‘Everyone remain calm, no one knock the Bunsen burners,’ Mrs Turner keeps calling. No one’s listening. The number one rule of classroom behaviour: if you get the chance to scream and run, you do.
‘I’ve never made a mistake with an experiment before,’ Alyce says.
‘I know. It’s fantastic.’ You get a sign like this, and fate’s definitely giving you the big thumbs-up.
Alyce could make worse choices. Flemming plays a good game of soccer. His left foot is stronger than his right, but we can work on that. I don’t see any reason why the two of them shouldn’t hit it off. There’s the Annabelle problem of course. But there was the Annabelle problem with Nick and me. And didn’t that end well, Faltrain? I ignore Jane’s voice in my head. I’ll just make sure Alyce knows how to kiss before I send her out on a date. Anyway, Nick is a total idiot. Flemming is more like Martin.
‘Hey,’ Flemming calls across the room to Alyce, ‘nice job.’ See? Alyce Fuller just climbed one step closer to the top of the school ladder. She got twenty-five kids out of science for at least ten minutes. All she has to do now is pretend that she did it on purpose and she’ll be on her way to personally addressed party invitations. Of course people would think she’s a whole lot cooler if she’d stop saying ‘Oh dear’ every five seconds.
‘Oh dear.’
‘Alyce, relax.’ Anyone would think she’d blown up the school. ‘It’s just a little smoke.’
‘Gracie Faltrain, to the principal’s office,’ the loudspeaker breaks through the noise of the room. Okay, now it’s time to panic.
‘He sees a little smoke and it’s, “Gracie Faltrain to the office”.’
‘What do you think it’s about?’ Alyce asks.
I shrug my shoulders. There are a million reasons why I could be called to the principal’s office. And none of them are good.
Annabelle shoots me a smile that can only mean two things: she knows something and I am dead.
I run through the list of possible offences on my way down the corridor. I knocked over Fred Cazaar last week, but that was a complete accident. There was the small detail of being late back from lunch four times in a row, but the soccer field is a long way from the classrooms.
‘Mr Yoosta?’ I say, looking through the already open door. There’s this policy in the school that the principal’s office is always available to students. If you’re listening from the corridor, you can pretty much hear whatever’s going on inside. A lot of kids don’t like it, but take it from someone who has spent her fair share of time in trouble, it’s a good thing. It means he hardly ever yells and there’s lots of room for a fast, easy getaway.
‘Gracie, come in and sit down.’
‘Okay. But if this is about Fred Cazaar, even he said it was an accident.’
‘I’m sure it was, but this isn’t about that.’ He writes something on the paper in front of him and I make a mental note to keep my mouth shut from now on. ‘It’s about the Firsts. You must know you’ve caused a stir, a girl playing on an all-boys’ team. You’re quite a player.’
‘Thanks, Mr Yoosta.’
He nods. ‘You’ve earned the praise, Gracie, that’s why this news is so hard to give you.’
‘What news?’
‘The coach needs my permission before he can hold tryouts for the Firsts. I have given it to him, on the condition that you do not participate.’
‘What?’
‘I know that this seems unfair, but it has been called to my attention that there are rules that must be followed. It is clearly stated in the Firsts guidelines that the teams are single-sexed.’
His words are emptying out of his mouth and onto the desk, spreading out before me like pieces of a puzzle I can’t put together.
‘I played in the National Championships; no one cared about that.’
‘Yes. But those games weren’t quite as rough, not like these. Gracie, that rule is there for a good reason. The organisers don’t want to risk your safety.’
‘But that’s not their decision to make. I can take care of myself on the field. You’ve seen me. I belong in that team, Mr Yoosta.’
‘Even if I agreed, there’s nothing I can do. The Inter-school Sports Board would have to waive the rule.’
‘So make them waive it.’
‘Gracie, I can’t. Their decision is final, and it has been made.’
I’m so angry that I can’t speak, which is lucky because if I could, I’d tell Yoosta where to shove his Inter-school Sports Board.
I push my chair back and stand up. When I get to the door he calls my name again. ‘Gracie, I am sorry. Coach has told me how hard you’ve worked. I’ve spoken to him about starting a girls’ team. We think you would make an excellent captain.’
I ignore his comment. ‘You said I’d been called to your attention. Who by?’
‘The other teams,’ he says, and his voice sinks soft as a pillow.
I don’t need your sympathy, I think. I’ve proved I can cut it against boys. I’ve been proving it for the last five years.
I thump my fist against every locker on the way down the corridor, slamming the ones that are open. I imagine every second one is Yoosta’s face. Every other locker is Annabelle. No prizes for guessing who asked the other teams to protest. Annabelle Orion knows practically every boy in Melbourne. She’s dating the boy who hates me the most.
The bell goes as I walk back into the science lab, and I follow Annabelle out into the corridor. I let the swarm of kids protect me. Perfect. A million witnesses, all too busy pushing towards their lockers to see a thing.
‘You think you’ve won?’ I lean in close. Her breath smells sweet. Everything about her is a lie.
‘Get away from me, are you crazy?’
To everyone else she seems innocent. Her eyes look like a lake that’s cold and deep on a hot day. I see through her, though. Those eyes are shallow and lined with rocks. A person could break their neck believing in eyes like those.
‘Who did you get to call the school, Annabelle?’
She shakes her head and looks around at the crowd gathering. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
I draw my fist back ready to launch. I take a minute to enjoy the look of fear on her face. I take a minute to imagine the crunch of her nose, crisp as breakfast cereal at first, then soggy. ‘I’ve waited eleven years for this, Annabelle,’ I say, and then I swing, my whole weight behind it.
‘And you’re just gonna have to wait a bit longer.’ Flemming catches my fist and picks me up. He pushes his way through the crowd and carries me, still swinging, down the corridor.
He walks across the schoolyard with Alyce running behind us. He doesn’t put me down till he sees Martin coming out of the Year 12 block. I give him a sharp push once I’m on solid ground.
‘Your girlfriend was about to smack Annabelle Orion in the face,’ he says.
‘Faltrain, we talked about this.’
‘Martin, she got the other teams to call the principal, I know it. I’m not allowed to try out for the Firsts. Yoosta says that if I’m good I can captain the new girls’ team.’
‘You always wanted to be a captain,’ Martin answers.
My blood feels like metal, my arms and legs and hands are hard with it, and the only way to feel right again is to hit or kick or yell. ‘You don’t think I can cut it in the Firsts?’
‘Those guys play hard, Faltrain,’ he answers.
‘But I’m better than all of them, and you know it. We played them in the off-season games already.’
‘That’s different. Those games are for fun. These are rough. Scouts come to watch them. Those guys won’t be doing anyone any favours.’
‘You think I need favours, Martin? You think I only scored goals over the summer because everyone on the field let me?’ I feel like my boyfriend has gone and some, some guy has stepped into his place. ‘You’re the one who needs favours, stuck in goal while Maiden takes your position. You didn’t even try to get it back.’
‘This isn’t about me,’ he says, and grabs my arm. ‘Listen. I know you’re good. I know that better than anyone.’
I snatch my arm back and keep walking. The Martin who wouldn’t play without me at the Championships is lost.
‘Gracie,’ he shouts.
That’s when it’s clear I’m on my own. Martin has called me by my first name exactly once before today. I was Gracie walking onto that field in Year 7 and Faltrain on the way out. I earned it. Seems like I’ll have to earn it all over again. I’m good enough, and I’ll prove it at the tryouts.
I cut the grass with angry strides. This is what you get when you have a goldfish for a boyfriend. All of a sudden Martin has forgotten how many goals I’ve kicked, how many times I’ve won the game for us, how I’m the one on the field and he’s the one in the goal square because he’s too scared to get out on the field and fight.
‘I thought I might try out for the girls’ team, Gracie,’ Annabelle says as I walk past. ‘Martin said I’d be great.’ I know she’s lying, but her voice has a way of getting under my skin. My arms and legs go from solid metal to rust in record time. And then they crumble. There’s nothing left to hold me together.
The rest of the day moves slowly. Martin doesn’t say sorry. Flemming can’t look me in the face at training. None of the team can. I want to be home, away from everyone who thinks I’m not good enough to cut it in the Firsts.
‘It’s not fair, Gracie. We’ll do something about it,’ Alyce says while we stand at the gates of the railway crossing. The lights start flashing.
‘This gate is always blocking my way. Let’s jump over. We’ve got time before the train comes.’
Alyce puts her hand on my arm. ‘Be patient.’
‘I don’t want to be patient.’ I flick words at her like stones. ‘I want things to be the way I want them to be. Right now.’ Patience might be all right for people like you, Alyce, but not for me. ‘Martin doesn’t think I’m good enough.’ I kick hard at the peeling white paint on the wood of the gate.
‘He’s worried about you.’
‘If he was really worried, if he really cared, he’d listen.’ The train is so loud I have to shout to be heard. ‘He wouldn’t want me playing on a team with Annabelle Orion.’
‘I know how you feel, Gracie, but . . .’
I cut her off. ‘How would you know that? You’ve never tried out for anything in your life.’ There’s no way Alyce can get this. She has no idea what it’s like to want something this bad and have it taken away.
The express rushes through the station. Once it passes I can see everyone still standing on the platform.
‘There are other ways of being kept off the team,’ Alyce says quietly as our bus arrives on the other side of the gate and takes off before we can cross.
‘We’ve missed it.’
‘There’ll be others, Gracie.’
Don’t you get it, Alyce? There won’t be that one. That one’s gone.
8
We have to let her play, Helen. If you spend your life sleeping without dreaming, what’s the point?
Bill Faltrain
Dreaming’s no fun in a coma, Bill. You think about that.
Helen Faltrain
‘Jane called this afternoon,’ Mum says when I walk into the kitchen. ‘She wants you to call her back.’
‘Later, Mum. We’ve got an emergency on our hands. I’m not allowed to play in the Firsts because I’m a girl. You have to ring the principal. We have to take it to the High Court. It’s discrimination.’
Mum wipes her hands slowly on the tea towel before turning around. ‘Did the principal give a reason why he doesn’t want you in this competition?’
‘He says it’s too dangerous, that the guys who play in the Firsts are too rough.’
‘Maybe he’s right, Gracie, love. I’m not sure I want you playing if you’re going to get hurt,’ Dad says with the same voice Martin used at school today.
‘I can handle it. I’ve played in the National Championships – a national competition. I can play soccer against some Year 12 boys.’
‘I’m siding with your dad on this one, Gracie. You can captain the girls’ team. That could be a great challenge for you.’
It takes me about two seconds to work out what’s wrong with Mum’s sentence. ‘I never told you about the girls’ team. The principal called you, didn’t he?’
I feel like I’m in one of those movies where the hero loses everyone around her and she has to fight alone. ‘I’m meant to be able to trust you and you’re lying to me.’ If they want a fight, I’ll give it to them. All of them. ‘You can’t stop me, either of you.’
‘Gracie Faltrain, don’t take that tone with me.’
I know what’s coming up. She’ll say, ‘I’m your mother. I clean up after you. I drive you to games.’
‘I’m your mother.’
Here she goes.
‘I pay for your medical expenses.’
Ouch. That was nasty.
‘I’m the one who will have to look after you for the rest of my life if those boys give you permanent brain damage.’
Very, very nasty.
‘And if I say the Firsts is too dangerous, then you won’t play.’
She’s talking without stopping to take breath. I’m starting to get an idea how she and Dad decided to get married. ‘I am your girlfriend, Bill Faltrain. I go out with you. I kiss you goodnight. You will marry me.’ Well, I’m not Dad, and she can’t push me around.
‘Mum, I’m in Year 11 and you don’t get to decide everything I do.’
‘I know how old you are, Gracie Faltrain, I gave birth to you.’ Oh no. She’s using the pregnancy defence. I have to do everything she says because she gave me life.
Except I don’t. Not this time. Not when the thing I’ve always dreamed about is close enough to touch. There’s only one answer to the pregnancy defence and everybody knows it. It’s like using an atomic bomb to end a war, though; years and years of fallout follow.
‘I wish you hadn’t.’ There’s a slow whistle in the room as my missile locks on to my target.
‘Now, let’s talk about this.’ Dad’s voice is drowned out under the explosion. We both ignore him.
‘Just because you’re too scared to do anything, Mum, doesn’t mean I am.’
‘Go to your room,’ she says, and I can hear the hurt in her voice. There’s only one thing a person can do that’s worse than the pregnancy defence. They can use inside information to their own advantage. I’ve just thrown what Mum told me the other night right back in her face. But everything’s fair in love and war. Everything is fair in soccer.
‘We only want to protect you, baby,’ Dad says later, sitting on the end of my bed.
‘I don’t need protecting.’ I keep my voice sharp, hoping it will cut through his blindness and make him see. ‘The principal’s brainwashed you. It’s me, remember. My middle name is soccer.’
‘And here’s me thinking it was Elizabeth,’ he says, and laughs.
‘Dad, I need to do this. I need you and Mum to believe in me. Don’t you get that?’ I wait a minute. ‘I believe in you.’ When he asked me to trust that he wouldn’t leave again I did. People can’t get where they want to go unless the important ones around them go too.
‘This is different. You could get hurt.’
‘I’m so sick of everyone being too scared to take chances. Dad, it’s my dream to play soccer.’
I’ve got him now. There’s more than one way to get knocked down in life and he knows it. When he came back last year, he and Mum asked me if they could change the nursery into ‘The Bookshop Plant Stop Café’.
‘It’s what we’ve always wanted to do, baby,’ Dad said. ‘But you have to agree, because it’s going to take a lot of work, and we might need you to help us out sometimes.’
‘It might mean money’s tight again,’ Mum explained. ‘Is that okay with you?’
‘I can handle that,’ I’d said. I could handle anything if it mean
t having the two of them back together.
‘I’ll speak to your mum about the Firsts,’ Dad says tonight. ‘I’m not promising anything. You know she has the final word.’ He rocks me gently and it feels like we’re bobbing in a dark ocean.
I creep to my door after Mum and Dad think I’ve gone to sleep. They’re in the kitchen talking.
‘I don’t want her playing, Bill.’
‘Helen, you’ve watched her on that field. She comes alive out there.’
‘It’s not the alive part I’m worried about. It’s the dead part, when those apes flatten her. She’s not supergirl.’
‘You can’t keep her in cotton wool forever.’
Mum snorts loudly. ‘Cotton wool? I’ve watched that girl fly too close to the sun all her life. She’ll get burnt, Bill. And then what?’
‘She’ll rise again.’
‘You live in books. This is real. This is mud and dirt and boys who will think nothing of running right over the top of Gracie.’
‘Helen, I know this is real. It’s life. That’s why you have to let her make her own mistakes. You have to let her live.’
‘You weren’t here last year when she was living, Bill. You didn’t drag her out of bed because she wanted to hide from the world.’
‘I know. But I’ll be here this time, to pick her up if she needs me, like I’m here with you, every day in the shop, making things work. For us.’
Mum’s quiet. I can’t see her, but I know she’s waving her hands around like long branches on a windy day. She always does that when she’s worried. And Dad will be reaching out, making her quiet. ‘Storm and stillness, Gracie, baby,’ he’d said to me once. ‘Your mum and I match.’
‘Why do I have to let her live?’ she asks after a while.
‘Because, Helen, we both know what happens when you stop doing that.’
Mum puts a plate full of eggs and toast in front of me in the morning. ‘Eat it all,’ she says. ‘You’ll need the strength if you’re going to try out for the Firsts.’ She looks at me, her eyes holding mine. ‘Your father thinks we need to support you in your dreams. His exact words.’