The Ruby Bottle

by Janet Reid

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Right, listen up,’ called Mrs May above the din of the class. ‘I know you’re all excited about the fete coming up, but life goes on and you’ve got sports day in less than five weeks.’

  The class moved about restlessly. Some started jigging on the spot, as though they were getting ready for a race, and others kicked at tufts of grass, heads hanging low. Amber had singled out a bare patch of ground and scraped away at it with her jogger.

  ‘Okay,’ shouted Mrs May, clapping her hands, ‘twice around the oval, then back here for the next activity. And if you don’t get a move on, I’ll make it three laps.’

  Amber took a deep breath and started off at a jog. A slow jog. The rest of the class pulled away.

  ‘Hey,’ came a voice beside her. Ricco.

  ‘Hate sports days,’ he said, sounding breathless already and they hadn’t even made it half-way around the oval.

  ‘Me too. I always come last,’ muttered Amber, slowing down so that Ricco could keep up with her. She wondered why he was wearing a jumper. It wasn’t exactly cold.

  ‘Well, you won’t come last this year,’ said Ricco. ‘You’ll beat me.’

  ‘No, I won’t. Boys and girls have separate races.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Yeah. Of course they do.’

  ‘We didn’t at my last school,’ said Ricco, puffing. ‘There were only seven kids in my class, five boys and two girls, and I still came last.’

  Amber wondered for a moment what it would be like in such a small school. Then she imagined herself and Marissa being the only two girls in the class, and gave a shiver. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the rest of the class was catching them, already on their second lap. Lukus was in the lead but Marissa was right behind him.

  ‘Why did you move?’ she asked Ricco, suddenly curious.

  ‘My mum got a job at the university. She used to work there before she married Dad, but then she moved to my grandad’s farm. I think she’s really glad to be back here. But I don’t know about Dad. I think he misses the farm.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ called Mrs May. ‘You’re supposed to be jogging, not gossiping.’

  Amber looked up to see that most of the class had almost finished their second lap, when she and Ricco had only done one. That should give Marissa and Rachel something to sneer about, she thought as she started to jog a little faster, Ricco trailing at her heels.

  ‘Glad you could join us,’ Mrs May said when they eventually finished.

  ‘About time, too,’ Amber heard someone mutter.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Mrs May. ‘Now, I want you in four groups and we’ll practise relays.’

  Everyone scrambled to be with friends. Amber looked at Ricco. Ricco shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Guess we’d better find a team,’ he said, looking around.

  Before they could move, Mrs May called, ‘Okay, let’s even these teams up a bit. Too many there,’ she said, pointing to the biggest group. ‘Some of you out.’

  There were some side glances, but no one moved.

  ‘Oh, come on, you babies. Do I have to do this for you? Marissa, out of that group and over here.’

  ‘But I want to be with Rachel,’ grumbled Marissa.

  Mrs May gave her a withering stare, her hands placed firmly on her big hips. Marissa moved.

  ‘That’s better,’ muttered Mrs May. ‘Now, let’s see …’

  But she didn’t need to say anything else. Everyone moved quickly after that. Amber was just sorry she and Ricco had ended up in the same team as Marissa.

  ‘Now, I don’t need to tell you how to pass the baton in a relay race, but just in case you’ve forgotten, I’ll have Daniel and Lukus out here to give us a demonstration.’ And she tossed a baton to the boys.

  Lukus reached past Daniel and caught it with one hand. He twirled it about proudly before running a short distance across the oval. ‘You ready?’ he called to Daniel, holding up the baton.

  After the demonstration, the class practised baton change-over in their four teams. They only had to run a short way, but Mrs May wasn’t giving any breaks. ‘Come on, keep going,’ she yelled. ‘Billy, that was a terrible pass. Livia, faster …’

  No sooner had Amber had her turn than it seemed to come around again. She reached for the baton and headed towards the other end. At that moment, she saw Marissa push the girl who was waiting for her out of the way. And with a malicious smirk on her face, she leaned forward.

  ‘Come on, Amber. Hurry up. I’m waiting for you,’ she called.

  Amber felt her heart sink. What was Marissa planning? And as she pushed herself forward, holding out the baton, Marissa dropped her hands and let the baton fall to the ground.

  ‘You are so clumsy,’ said Marissa loudly.

  Mrs May lifted her whistle to her mouth and gave a shrill blast. Everyone froze.

  ‘Right, you two. Amber. Marissa. Here. Now.’ Mrs May pointed to a spot just in front of her.

  Amber’s panic sent pins and needles down her arms and legs. This was the second time this week she’d been in trouble with Mrs May.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Marissa said as she stepped forward. ‘Amber couldn’t –’

  ‘That’s enough,’ snapped Mrs May. ‘Over here now.’

  Amber’s legs were so rubbery she wondered if they would hold her up. She glanced at Marissa, but Marissa didn’t look worried. She looked angry. Her arms were crossed and her chin jutted out in defiance.

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs May, taking a step closer to them. ‘Marissa, do you want to tell me what’s going on?’

  Marissa’s shoulders drooped a little, but she held her head high. ‘It’s just that Amber’s always messing things up, Mrs May,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t give me that rot, Marissa. I saw what happened and it certainly wasn’t Amber’s fault. Now I don’t know what problem you think you have with Amber, but it’s time you got over it. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘But …’ stammered Marissa.

  ‘Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear.’

  Jaw clenched tight, Marissa nodded.

  ‘Good. Now, I don’t expect any more of this type of behaviour. Understand?’

  Marissa nodded again.

  ‘Right. Back into your line. Amber, a word with you before you go.’

  Marissa scowled as she turned to go back to her team, then she flounced off, her head still held high.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Mrs May, shaking her head, before turning back to Amber. ‘Now, Amber. I just wanted to say that I bumped into your mother yesterday.’

  Amber felt the blood drain from her face. Why hadn’t her mother said something?

  Mrs May laughed. ‘It’s alright. I didn’t tell her about the … ahmm … incident on Monday. But she told me you’re playing netball this year. Maybe next year you might want to join our school team.’

  ‘The school team …’ stammered Amber. ‘But I’m hopeless …’

  ‘Nonsense, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Now go on, back to your team or you’ll be hopeless at relays.’ And Mrs May gave Amber a smile before she raised the whistle to her lips again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Okay Thunderbirds,’ called Terry, later that afternoon. ‘That’s enough drill for today. Your passes are getting better, and it’s good to see you’re keeping those feet still when you have the ball. Now, gather round. I want to talk about your game.’

  Amber sat with the rest of her team, listening to their coach tell them how good they were.

  They weren’t, though.

  They always lost.

  Amber hadn’t wanted to play netball in the first place, but her father insisted.

  ‘It’ll be good for you, Amber,’ he’d said. ‘Team spirit and all that. Anyway it’s really just a bit of fun.’

  Fun! Not likely. Anyway, she knew what he really meant. She was supposed to make new friends now that Bethany had left.

  ‘You’re getting better,’ Terry said.
‘Remember when you started at the beginning of the season? You only got one or two goals in a game. And last Saturday you managed to get six. That was a great effort.’ Terry didn’t mention the other team scored twenty-nine goals. Instead he smiled at Rachel, because Rachel had shot all six goals. She sat up straight, her ponytail bouncing with pride, and looked smug.

  Well, thought Amber, it was going to take more than Rachel’s six goals for them to win any time soon. Let’s face it; the Thunderbirds were hopeless, even with Rachel as one of their shooters.

  The girls waited silently as Terry shifted from foot to foot, spinning the ball on the end of one finger. He liked doing that because he’d been a basketball player once. Now he had a stiff knee, so he had to make do with coaching a netball team.

  ‘Okay,’ Terry said, ‘that’s enough talking. Let’s get into a practice game. Amber, I want you to have a go at being goal shooter today. Grace is going to a wedding this weekend so I want you to stand in for her. You look as though you’ve shot up a bit in the last few months.’

  ‘Me?’ stammered Amber. She felt her face heat up.

  ‘Don’t you think Sharnie should have a go?’ called Rachel.

  But Terry ignored her. ‘Come on. Let’s see how you go. Everyone up and let’s get back to practice.’

  After thirty bleak minutes, Terry called the girls back together for another pep talk. Amber sat with her head down, scratching at the dirt with a small stick, hoping he wouldn’t say anything about how hopeless she’d been as a goal shooter.

  ‘Now, on Saturday when we play,’ said Terry as he finished off the session, ‘we’re up against the top team. The Eagles.’

  Groan. Last time they’d played the Eagles, they’d lost fifty-one to three.

  ‘You can still do your best,’ he said, trying to sound positive. ‘Amber, you’ve got a hoop at home, haven’t you? Do some shooting practice over the next couple of days and we’ll see how you go, hey? Okay everyone. See you Saturday.’ And he tossed his towel around his neck, picked up the bag of balls and walked off.

  The girls rushed away. All except Amber. She could see her father talking to Mr Higgins, Rachel standing beside him. If she walked slowly, they might be gone by the time she got there.

  She didn’t notice the umbrella that lay on the ground in front of her until it was too late. As she stood on it, her shoe caught on the hooked handle and over she went, sprawling headfirst in the dirt.

  ‘Amber!’ shouted her father, running to her. ‘Are you alright?’

  As he helped her to sit up, Amber bit back the tears. She gripped her knee as blood ran down her leg.

  Mr Higgins found a clean towel and pressed it to the cut. ‘That looks nasty, Peter,’ he said. ‘You might want to get it seen to.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, Amber, but it’s off to the doctor with that,’ said Dad. ‘It looks like you might need stitches. You might even have to miss the match next Saturday.’

  ‘But Amber’s supposed to be goal shooter,’ said Rachel as she stood looking down at the group.

  ‘I’m sure someone else could do it,’ said Mr Higgins as he wrapped the towel around Amber’s knee.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ said Rachel, so quietly that only Amber seemed to notice.

  She looked up and saw that Rachel was holding the umbrella.

  Was it hers? Had she dropped it there? On purpose?

  But as Mr Higgins stood up, he took it from Rachel and said, ‘I wonder who dropped this.’

  Amber wondered, too, as Dad helped her to the car.

  When they reached the surgery, the doctor saw Amber straight away. She cleaned up the cut and examined it carefully. ‘No, there’s no need for stitches,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put on a couple of butterfly clips and cover it with a dressing. Really, Mr Daley, I think Amber will be fine for Saturday’s game, if she’s careful with her knee until then. It’s really no more than a scratch.’

  ‘If you’re sure …’ said Dad.

  Amber rolled her eyes and pulled a face.

  The doctor laughed. ‘Yes, Mr Daley. I’m sure. We can’t have the new up-and-coming goal shooter out for her first week, now can we? But you’ll have to be careful with it until then,’ she warned Amber. ‘And I want you to keep an ice pack on your knee tonight to stop any swelling or bruising.’

  ‘I will,’ said Amber. But I won’t let it stop me practising my goal shooting, she promised herself. There was no way she was going to let Sharnie take her place.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Marissa asked with a sneer as Amber hobbled into the classroom the next morning. Rachel, standing beside her with her arms crossed, was silent.

  Amber glanced from one to the other before saying, ‘Nothing. Just a cut knee.’

  ‘How’d you get it?’ Marissa demanded.

  ‘She tripped over a stupid umbrella. At netball practice yesterday,’ said Rachel.

  ‘An umbrella? I’m surprised it wasn’t her halo,’ said Marissa.

  Amber’s stomach gave a twist. Marissa was just not going to forget the Christmas play, was she? She hadn’t wanted to be the angel in the first place.

  ‘So, did you have to get stitches?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘No. And I’ll be alright to play on Saturday, too.’

  ‘Pity,’ murmured Rachel. ‘Sharnie would be so much better.’

  Amber’s day didn’t improve. Ms Kruger gave them some of the hardest maths problems she could think of. Each one was different and Amber couldn’t work out whether she should add or subtract, multiply or divide. If only she had her little djinn here. He’d soon show her what to do.

  She still had three problems to go when Ms Kruger yelled at the class, ‘Come on, you lot. You should be finished by now. Actually, I think anyone who doesn’t get these done can stay back and finish them in art time this afternoon.’

  A groan rippled through the class, but Amber heard Lukus mutter, ‘Good. Hate art anyway.’

  But she didn’t. She loved art. It was her favourite subject at school and they only had it every second week. And Miss Warburton was absolutely her most favourite teacher. Ever. Her ginger hair wisped about her face, refusing to be caught in the bun at the back of her head, and she wore long flowing dresses and dainty sandals, even in winter. Around one ankle was a silver chain with a tiny bell attached, so wherever she walked there was tinkling – soft and soothing. It made Amber think of a fairy flitting around the room. She could almost imagine a pair of delicate wings sprouting from Miss Warburton’s shoulder blades, fluttering as she moved from table to table, helping everyone with their work.

  ‘Amber, get a move on,’ shouted Ms Kruger, ‘or you’ll be the first one missing art.’

  Amber jumped and quickly started writing down the next problem.

  ‘Rachel. Good girl. You’re finished,’ said Ms Kruger as she moved on. Then she came to a halt behind Marissa’s chair. ‘Oh, Marissa, what are you doing? How did you get your work in such a mess? Really …’ And she snatched up an eraser and started to rub out Marissa’s work.

  Amber lifted her head to sneak a look and was surprised to see tears in Marissa’s eyes. She felt almost sorry for her.

  But only for a moment, because then Ms Kruger said, ‘You’ll be here with Amber in art time if you don’t get this mess cleaned up. Now get on with it.’ And she tossed the eraser back down on the desk.

  Amber’s heart sank. There would be only one thing worse than missing out on art, and that would be having to stay back with Marissa. She felt a nudge and turned to see Ricco leaning towards her.

  ‘I’ll help you if you like,’ he whispered. ‘Just don’t let Ms Krum Bum see, that’s all.’

  Ms Krum Bum? Amber started to laugh but clamped a hand over her mouth just in time. She glanced over to see if Ms Kruger was watching but she was leaning on the door jamb, talking to Mr Churchwood, the groundsman. By the time he had left, Amber was just finishing off the last problem. Thanks to Ricco’s help. She’d be able
to go to art after all.

  As the class pushed their way into the art room after lunch, Amber stood at the door and took a deep breath. She loved that smell. Paints and varnishes, inks and glues, all mixed together. She closed her eyes and listened as Miss Warburton dumped plastic palettes and bottles into a large sink at the side of the room.

  ‘Sit here,’ she heard Ricco say. She opened her eyes. Ricco had his hands on two stools at the end of a work beach. Amber pulled herself up onto one of the stools and looked across the room, right into Marissa’s glaring eyes – Ms Kruger had taken pity on her and let her come to art after all.

  ‘There she goes again,’ said Ricco.

  Amber turned back to Ricco. ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Marissa. She’s always grumpy. Look at her.’

  Amber didn’t have to look. She knew Marissa would be scowling.

  ‘And she really doesn’t seem to like you very much,’ he said.

  Amber felt her face going red.

  ‘How come?’ Ricco asked.

  Amber thought of the Christmas play last year. How she and Marissa were meant to be sheep …

  ‘She … ah …’ Amber started, but just then Miss Warburton clapped her hands three times.

  ‘Good afternoon everyone,’ she said as she greeted the class. ‘Now, let’s see. Who will I get to be my helpers today?’

  Her pale blue eyes moved around the room, and Amber hoped she’d be picked. She loved being Miss Warburton’s helper. But Miss Warburton’s eyes settled on Marissa.

  ‘Marissa,’ she said, ‘you can be one. And you too, Lukus. Up here, next to me.’

  Lukus pulled a face as he moved to the front of the room.

  Miss Warburton handed each of her helpers a large piece of cardboard, edged with black and divided into smaller sections, a bit like a stained-glass window. Each section had been filled with all sorts of materials – wool and paper, plastic and ribbons, feathers, beads and foil, all different colours and sizes. The effect was startling.

  ‘Okay,’ said Miss Warburton as she wiggled herself up onto a stool, ‘this is what you’re doing for your display at the fete. I know we don’t have much time, but you should get the borders done today, and you’ll have time to sort out some of your collage material ready for the next step. Ms Kruger is going to give you time in class to finish them off. Now first of all, you’ll need cardboard …’