Shoot to Win (14 page)

 

 

“Hard luck!” said Jamie's mum, ruffling his hair, as she had always done since he was a little kid. “We thought you did some great kicks.”

“Thanks,” said Jamie, moving his head away from her hand. He wished she wouldn't try to talk about football.

“So, did you get our note that Jeremy and I wanted to talk to you about something important?” she asked brightly.

Jamie wasn't in the mood for talking. He'd just lost a Cup Final.

“Mum – I already know!” he said bluntly. He'd known about his dad coming back before
she
had.

“You know? But how?” she said, a little confused. “We only decided last night.”

“Decided what?”

“We're getting married, Jamie! That's what we wanted to tell you!”

 

As his mum and Jeremy walked hand in hand back to the car where they said they would wait for him, Jamie's eyes scanned the pitch. It
was
big news that they were getting married, but he couldn't think about it now. Not with the remnants of the Cup Final still freshly scattered in front of him.

The Breswell players were draped in one of the big banners their supporters had brought. They were jumping up and down with the Cup, singing: “Championés! Championés! Oh way oh way oh way!”

In front of them, the photographer was snapping away.

“That's it, lads,” he was saying. “Cheeky smiles. There's going to be a big splash for you boys tomorrow!”

Jamie couldn't help but think it should be the Kingfield boys up there on the podium. He could almost see him and Ollie lifting up the Cup and then running around the pitch with it. Kingfield had come all this way. And now they were going away with nothing.

Instead of celebrating, Jamie's teammates were silent; some of them were even crying.

It occurred to Jamie that maybe this was the way his professional dream was supposed to end. He'd had his bit of personal glory coming off the bench to score but, ultimately, his team hadn't been good enough to win the Cup Final.

Maybe this was the footballing gods giving him a little nudge. He was fourteen. If it hadn't happened for him by now – and it hadn't happened for him today – it was never going to happen.

Jamie should enjoy his football as a hobby but give up the idea of trying to go professional.

Perhaps that was the real reason that he'd got so annoyed with Jeremy lately. Perhaps somewhere, deep down, he had understood that Jeremy was right. Jamie hadn't been angry with Jeremy. He'd been angry with the truth. . .

The truth that Jamie should start thinking about life in the “real” world.

The truth that the time had come for Jamie Johnson to accept that he would never be a profess. . .

“Well played, Jamie.”

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Dad!” Jamie said. The word slipped out before he could stop it. “I didn't think you were here . . . sorry I lost . . . I—”

“Don't sweat it, Jamie – you were brilliant. We both thought so.” His dad gestured to the man standing next to him. “This is my friend Steve Brooker.”

“Hello, Jamie,” said the man shaking Jamie's hand. He had the firmest handshake Jamie had ever felt.

For a second the three of them stood there in silence until Jamie's dad added: “Steve's Academy Director at Foxborough, by the way.”

He said the words so casually, as if he were mentioning that it was forecast to rain tonight.

“What?!” said Jamie. “Foxborough as in Foxborough the biggest club in the country?!”

“Yes,” said Steve, laughing. “Well, we like to think so, anyway.”

“Oh my God!” said Jamie. His eyes were practically popping out. He couldn't stop staring at Steve. Now he noticed the little Foxborough club badge on his coat. “I can't believe you're actually here!”

“Well, when your dad told me that there was a gifted left-winger playing today, I had to come down and take a look,” said Steve. “We're all looking for left-wingers at the moment.”

“I'm a left-winger!” Jamie exclaimed.

“I know,” smiled Steve. “You're the one I came to see.”

 

 

Jamie felt the golden sunlight warm his skin as he listened to Steve Brooker talk.

He wanted to take in every word, hear every syllable that came out of his mouth. Steve Brooker was the most important man that Jamie had ever met.

“I have to admit,” Steve was saying. “I
was
a bit surprised that you started on the bench, but then I suppose it was the way that you were able to turn the game on its head in such a short space of time that really caught my eye.”

“As a coach, sometimes you only need to see one piece of magic, one passage of play to convince you that there is something you can work with in a player. When you did that step-over today, Jamie, I knew I'd seen something special. Something very special.”

Jamie swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. He could feel his head starting to judder with excitement.

“Thanks,” he just about managed to splutter.

“Jamie,” Steve continued, “I think you might have something. I don't know what it is exactly, but I'd like to find out. I'd like you to come and play for Foxborough.”

Very discreetly Jamie dug his nail as far as he could into his own skin. He had to check that it hurt. He had to check that this was actually real. He'd only believe it was if he saw blood coming out of his. . .

“Well?” said Jamie's dad. “Are you going to give the man an answer?”

“Yes,” said Jamie, softly at first, still trying to take in everything that was happening. “Yes! A thousand million yeses! I'd crawl all the way up the motorway to play for Foxborough!”

Jamie was bouncing around now, hugging his dad and Steve.

“Great,” said Steve. “I'm glad. You'll move up and we'll put you on a Scholars contract. Then, assuming you've done the business, you'll turn pro when you're sixteen.”

The words seemed to fly like spirits in the air. They were too precious for Jamie to touch. But he could hear them and he could understand what they meant.

At first his legs went weak and he thought he might faint but then his energy came rushing back. He felt like dancing. He felt like running down the street and kissing everyone he met! He could never have believed when he woke up this morning that his day would end like this.

“Congratulations, Jamie,” said his dad. He looked almost as excited as Jamie did.

They hugged for the first time in nine years.

From over his dad's shoulder, Jamie could see a bundle of dreadlocks running towards him.

It was Jack! She must have taken the bus here after her game.

Jamie's face lit up when he saw her. Without Jack, he might never have got on the team coach today. And that would have meant he wouldn't be standing here now, with his dad and Steve Brooker.

Jamie could see Jack was holding something up for him to see. It was a medal! She must have won her Cup Final!

Jamie couldn't say the same. He hadn't won this Cup Final. He didn't have a winner's medal today. But he had something else; something completely different.

He had the future ahead of him that he'd longed for his entire life.

Jamie Johnson was going to be a professional football player.

 

 

 

 

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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd., 2008

This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd., 2012

 

Text copyright © Dan Freedman, 2008

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eISBN 978 1407 13531 1

 

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