Gracie Faltrain Takes Control (5 page)

Great boyfriend, great soccer, great life? What a load of crap.
Gracie Faltrain

‘Gracie, didn't your mum give you the message?' Jane asks when she calls before school.

‘I didn't have time to call back. There's a lot going on here. Yoosta's been trying to keep me off the Firsts team. So has Martin. But we're making an appointment to see Yoosta later on today. One meeting with Mum and he'll be on our side.'

‘That's great.'

‘I know. It means I have to train hard. The tryout games are in just over a week. That's not a long time to get ready.'

‘What's Martin's story, then? Why's he trying to keep you off the team?'

‘He says he wants to protect me. He's gutless, Jane. I don't even want to speak to him anymore. The only thing I'm saying to him is, “I told you so”, after the tryouts. Until then, I'm planning on ignoring him.'

‘Don't you have a match tomorrow?'

‘Don't need to speak to play.'

‘I guess not. But Faltrain, Martin is your friend.'

‘He's not acting like it. Why are you on his side?'

‘I'm not on his side.'

And we're back to where we were in our last phone call. There's a note in Jane's voice that I haven't heard before. I'm not sure if she's mad at me, or if she can't think of anything else to say. In best friend land, both are deadly.

I'm saved by the doorbell. ‘That'll be Alyce, Jane. I have to go.'

‘Sure, Faltrain – well, good luck with the whole Firsts thing,' she says, and hangs up.

‘Who was that?' Alyce asks.

She looks at her watch after I tell her. ‘It's eleven-thirty at night over there. Is anything wrong?'

‘Not everyone goes to bed at seven, Alyce.'

Nothing's wrong with Jane, unless you count that after eleven years of friendship we might finally have run out of things to say. I push Alyce out the door. Some thoughts are too awful to stand still for. If you do they'll sink into your skin and make you think about them all day.

‘So is it true, Gracie?' Annabelle asks, walking up to Alyce and me at lunchtime. ‘I heard you and Martin broke up.'

Suddenly lunch doesn't seem so appealing. ‘You heard wrong.'

‘It came from a reliable source.'

‘Oh yeah, and who was that, Susan's writing on the toilet door?'

‘Martin, actually.'

‘You're a liar.' Martin might be acting like an idiot lately, but the last person he would talk to about me is Annabelle Orion.

‘He told me he's sick of being with a girl who thinks she's a boy.'

‘Whatever you reckon,' I say, but even as I do, I can feel the day folding in on me like a letter. Annabelle is about to lick the envelope and post me to Siberia.

I've known her as long as I can remember. I've seen her lie to teachers about me. I've seen her lie to the whole school about me. Her eyes get greener; greedy, like she has stolen a whole chocolate cake and needs to eat it quickly before someone takes it back. She talks slowly today, lets her dessert sit on the plate.

‘He said that you're always out to prove something – he reckons you do it to show your dad how good you are, to make sure he sticks around.' It's the last two words that convince me. They're straight out of Martin's mouth.

Annabelle knows she's won. She smiles, puts me through the mail slot and lets the metal flap clang shut. From inside the box I can hear her slowly licking each finger, finishing her cake.

It's not that I believe her about Martin and me breaking up. He knows if he did that without telling me first it'd be him getting broken. It's that he gave Annabelle a part of me. The biggest part.

You'll be sorry, Annabelle. Everyone will. Mum will beat the Sports Board and then I'll beat everyone trying out for the Firsts. The bad guys never win. Everyone knows that.

Everyone except the bad guys, that is.

Mum is yelling so loud when I get home I can hear her from the street. I haven't seen her mad like this since they stopped
showing the old movies on Sunday afternoons. ‘There were two coaches from the other teams there. One of them told me that I should control my daughter, Bill. Control her. As if she were a dog that needed a leash.'

‘Perhaps you should relax, Helen,' Dad says. Looking at Mum today, there's no way even Dad will be able to calm her down. It's like he's facing a tornado with a kite strapped to his back.

‘He said the other schools felt it would be ridiculous to have a girl playing in an all-boys' competition. I said the only ridiculous thing was that sort of attitude in the twenty-first century.'

Dad starts laughing.

‘What?' Mum snaps.

‘I was remembering another time I saw you this angry.'

There's a time for strolls down memory lane, Dad, and this is definitely not one of them. We're having a crisis.

‘You'd seen me with my sister and thought I was on a date,' Dad says.

‘She looked so surprised when I tipped that drink over your head.'

‘She liked you right from the start,' he chuckles.

Mum doesn't even seem angry anymore. My dream of the Firsts is starting to look like a car wreck on the side of the road.

‘Guys, focus,' I say, walking into the lounge room. ‘I'm still not allowed to try out. We still have a problem.'

‘It's not polite to listen at doors, Gracie Faltrain,' Mum says. ‘No, at the moment they have not changed their minds. But you have earned the right to be on that field. And you will be on that field.'

It seems pretty clear to me tonight, though, that there's no way I'm playing in that competition. If Yoosta faced Hurricane
Helen and it didn't change his mind, I can't imagine anything that will.

‘It doesn't look like parental intervention will help,' Alyce says when I ring her.

‘What? All I know is that if Mum can't help, I'm stuffed.'

‘I'm sorry, Gracie.'

‘Sorry won't change things. Everyone thinks that the girls' team is where I belong. It'll help my leadership skills, Yoosta said. I know where I'd like him to shove his leadership skills. Right up his . . .'

‘Gracie,' Alyce cuts me off. ‘I have to go.'

‘What?' The single biggest catastrophe of my life and she has to go? How about saying she'll be over in five minutes to watch TV and eat as many blocks of chocolate as it takes to make me feel better? ‘Alyce, I thought you could come over and watch a DVD.'

‘I can't tonight. Maybe after the game tomorrow?'

What could she possibly have to do that's more important than helping me? The rules of friendship clearly state it has to be something big: a death in the family, a fire in the home.

‘I've got homework.'

Homework? ‘It's not even a school night.' Alyce Fuller, you are not normal. I hold on to the phone for a few seconds after she hangs up, listening to the long beeps echoing in my ear like a flat-line signal from
ER
. Gracie Faltrain, welcome to the end of your life.

I email Jane and spend the next half an hour staring at my inbox waiting for an answer. I guess she's not available either. Great boyfriend, great soccer, great friends, great life? What a load of crap.

They're muscles.
Declan Corelli
Yeah, right. Muscles. Spelt b.o.o.b.s.
Gracie Faltrain

There's nothing more disappointing than an empty inbox. Welcome Gracie Faltrain. You have no messages. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. I can't believe Jane didn't write back. What, she's so busy in England that she doesn't have time for me anymore? I eat breakfast slowly, filling up that small hope that she'll call before I have to leave.

Usually soccer takes my mind off everything; even the thought of playing is enough. Not today, though. It's in my head that this won't be my team for long and it's ruining the day like rain.

‘Hey, Faltrain,' Corelli calls out to me on my way up to the field. ‘Can we talk?'

I follow him round the side of the change rooms. ‘What?'

‘I wanted to ask. My brothers are home from uni for the weekend.' His words are going all over the place like his kicks.

‘What is it, Corelli?'

‘They'll be watching me.'

‘So?'

‘Pass me the ball?'

I can't stop thinking that he has the chance to try out for the Firsts and I don't. What makes Corelli good enough to play and not me? Some testosterone? No boobs? I have more testosterone than Corelli. And he has more boobs.

‘If you want the ball, take it,' I say. Corelli shouldn't get a place just because he's a boy. I'm better than him. I'm better than all of them. And I can't afford to feel pity for anyone if I'm going to prove it. I need the old Gracie Faltrain.

‘Sorry, didn't realise you were trying out for soccer girl of the year,' Corelli says. He acts tough, but I can see the hurt carving up his face.

‘Come on, now. You know you're the only one on this team with a real chance at that title.'

‘You can't drive life in reverse, Gracie,' Dad said when he moved back home after the National Championships. ‘So make sure you're happy with the direction you're going.'

Clearly I have a different model of car from his, because warming up today, I feel like my wheels are spinning backwards at high speed. Martin tries to catch my eye but I ignore him. He doesn't come over to talk. Lucky for him. It's hard to be goalie with both your kneecaps smashed in. So everyone in the school thinks I can't cut it in the Firsts? Well watch this.

I let Flemming have the ball for a minute and then I run in and take it. Just like old times. I can't afford to look at the faces of my team; I focus on the ball. My legs are faster than everyone on the field. I scoot past Singh, Francavilla and Maiden. I arrive at the goal with time to spare. No one's on my back. I take the shot. Goal one: Gracie Faltrain.

‘What's the matter with you?' Flemming asks on my way past. I ignore him. I'm my own team again. I run at the ball.
I swerve around the opposition's defence and then past Corelli, who's standing there like an idiot. It's not my problem his brothers are watching. I fly in and score goal number two.

‘Faltrain,' Martin says at half time. ‘Don't do this.'

‘Do what?'

‘You know what. Stop playing like you're alone out there.'

‘I am alone, Martin. That's the point.' I turn away and wait for the whistle to start me again.

I'm ten minutes into the next half when I make my mistake. I look up. And in the background I see Corelli's entire family, pressed against the wire fence, watching. He's standing like Alyce at a party, all on his own with nothing to do.

He's close enough to take the goal and far enough away for him to be a hero if he makes it. His eyes are small round dots, two tiny sprinkles alone on a huge cake. ‘All right, all right.' I kick the ball in his direction. It lands so close even Alyce couldn't miss it. I ghost along beside him, blocking anyone who gets in his way. I didn't give him the ball so he could stuff up.

Corelli runs in close to the goal square, lines the ball up perfectly, and takes the shot. He's jumping around with his shirt over his head like he's kicked the winning goal in the World Cup. ‘He looks like a complete idiot,' Flemming says, but he's smiling.

‘At least now we know where he gets it from,' I say. ‘Listen to that.'

‘Go Corelli, woo hoo!' echoes from the crowd.

‘And that's his mother,' I laugh. ‘Ten bucks says she does the Mexican Wave on his second goal.'

‘You're on.'

When play starts again I move towards the ball and line up
another shot for him. I'm ruined. I can't play for myself anymore. And soon I won't be able to play with the team, either.

Corelli kicks two goals. The whistle goes. His family does a sort of dance. ‘Pay up, Flemming.'

‘No way. That's not a Mexican Wave. What is that, Corelli?'

He's too busy dancing himself to answer. Singh rubs my hair. ‘Thought for a second the old Faltrain was back.' Francavilla picks me up and shouts like a crazy man. I feel shut out the whole time, though, because I know I won't be there when they win in the Firsts. I'll be watching from the side. It's not the team's fault, but I can't stand to be with them just the same. It hurts too much to be around what I can't have.

Jane still hasn't emailed me when I get home. It's the first time I haven't spoken to her after a game. ‘It's not over till it's over, Faltrain,' she'd say if she were here. I pick up a piece of chocolate and sandwich it between two chips. ‘Oh it's over, Jane. Believe me, it's over.'

The world's brutal. And if you're not the sort of person who can leap into it head on then you're the sort of person who gets squashed in the rush.
Gracie Faltrain

‘You'd think they'd want to know how I'm doing,' I say over breakfast on Monday morning. ‘Neither of them has called all weekend. Alyce didn't even come to the game. I could be dead, for all they know.'

‘You're not dead,' Mum says. ‘And some people do have lives that don't revolve around you . . .'

Ouch. Lucky for me the phone rings and cuts Mum off. She looks like she has a whole lot more to say.

‘Hi,' Alyce says when I answer. She acts as if she hasn't done anything wrong.

‘I'm sorry, who's speaking?'

‘Gracie, I just rang to say I'll meet you at school today. I've got some homework to do in the library.'

‘What homework is more important than me?' I ask after I hang up.

‘More importantly, what homework haven't you done that Alyce is doing?' Mum answers.

‘None.'

‘Don't “None” me. Get to school and find out. I'll keep fighting, but you need to stay out of trouble.'

Alyce is sitting at one of the computers when I walk into the library. ‘What homework did we have?'

‘You know – that assignment for English. You already handed it in.'

‘I did?'

‘Stop worrying about schoolwork and start thinking about the tryouts.'

‘No point in doing that. I'm ready enough for the girls' team.'

‘Gracie, there's nothing wrong with a girls' soccer team.'

Maybe that's why Alyce has been ignoring me. She's mad. ‘I never said a girls' team wouldn't be good. It's just, it won't be my team. I won't be playing with Martin and Flemming and Francavilla, the guys I started with.'

‘I said stop worrying. I have a feeling that everything will work out fine.'

That's easy for Alyce to say. I'm not like her. I can't sit back and wait and hope that I'll get what I want. That's why she was alone until we became friends. It's why she'll never get Flemming without my help. It's why no one likes her. That sounds harsh, I know, but the world is harsh.

Last night on the news they showed this riot that erupted at a football game. The crowd started pushing and all these people were trampled. Dad saw the look on my face and flicked the channel.

He doesn't get it. I see stuff like that every day. I see Annabelle Orion walking over the top of Alyce because she's
too little to matter. I see myself, sitting on the sidelines of the most important competition of my life, because I'm a girl.

‘I'm not like you, Alyce. I can't sit back and wait for things to be okay.'

‘Gracie, you're yelling. People are looking at us.'

‘Have some backbone, Alyce. Who cares if people are staring?'

She turns around to her computer and keeps typing. Typical. No wonder Flemming doesn't know she's alive. Being good gets you where Alyce is. Waiting gets you where Dad is. It gets you nowhere. If I can't play in the Firsts then at least I'm going out with some dignity. I'll show every boy in that competition that I'm good enough to beat them, that the only reason I'm not playing is because they're too scared to go up against me.

I slam the door of the library. The wood bounces against the frame. I feel better than I have in days.

‘Annabelle,' I say when I get to her locker. ‘Tell Woodbury to meet me in the park next to the school at five o'clock tonight.'

‘And why would I do that?'

‘Because if you don't, I'll tell everyone that I challenged him to a kick-off and he didn't turn up. You wouldn't want your boyfriend's mates thinking he's scared of a girl, would you?'

‘Dan's not scared of you.'

‘Then there shouldn't be a problem.'

‘Faltrain,' Martin calls as I'm walking to class. ‘Wait up.'

‘Get lost, Martin.'

‘We need to talk.'

‘About what? How you told Annabelle I'm scared my dad'll leave again?'

‘Is that why you're still mad at me?'

‘I'm mad because you're an idiot. Annabelle is the reason I can't try out for the Firsts and you're talking to her like she hasn't done anything wrong.'

‘Faltrain, I'm sorry. I should've kept my mouth shut. But I thought if Annabelle knew about your family, she'd understand why soccer's so important to you. I thought maybe she'd call her friends off. But she's only one of the reasons Yoosta won't let you play. It's in the rules that the competition is strictly boys only.'

‘You don't think of me as a girl when I'm on the team.'

He laughs and scratches at his arm. ‘I pretty much think of you as a girl all the time, now, Faltrain. Those guys are fierce. I don't want you to get hammered every match you play.'

‘I won't, Martin. When I'm out on that field I don't feel like a boy or a girl. I don't think about that at all. I think about winning and taking the shot. I think about soccer.'

He keeps scratching at his arm. ‘I know. Flemming knows too. He feels bad that he let you down. The whole team does. We all saw what you did for Corelli. So, we decided: either you try out, or none of us do.'

In my whole life I've only heard three things that have made me so happy I could cry. Dad telling me he's coming home. Martin telling me I'm the one. And this.

‘What?' Coach roars at practice after school. The whole team has turned out to support me and it feels great. We're all standing in front of him except for Corelli, who's standing with his testosterone, ready to run, near the door. ‘What are you telling me, Knight?'

‘That if Faltrain doesn't try out, then neither do we.'

‘I don't have a team without you.' Coach is moving from angry to desperate. Any minute he's going to cry.

‘Exactly,' Martin answers.

‘I've tried already,' he says, sitting down and sighing. ‘Faltrain, I've been in there at least three times, and every time he tells me the same thing. The Inter-school Sports Board has to waive the rule. And they won't.'

‘Then we don't enter a team,' Flemming says. ‘Simple.'

Everyone leaves one by one after that, feet dragging across the ground. Martin and Flemming and I stay. I have that same feeling I get when I lose a game. Except this time it's worse. I've lost the entire season in one day.

‘So I should let the Board know we're out?' Coach says, his eyes drifting upwards, like a kid who has lost his balloon. Martin and Flemming look at me. I find myself looking for that balloon, right along with Coach. There's only one right answer. I want so bad to give the wrong one, but I start to shake my head.

‘Wait . . .' And then there's a tiny knock on the door. ‘Alyce?'

‘Hi,' she says shyly, so soft the wind outside almost steals it. She doesn't look at me directly, just passes two pieces of paper over. As soon as I read them I want to hug her so hard she squeaks. But I can't get close enough. My angry words from this morning are still sitting between us.

‘So that's what you've been up to.'

‘I didn't want to tell you until I was sure it would help.'

‘What is it?' Martin asks. ‘Hand it over, Faltrain.' He takes the paper from me and starts to laugh. ‘Has Yoosta seen these?'

‘I gave copies to him this afternoon,' Alyce answers. ‘He's read my email to the paper explaining what's happening to
Gracie and their reply to say that they are very interested in writing a story about it. Seems it's a topical issue.'

‘Have you heard back from him?' I ask.

‘That's what I came to tell you. He called me into his office after the last lesson. He contacted the Board. He says this could convince them to let you on the team. This isn't the sort of publicity they need or want when the finals, and some of the matches, are being televised and reported in the local papers.'

‘Does that mean I'm in?'

‘I don't know, Gracie. But I think you should get your mum to make another appointment with him. Get her to bring your dad too, and tell her to take this.' Alyce hands me another letter. This one's from the paper to Mum and Dad, explaining that they're very interested in writing my story.

‘But Mum didn't write to the paper.'

‘I know that,' Alyce says, and smiles. ‘But no one else does.' Like I've always said, there's more to Alyce than meets the eye. A whole lot more.

As we walk outside Flemming's smile is bigger than anyone's. ‘Alyce saves the day,' he says, kicking the ball hard and chasing after it.

That's the first time he's said her name, so I'm betting that blush on her face goes all the way down to her toes.

‘We should celebrate,' Martin says. ‘What do you want to do, Faltrain?'

I look at my watch. Four forty-five. ‘I'd like to buy Alyce a doughnut. I just have to do one small thing on the way.'

‘One small thing, huh?' Martin says, looking at the crowd of kids standing in the park. ‘There must be fifty people here.'

I recognise some of the guys from the off-season games. They seem taller, though. I guess guys can grow a lot in a few months.

‘What are they waiting for?' Flemming asks.

‘I'll take a lucky guess and say – Faltrain,' Martin answers. He turns to me. ‘What did you do?'

‘I challenged Woodbury to a kick-off.'

Martin stares at the crowd. ‘Good plan.'

‘It seemed like it was at the time.'

‘You want some help out there?' he asks.

‘Nope. This is something I have to do alone.'

As I move, the crowd closes in like a fist with fifty fingers. ‘Actually,' I look back at Martin and Flemming and Alyce. ‘Maybe you could just make sure that this
is
something I do alone.'

The four of us walk out into the middle of the crowd. This isn't exactly how I imagined it. ‘Life never is, Faltrain,' Jane would say. I know she's right, but just once, I wish that things would turn out as I picture them in my head. And I'd like this to be that one time.

‘See you invited some friends along, Woodbury,' I say when I reach him.

‘I can't help it if there are a lot of people who want to see you beaten, Faltrain.'

‘It's a shame they're going to be disappointed.'

‘How do you want to do this?' he asks.

‘We play a twenty-minute game. Just you and me against each other. The one who scores the most wins.'

‘Who are the goalies?' he asks.

‘You pick yours. I'll pick mine.'

‘Fair enough,' he says, walking over to the crowd and talking to a guy at least twice my size. Martin starts moving towards the goal.

‘Good luck, Gracie,' Alyce says.

‘Thanks. And Alyce, I'm sorry I yelled at you today.'

She shrugs. ‘We can talk about it later, Gracie. Now, get out there and use your anger in a good way.' She sounds like one of those videos they make us watch in Personal Development classes and Flemming starts laughing next to her.

‘Good luck, Faltrain,' he says. ‘Although something tells me it's Woodbury who's gonna need it.'

The light is dropping by the time we start. It's hard to see. Shadows of birds cartwheel across the sky. The crowd casts dark shapes. Woodbury and I stand opposite each other. The ball sits on the ground between us. ‘When the whistle goes,' he says, ‘it's whoever kicks first.'

It seems like hours before someone blows the whistle. I keep my body tense, ready to jump. I take a quick look at Woodbury. He's standing the same way. We've both got everything to lose. And everything to gain.

The sound hits the air and my legs move a second too late. Usually I'm quicker than light, quicker than breath at the kickoff, but today my nerves are sand in my blood.

Woodbury has feathers in his, hundreds of them. He races down the field, feet cradling the ball. I'm too far behind to stop him. He swings to the right before goal and kicks. The smack of his boot is hidden in cheers.

But it's my old friend in the square today, confident, unafraid. Martin dives left and catches the ball. Score nil. If I keep playing like this, though, it won't be for long.

I shake my arms and wait for Martin to throw the ball back onto the field. He sends it as far as he can in my direction. Woodbury and I chase it. I get there first and kick it forwards. I'm a second ahead – less, half a second – but it gives me the
edge. I slam the ball and hope it's hard enough to take the goalie by surprise. He slaps it like a summer fly, lazy with heat.

‘Good try, for a girl,' someone calls out from the crowd.

If I lose today, I won't be the player who wasn't good enough. I'll be the girl who wasn't good enough. Woodbury's goalie tosses the ball in, and I follow it like my life depends on it. My soccer life does.

I have the edge, now. Because I'm more desperate than Woodbury. I go in hard. Over and over again. I've had to play like this all my life because on that field I have more to prove.

‘Get under them, Faltrain, get around them,' Martin always said. So I do. I race around Woodbury, dancing with the ball in the dark afternoon. I crash it into the net, a wave of leather hitting the back like the shore.

‘Go, Faltrain,' Flemming calls from the side. Alyce gives a little half squeal like she does at the matches when she gets excited.

‘Lucky kick,' someone yells.

Lucky, hey? How's this for luck. I head the ball forwards after it's thrown in and race hard. Woodbury's close, but as always, not close enough. He doesn't have a chance. This is what I do. I run faster than anyone else. I kick goals. I remember once my dad said after a game, ‘You play like a champion. But I have no idea how you do it.'

I knew what he meant. Why are some people good at things and others not? He and Mum aren't great at sport. Alyce is more like them than I am. But somewhere along the line I learnt to run. Somewhere I learnt to pass and kick and shoot. No one taught me. When I watched my first soccer game I knew. That field was home.