Gracie Faltrain Takes Control

by Cath Crowley

  Cath Crowley grew up in rural Victoria. She now lives in Melbourne and works as a writer and part-time teacher. This is her third novel.

  Also by Cath Crowley

  The Life and Times of Gracie Faltrain

  Chasing Charlie Duskin

  GRACIE

  FALTRAIN

  TAKES CONTROL

  C A T H C R O W L E Y

  First published 2006 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  St Martins Tower, 31 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Cath Crowley 2006

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Crowley, Cath.

  Gracie Faltrain takes control.

  ISBN 978 0 330 42229 1.

  ISBN 0 330 42229 4.

  1. Title.

  A823.4

  Typeset in 11.5/15 pt Minion by Midland Typesetters

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Cover design by Melanie Feddersen, i2i design

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  These electronic editions published in 2006 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Gracie Faltrain Takes Control

  Cath Crowley

  Adobe eReader format 978-1-74197-024-1

  Microsoft Reader format 978-1-74197-225-2

  Mobipocket format 978-1-74197-426-3

  Online format 978-1-74197-627-4

  Epub format 978-1-74262-519-5

  Macmillan Digital Australia

  www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  To Charlotte, Dan, Declan, Ella, Esther and Tom Crowley.

  More interesting characters than any I could make up.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you Pan Macmillan, especially Anna McFarlane, Brianne Tunnicliffe and Karen Ward. Your warmth and insight have made this a much better book. Thank you also Anyez Lindop, for your support and fantastic sense of humour.

  I could not write the character Gracie without all the people who gave up their time to teach me about soccer, especially Di, Dimitri, Natalie and Anna. Lastly, as always, thanks to my friends and family.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  1

  The most important thing in soccer is teamwork. There’s no better feeling than killing the opposition. Together.

  Gracie Faltrain

  Flemming gives me a nod as small as a blink. Move an inch to the right, Faltrain, it says. So I move. And then I wait. Everyone on the field does. We’re statues ready to fly into life as soon as Flemming sends his message to the ball.

  ‘Give it to me,’ I whisper. I want to take the shot so bad. I love the first Saturday in May. It’s better than Christmas. Better than my birthday. It’s our team’s first official game of the season. And I want to make sure we win.

  The sound of smacked leather echoes and I’m off. I soar past Shukman, the strongest player from the opposition, and keep the goal clearly in sight. It’s so easy; I take a minute to play with the ball. I hook it onto my left ankle and toss it back to my right. Casual. Like I’m throwing it with my hands. I tease everyone on the field.

  ‘Take the shot, Faltrain!’ Martin yells all the way from goal. I run in close and slam it at the net.

  ‘It’s in!’ Martin shouts. Of course it’s in. I mean, come on. Gracie Faltrain kicked it.

  I know what you’re thinking. Gracie Faltrain is the same selfish player that she was at the end of last season. She’s stealing the ball and hogging it so she can look like a star.

  You’re wrong. I’ve learnt my lesson. To play great soccer you have to be part of a team. Winning is a whole lot easier that way.

  I still remember the feeling I had when we won the National Championships last year. Flemming took the kick and for a second no one was sure what would happen. The whole crowd held its breath while the sky held the ball. I knew Flemming wouldn’t miss. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he can play soccer. We wouldn’t have won without him. You have to respect that.

  ‘Faltrain, less dancing, more kicking,’ Coach shouts at half time. Someone should read that guy the statistics on heart attacks.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ His words rip a layer of skin from my ears. Someone should read those stats to him, but it’s not going to be me.

  ‘He needs to relax,’ I whisper to Martin.

  ‘You never learn, do you, Faltrain.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I learn. I’ve learnt so much since last season I’m practically a whole new person. The Gracie Faltrain who played soccer like she was alone on the field? She’s gone. I’m the new and improved Gracie. And she’s going to have a great season. With the help of her team, she’s going to win every game.

  We run back onto the field and you know what? We do win. We win so big and I kick so good that Martin and Coach forget they were ever angry.

  ‘How do you like that?’ I say to Shukman on the way past. I take a second to really love the look on his face. I slap hands with Flemming on the way over to Martin. Everyone was right, winning is so much better when the whole team helps. There’s no better feeling than killing the opposition together.

  ‘You were fantastic.’ Martin leans in close and lines up rockets under my skin, ready to go. He kisses me and it’s take-off time. Great soccer. Great boyfriend. Grea
t life. Last season is far behind me. In the life and times of Gracie Faltrain, this year is going to be perfect.

  2

  Life’s not just about winning, Faltrain.

  Martin Knight

  You think I don’t know that? Sometimes it’s about evening up the score.

  Gracie Faltrain

  Usually at the end of a season I have this flat feeling, like I’ve been flying for months and then all of a sudden someone cuts off my wings and leaves me grounded. You can play soccer for fun all you like, but hanging around in the back yard shooting the ball in the air can only keep things interesting for so long. It’s the competition I love. And it’s hard to win against yourself.

  But after the Championships, we didn’t have to go for months without a match. Coach signed us up for the off-season games. Most schools in the area play in them, but this was the first time we’d entered. ‘Won’t do you any harm to keep practising between seasons,’ Coach said. ‘Have a bit of fun competition.’

  He had that last bit right. We had weeks of fun humiliating every team we played against. In most games the opposition didn’t even get hold of the ball.

  My favourite match was the one against Hayton High. It was a hot day, like playing soccer in an oven. I could feel my arms baking, slowly roasting me to gold. I felt good.

  Dan Woodbury was the captain of their team. He won the toss and took the kick-off. That didn’t matter to me; either way they were on the fast track to losing. Call it fate. Call it destiny. Call it Gracie Faltrain. As soon as the ball moved I was its new best friend. Woodbury stuffed up and kicked too high. I trapped it with my chest. Not my favourite tactic – a girl’s got to think of her future – but necessary.

  ‘Hello there,’ I whispered to the ball, shifting it to the inside of my ankle. I hovered for a second, long enough to spot Flemming waiting near goal. Hot air rushed past me as I ran. The sun bit my face. I felt better than good. I felt great.

  ‘Flemming,’ I called, and flicked the ball to my knee. I bounced it high. I headed it. He kicked it. We scored.

  ‘All right,’ he shouted, and grabbed me round the neck. ‘Give up now,’ I heard him say to their goalkeeper, laughing as he walked off. Yep. Winning is a beautiful thing.

  We won every game in the off-season competition. We played fast. We played hard. We played as a team. See? Told you I learnt my lesson. ‘Nice try, Woodbury,’ I said as I walked past him after the Hayton High match. ‘Just nowhere near nice enough.’

  You know the best thing about the off-season games, apart from the look on the other teams’ faces? I proved that Gracie Faltrain is back. To stay.

  I figure last year was a glitch. A hiccup. One missed kick in a long life of great soccer. The only bad thing about this year is that Jane, my best friend, still isn’t back. She left with her family to live in England and it looks like they’re staying. Jane’s still on my side, though. She rang last night to wish me luck for the first match of the season. ‘Got every game you’re playing marked on the calendar,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Jane. I really love that you want me to do well.’

  ‘Actually, Faltrain, I just really love being alive. I don’t want a hit man turning up at my door.’

  She’s joking. She knows I can’t afford a hit man on my pocket money. Anyway, if I had the money for a hit man, I’d use it on Annabelle Orion. Every chance she had last year, she made my life miserable. There’s a long list of Annabelle offences, but there are three on the top of the chart. Number one: she made sure the whole school heard how I stuck my tongue in Nick Johnson’s ear while I was trying to kiss him on our first and only date. (A freak accident. Usually my aim is perfect.) Number two: while the whole school was calling me Gracie-cotton-bud-Faltrain she put the moves on Nick. Number three: she loved every minute of it. They broke up over the summer and now she’s seeing Dan Woodbury. So I won in the end. She keeps dating idiots. And I have Martin.

  Annabelle still rates an eleven on a Richter hate scale of ten, though. She’s rocketing off the scale this year because she makes it her job to hassle one of the best friends I have – Alyce Fuller.

  I love Alyce, but let’s be brutally honest, she’s a walking target. She’s the school nerd. She loves books and the library. She may as well wear a t-shirt that says ‘Kick me’ across the back in big red letters.

  ‘Hey, Alyce,’ Annabelle calls over the crowd today. ‘Your boyfriend wants to say hi.’ She points at the old man who cleans up after the game. ‘Only one you’re ever going to get.’ Actually, Annabelle doesn’t need the t-shirt. She kicks Alyce on instinct.

  I give her the finger as she walks away. ‘I could wipe the smile right off her face, Alyce, if you’d forget about your stupid rule and let me punch her.’

  ‘It’s not my rule, Gracie. There are these people called the police and a place called jail . . .’

  ‘Whatever. No one would lock me up for taking out Annabelle Orion.’

  ‘Gracie, please. Forget it.’ Alyce says please like a kid begging for chocolate. She hates being noticed, especially when Andrew Flemming is standing close by. Alyce has it bad for the guy. She has it so bad her blood turns sweet when she sees him. Her cheeks are white as sugar. Her hands shake. She thinks I don’t notice, but remember, I know the signs.

  ‘Get changed, Faltrain,’ Flemming calls. ‘We’re going out for pizza.’

  ‘You want to come, Alyce?’ I ask.

  ‘I guess so.’

  I know Alyce wishes Flemming had included her in the invitation, but to do that, he’d need to have remembered her name. Alyce can’t have it both ways; she can’t be Ms Invisible and still have Andrew Flemming know she’s alive.

  Alyce was great to me last year. She was there when I had no one else. One thing I’ve learnt? Don’t forget the people who saved you. This year isn’t just about Gracie Faltrain; I’ve got other plans, too. Alyce has played a losing game long enough. I want her mentioned by name on party invites, not stuck on at the end of mine as, ‘Invite whoever else you like’. For that to happen, though, she has to change, because – last time I checked – reading and watching the news? Not high on the list of things that get you popular. Unless the people you want to party with are over fifty.

  My job won’t be easy. Alyce turns up for school every day looking like she got dressed in the dark. Last week I dragged her into my room and pushed one of my new shirts into her hands. ‘Quick. Put this on and meet me out the front.’ She shrugged and took the top. I know she only wore it to make me happy.

  Alyce has no idea what it takes to be popular. You have to want it, sure. But you have to act like it’s the last thing you want. It’s a tricky business. Too much cool and you’re a try-hard. Not enough and you’re a nerd.

  ‘Can’t she just be herself?’ Dad asked when I explained why Alyce needed to change.

  ‘Dad, being yourself only works for a small, select group of people.’

  The skin above his nose buckled into a frown. ‘Why can’t Alyce be a part of that group?’

  Was the man wearing a blindfold? Was he delirious? Dad can’t see Alyce’s problem because he’s exactly like her. His mind’s always stuck halfway between here and the last page of a book.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Dad. I don’t make the rules. I play by them. Alyce can be herself later. When she’s made it.’

  Adults try to make things simple. They say stuff like, ‘Go to the teacher if you’re being bullied’. As if that’ll help anything. I’ve seen kids ripped to pieces right in the middle of class. I did it to Alyce myself once, so I should know.

  By the end of this season Flemming will call Alyce by name. I’ll make sure of it. I’m making sure everyone does. Gracie Faltrain is back, Annabelle Orion. And this season is about evening up the score.

  3

  Score as many goals as you want for Alyce, Gracie. She’ll still be a loser. She’s best friends with you.

  Annabelle Orion

  I just wish the score wasn’t so far i
n the other team’s favour. Annabelle Orion and her mates are at least ten goals up. And Alyce is still in the change room.

  It’s a cruel twist of fate for Alyce that we have sport every Monday, period one. Ever tried to convince a parent that you’re sick on the first day of the week? It takes dedication. It takes a good liar. And it takes about half the weekend, because you have to start lying by at least lunchtime on Sunday. Alyce has to turn up to school. She has to play sport. And what do both those things add up to for a nerd like her? Humiliation, to the power of about a thousand.

  This term we’re playing basketball. Alyce is even more crap at that than any other sport. Martin and I tried to give her a few lessons yesterday. ‘Come on,’ I said, dragging her off the couch and throwing her book to Martin. ‘Don’t give her that. No matter how hard she begs.’

  ‘You just need a few tips,’ I told her on the way to the court. ‘And then it won’t be so bad for you tomorrow.’

  ‘Gracie, I don’t care about basketball. I don’t care about sport.’

  ‘Look me in the eye and tell me that being picked last every single time doesn’t bother you.’

  ‘Being picked last every single time doesn’t bother me, Gracie.’

  ‘You’re lying. I can see your eyes twitching.’ I tossed her the ball. ‘Now run towards the ring, and try to shoot.’ It’s a good idea to watch Alyce run through half-closed eyes. That way you’re ready to block out the sight of blood.

  There was blood, yesterday – just not hers. She threw the ball at the ring and almost broke Martin’s nose. And he was standing behind her. At the other end of the court. ‘I would have thought that shot was scientifically impossible,’ he said, trying to make her feel better.

  ‘Not really,’ she answered. ‘If you multiply the angle of the court by the distance and add me into the equation, it’s kind of an algebraic certainty.’