to test my speed, footwork and agility. I was so thirsty by the end, I gulped my water down in one go.
“Right, that’s enough for one day,” Gary Browne said. “Thanks for your help, Scotty. You can get back to your girlfriend now.”
“Cheers, coach,” Scott said and sauntered off.
I waited for my comment. I’d done OK, I knew I had, but all I got was an instruction to collect the balls and join the others. No “that was excellent” like I’d have got from Hannah or Katie. Not even a “good effort” or a lowly “not bad”.
I tried not to feel disappointed. Who needed praise from stupid Gary Browne anyway?
10
After I’d dragged the balls to the storage shed I joined the main group. “You survived, then?” Eve asked.
“Yes,” I said. “How about you?”
“It’s been immense. Just like back in the day.”
I glanced round and could see what she meant. There were loads of new faces, but having the old team sprinkled among them made it feel more normal. Yes, I thought, this was way better than before.
Sian told us all to gather round. “OK, well done, everybody. You’ve all tried really hard. Time to put what we’ve learned into practice. Let’s have a game, eh? Because there’s so many of us we can have seven-a-side.”
I instinctively grabbed Eve to be my striker, but Sian’s next instruction put paid to that. “OK, I want you to divide into two groups. Parrs in yellow bibs and non-Parrs – let’s call you the All Stars – in blue.”
It felt weird seeing Eve, Lucy, Holly and Nika collect blue bibs, but what Sian was doing made sense. Grouping the new Parrs together would get us used to playing as a team. But then came an instruction from Sian that didn’t make sense. “I want Midge in goal, Serena and JJ in defence, Crys with Ebz and Megan in the middle and Tabs up front.”
“Gotcha,” Crystal said cheerily.
“Wardy, you swap in for Tabs in the second half and, Aisha, you swap in for JJ,” Sian concluded.
Everyone began to disperse. I thought I’d better double-check Sian’s instructions in case I’d misheard. “Excuse me, coach. Are you saying you don’t want me in goal?”
Sian nodded. “I feel it’s important to be versatile. Experience in outfield positions will do you good.”
“OK,” I said uncertainly.
“Give Midge your gloves, please.”
I don’t think I’d ever felt as unhappy in my entire life as when I handed my gloves over to Midge. “They’re really sweaty,” I told her.
“I don’t care. It’ll bring me good luck.” She grinned.
If letting in five goals in five minutes is good luck, then yes, it did. Holly, in goal at the other end, was less busy. Tabinda had a couple of attempts that went wide but that was it. Not that anyone could blame Tabinda. You need support from your midfielders to score and that wasn’t happening. Ebony barely moved and Crystal was the opposite, darting all over the place, then stopping to do her silly attempts at step-overs. Aisha was the best of the
four of them but didn’t seem to know what to do with the ball when she had it and kicked it anywhere. I wasn’t much use, either, if I’m honest. I was still in shock at not being where I belonged.
“Well, that was awesome. Not,” I told Petra afterwards.
She frowned. “Didn’t you enjoy it? I did.”
“I’m not used to playing outfield, I suppose.”
“It was interesting, though, wasn’t it? Playing as a team for the first time?”
“It depends how you define interesting,” I told her.
11
The sessions followed a pattern after that. I was coached by Gary Browne and Scott, then shoved in outfield for the matches. Occasionally I’d be given five minutes between the sticks but never any longer than that. It began to niggle me after a while. I could see the point of players needing to be flexible and trying out new positions, but why give me one-to-one goalkeeping practice if I wasn’t going to use it?
“But you don’t need the experience like Midge does, do you?” Petra pointed out when I mentioned it one lunchtime. “Sian’s just helping her catch up. Their last coach was only interested in teaching them tricks and ignored the basics. They’re starting from scratch, really.”
“Oh,” I said. That explained the daft step-overs Crystal did during drills. I frowned. “But if Sian’s trying to help Midge catch up, why isn’t Midge with Gary Browne instead of me?”
“Dunno. Why don’t you ask her?”
“I might.”
“On the other hand, that might mean you don’t get all that specialist coaching any more and you love it, you know you do.”
I scratched my neck. She had a point. I did enjoy it. I’d improved my diving technique and footwork no end, but that just made me keener than ever to try it out in games.
Petra laughed and punched me on the arm. “You know what your problem is? You’re never happy. You need to lighten up.”
I couldn’t, though. Despite giving a hundred per cent during training, I came home feeling more and more despondent. Mum and Dad kept exchanging those “what’s wrong with her?” looks and even my cat, Whiskas, stopped hanging out with me. The weather was supportive, though. It decided to match my mood by chucking it down. School was gross. Rain meant “wet play” and being cooped up inside pongy classrooms with steamy windows and flying rucksacks for the last week of term. I was not a happy bunny.
Here We Go! Page 3