Gracie Faltrain Gets it Right (Finally) (17 page)

Corelli's definitely going to kiss me tonight, I think after he stops the car. He's going to kiss me any time now. Now, Corelli.
Now
. Then I realise, he's not waiting for a moment; he's waiting for me to get out. Is there some national shortage on breath mints? What's he waiting for? A handwritten invitation with the freaking royal seal on the back? I need to get a grip. I'm turning into Faltrain.

Last weekend I played in a school soccer match against guys twice my size and kicked three goals. I played my best at state trials even when Truck showed up with a pair of buzzing clippers. And still, none of that scared me as much as what I have to face today. I take a deep breath and line everything up. ‘You really think I can do it?' I ask Corelli.

‘Yes, Faltrain. I think you can cook risotto.'

‘Begin, class,' Mrs Barnett says. ‘You have a double period to complete the practical. Good cooking to you.'

I look at my recipe. Corelli's written down every single thing that I need to remember. He highlighted in pink:
Check the label of ingredients.

‘So, I was thinking of getting Jane a present, you know, to show her I really like having her around. What do you think?'

‘I don't have time for your love life, Corelli. Is “tsp” tablespoon or teaspoon?'

‘Teaspoon. Relax. Everything you're feeling goes into your cooking.'

‘Then in ninety minutes I'll be serving Mrs Young a bowl of scared-out-of-its-mind-leg-shaking risotto.'

‘I can't believe you invited a teacher as your guest.'

‘I like her. And she's helping me with English for free. Concentrate. If I poison her my entrance rank goes down by at least ten points.'

‘So, the present?' he asks.

‘You want to give Jane something? Give her a little action. She's been watching the Discovery Channel. She's ready.'

‘You know, guys get nervous, too. It's not like it's easy for us.'

‘Didn't you kiss Francesca?'

‘Yeah, but it's not the same. This is Jane, the girl I made Valentine's Day cards for.
For eleven years
. I only get one shot to impress her.'

‘You're doing the same thing you do in soccer. You take too long to get to the ball so someone else gets there first. If you'd move a little faster you'd kick great goals.'

‘Really?'

‘Really. Now, focus on the cake.'

When it's over we stand back and watch Mrs Young and Francavilla eat our food. ‘He doesn't have a good look on his face,' I say.

‘He's sitting opposite his English teacher at a table with flowers and a candle in the middle. Trust me. It's not the food.'

He's right. ‘Congratulations, Declan and Gracie. You did well,' Mrs Barnett says.

‘Thanks, Faltrain,' Francavilla says on the way out. ‘I'm glad I ate Corelli's cooking. Last year Flemming invited me.'

I'm still mad at Flemming. Ask the wall in our backyard where I kick the soccer ball as hard as I can. But I feel crappy when I hear his name. I was his partner last year and I was just as bad at cooking as he was. I'd still be as bad if Corelli hadn't helped me. It was Flemming who made the difference when I started playing soccer. ‘Don't you get it, Faltrain? The only reason it matters that you're a girl is that you're thinking so much about being one. You're forgetting the game.'

I miss him. But I don't know how to get from angry to not angry. I wonder if Flemming's ever bothered to ask himself the same question.

‘Alyce's excited about her soccer excursion this afternoon,' Jane says Friday. ‘Does she know she's bringing her club to watch
Gladiator
?'

‘She said one kid is like Flemming. He wants to see blood.' I check my watch. ‘I have to meet Mrs Young before we train. Has Corelli kissed you yet?'

‘Is
Cleo
an insightful political magazine for our times?'

‘Hang in there. I'll see you at home after training.'

It's weird how the detention room has gone from a torture chamber to a place I like being.

‘You're almost ready for the mid-year exams,' Mrs Young says after my tutoring session.

‘I'm nervous. They're in two weeks.'

‘You'll be fine.' She shuffles her papers. ‘Have you heard from Andrew?'

‘We haven't talked much lately.'

‘I suspect he needs a friend now.'

‘You're on his side? He hates you.'

‘I'm aware of that, Gracie. People do things for a reason.'

‘Yeah, Flemming cheated because he's an idiot.'

She smiles and pushes in her chair. ‘It's the idiots who need their friends the most.'

You don't have to tell me that. Alyce has been telling me more than enough lately.

She's waiting at the field when I arrive. ‘Gracie, this is Janet who runs the kids' club, and this is Foster, David, Peter, John, Max, Sam, Susan, Delia, Cath and Tracy.' She lowers her voice and leans close. ‘I'm hoping we'll see a fair game today. One where the girls win.'

I look at Dan and the guys. ‘You're kidding, right?'

‘They're going to wipe the ground with you,' Foster calls.

‘You think so?' I ask. Alyce's right. He is a little Flemming.

‘Yeah, I think so.'

They could be brothers. ‘Watch and learn, kid,' I say. Watch and learn.

There are fewer girls than last week because three more have been cut. I call them over and choose the ones I want on the field. The rest I'll sub in during the game. ‘Remember this out there,' I tell them. ‘You love soccer, you're good at soccer. Go out there and win because you can and because there's a little Flemming watching and I don't want him laughing at us if we lose.'

After I finish talking Singh and Francavilla arrive. ‘We heard you needed guys.'

‘You realise if we win you have to wax those,' I point at their legs.

Francavilla leans in. ‘I'm thinking about doing it anyway. Kally says she doesn't like hairy guys.'

‘If you don't care about the bet, why are we even going ahead with it?'

‘Truck cares about the bet. So do a lot of the other guys,' he says.

‘Go and see Dan. He's captaining the opposition.' The rules in life get more and more mixed up as the year goes on, I think, watching the boys laugh with us before we start.

The whistle goes. I can tell by the way the girls move that they're ready. Okay. Now cue the
Charlie's Angels
music. Kally kicks the ball. Sophia takes it. Her feet are quick and sharp, dodging the opposition and moving towards me. I pass to Alex. She sends it to Natalie who swings towards goal. ‘One nil,' I call, and we're off again. All match it's the same: we score, they score, we score.

They're one ahead when I take the last shot. Singh is in my way but I kick the ball up, run around him and head it to goal. ‘Tie,' I say. Dan grins. ‘Just like old times.'

We're close to being ready. Two more school games before we break for mid-year exams and holidays. Two more Sundays training with the squad. It should be enough time. I hope.

Take that, kid, I'm about to call to Foster. But he waves at me. He looks like Flemming before he got angry. ‘Here,' I say, and give him my soccer ball.

‘Really?' he asks.

‘Yeah, really. I've got at least twenty of them at home. You will too after you play a few seasons.' I watch him kick and juggle the ball. I watch him imagine all the soccer that's ahead.

I watch Foster take the ball from Gracie and I'm happy. It's not as though I've dug a well in a Third World country or solved the current environmental crisis. I've done something, though.

‘What do you say about girls in sport now?' I ask him.

‘I'm not saying nothing to those girls, that's for sure.'

‘I want to play too.' Delia says. ‘I want that girl to coach us.' She points at Gracie.

Delia and Foster are asking for something so small. All they want is to be part of a team. I know how they feel. It's impossible to watch Gracie and not be swept along with her to goal. I can't ask her, though, not with mid-year exams coming up and the state trials and school soccer. ‘She's busy at the moment,' I tell them. ‘I don't think she'll have time.' They look at me like I've given them exactly what they expected.

I hate that instead of hope in their heads now there's
disappointment. I watch Gracie leave and the answer comes to me: she's not the only player who can train them. Andrew is every bit as good as her.

I shouldn't promise something that I'm not sure I can deliver. But I have to give them something to hope for or what was the point of bringing them along? All I've shown them is what they can't have.

‘If you can wait a few weeks, I might know someone else who can train you.' They look at me like I'm a magician.

‘Well done, Alyce,' Janet says on the way to the car. ‘I thought Foster's eyes were going to pop out of his head.'

I walk to Roberta's before I go home. She wasn't at the neighbourhood house before we left for soccer and I want to check on her.

‘You,' she says, opening the door. ‘I thought it might be Janet.'

‘Did you need her for something?'

‘Yes.'

‘Can I help?'

She stares at me for a while. ‘I'm seeing my daughter tomorrow.' She holds up a pair of tweezers. ‘I want my chin plucked. And I want my nails cleaned.' She looks fierce and embarrassed.

I pull a mirror out of my bag so she can see what I'm doing. I tilt her head to the light. I gently pluck her chin. Then I start cleaning her nails. ‘Thank you,' she says roughly when I'm finished.

‘You're welcome,' I say. I brush her hair even though she hasn't asked. While I do I tell her stories of Gracie: Nick, the
kiss, the ear, the undies, the soccer. I don't think Gracie would mind, not if she could see Roberta laughing.

I work out the problem with making promises this week. They're only good if you can keep them. I call Andrew every night and every night his mum tells me that he can't come to the phone. ‘He's in bed, love.'

‘Can you tell him that it's important he return my call?'

‘I will. Give him time. He's lost without soccer.'

When he first hurt his knee I felt sorry for him. I don't anymore. I researched his operation on the internet. He's not bedridden. By day two he could be mobile with crutches. He doesn't care about anyone but himself. He might feel lost but there is a group of kids more lost than him. He'd see that if he'd stop staring at the television once in a while.

‘Did you call that guy?' Foster asks me every time I see him this week. Every time I have to tell him that Andrew hasn't called me back. If I can't deliver a soccer coach soon, Foster will stop letting me help with his homework. Worse than that. He'll stop letting me in.

‘He won't come to the door. There's nothing I can do,' I say to Roberta before I leave on Friday.

‘Rubbish. For starters you could get a backbone.'

I sip quietly on my tea.

‘Say what's on your mind,' she says.

‘I think you're rude.'

‘Good for you,' she says. ‘Good for you.'

Roberta is right. She was right the other day, too. I need a backbone. Invertebrates get nowhere in life. Look at the
worm, always getting stepped on. Look at snails, squashed all over the footpath in the early morning before their day even starts.

‘I'm going over to Andrew's house and I'm handing him the list of children who need a coach,' I say, and Roberta raises her biscuit to me. I try not to take it as a sign that the soggy half falls back in her cup.

Now is the time for action. I'm going to tell Andrew exactly what I think about his treatment of Gracie. I'm going to tell him to stop being selfish. And if he won't help me I'm going to throw my apple at his head. I take it out and hold it ready. That's right. I'm holding a very big Pink Lady. Do not mess with Alyce Beatrice Fuller.

When Andrew told me I was boring last year I let him. When people say things that I disagree with I hum and nod quietly in the background. That's not conversation. That's meditation. I have to stand up for myself or I'll be sitting all my life.

I knock on his door but no one answers. I wait on his front fence. I wait even though it's nearly the first day of winter and the wind is cold. I wait even though all the lights remind me that I could be warm at home. I even wait when I get scared in the dark. I wait because of Foster.

The car pulls up at seven. I've been thinking so long about how Andrew's going to act that I don't wait for him to ignore me. His mum helps him out and when he's standing on his crutches I throw the apple at his head. It bounces off and he balances on one crutch to pick it up. ‘I think you dropped something.'

‘I'll be inside,' his mum says.

‘Is there something you want to say?' he asks. ‘Yes. You're very rude sometimes. You never said sorry for not taking me to the formal last year. You hit people, you don't recycle . . .'

‘Alyce, I don't want to cut this short, because it looks like you're having a moment, but if you're listing my faults this could go on for days. It's cold and I just finished physio and my knee's aching.'

I hold out my list. ‘What's this?' he asks.

‘The names of some children who really need a soccer coach. I know you'll say you're busy but I really think you should consider it.'

He looks at the list. ‘Are they in a club?'

‘They've never played before.'

‘And this is important to you?'

‘Yes.'

I stare at him staring at the paper. He looks up. ‘Then I'll do it. I wouldn't want to risk you pushing me off my crutches.'

I keep going while I'm on a roll. ‘You should apologise to Gracie, too.' The look on his face tells me that he's sorrier about losing Gracie than he is about his knee.

‘I don't reckon she'll listen.'

‘She won't have the chance to not listen if you don't tell her. I'll see you at the address on the list tomorrow at four.' I walk to the gate.

‘Alyce, wait. You can't walk home in the dark. Come in. I'll get my mum to drive you.' I stand there. ‘Come in, please,' he says. So I walk back towards him.

His mum stops the car at my house and he swings with
me to my front door. ‘I've had a bit of time to think about things lately. I was an idiot last year,' he says, and he swings back to the car before I can answer.

‘This is Andrew,' I say to the kids on Saturday afternoon. ‘He's your new coach.' Foster bounces around him as they walk out to the oval. The others crowd in as close as they can. Every now and then Foster says something, and Andrew smiles.

‘So that's him, huh?' Tracy asks.

I nod. ‘That's the one.'

‘Nice view from the back,' Roberta says.

‘Easy, grandma,' Tracy answers, and Roberta laughs so hard it's a good thing she's not wearing her teeth again today.

I watch Andrew for an hour while he trains them. They kick balls at his head and he knocks them through to goal. ‘Now you try it,' he says. They start bouncing balls and he walks over to me. ‘I'll find a comp for them next year. They need some jumpers and the right shoes. Some new balls, too.'

‘I don't think they have the money for all those things.'

‘So we'll raise some. That's what you're good at, isn't it?'

‘It is.' I make a list in my head of all the possibilities. ‘We could have a charity soccer match and charge money for people to play and watch.'

‘I like it.' He looks up. ‘Delia, use this part of your head, mate.' He taps his forehead. ‘That's better. She reminds me a bit of Faltrain at the start.'

‘She does look a little like Gracie.'

He stands close to me and I can't think straight. All those
birds crowd into my throat. ‘Do you want to see a picture tonight?' I ask.

‘You know, all the kids are calling them “movies” these days.' He yells out to Foster but he doesn't answer my question. ‘Won't Mason mind you hanging out with me?' he asks eventually.

‘I broke up with him.' I shut my mouth as soon as I've said it but it's too late. The lie's out there and I can't take it back.

‘When did that happen?'

‘Last week.' My whole body feels sticky, like I've been dropped in a huge vat of soft drink.

‘Okay. I'm in for a film.'

I'll make my lie the truth, I promise. If Gracie's right and there is such a thing as fate, let Brett be home tonight so he doesn't see me.

‘Did you know they worked here?' Flemming asks, nodding at Annabelle and Martin standing behind the Candy Bar.

‘No.' I watch them while we wait in line. Martin puts his hands on Annabelle's shoulders on his way to the Maltesers. She smiles on the way to the mixed lollies. ‘Oh dear.'

‘You know, most kids say “crap” or . . .' Andrew follows my stare to Martin touching Annabelle's cheek.

‘You're right,' I say. ‘Oh crap.'

‘No, Alyce, for this, I need to teach you a few more words.'

‘I can't see a film. I feel bad being here.' Andrew doesn't argue.

‘Should I tell her?' I ask on the way home.

‘I don't know. I like your face the way it is.'

‘She won't hit me.'

‘She'll hit someone.'

‘She'll be so hurt. How did things get so messy?'

‘Faltrain's been living like this since I met her. It seems messy because everything you do is so neat.'

I push up my glasses and try not to look as messy as I feel inside.

‘Tell Gracie you're sorry,' I say to Andrew before he leaves my house. ‘Do it soon.'

‘You reckon she'll want to be mates again?'

I think about her finding out that Martin is with Annabelle. ‘She's going to need all the friends she can get. Even if she doesn't forgive you, she needs to know that you tried.'

He nods. ‘I'll go see her at school.'

There's a message from Brett waiting for me when I walk inside. I call him back and spend half an hour lying to him. ‘I was at the neighbourhood house and then the library,' I say. I catch sight of myself in the mirror while I'm talking. And I close my eyes.