by Rob Childs
ZERO TO HERO
Rob Childs
Illustrated by Kevin Hopgood
Text copyright © Rob Childs 2011
Illustrations copyright © Kevin Hopgood 2011
The right of Rob Childs to be identified as the author and of Kevin Hopgood as the illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 (United Kingdom).
First published in Great Britain in 2011 by
Frances Lincoln Children’s Books, 4 Torriano Mews,
Torriano Avenue, London NW5 2RZ
www.franceslincoln.com
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-84780-223-1
eBook ISBN: 978-1-78101-036-5
Set in Plantin
Printed in Croydon, Surrey, UK by CPI Bookmarque Ltd in July 2011
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Contents
Name Game
Goal role
Semi-Final
Sick and Tired
Sticks and Stones
Colour Clash
Rave Save
Bully Boy
Friendly Fixture
Up for the Cup
On the Spot
Final Score
For all young footballers
Name Game
“Get in goal, Zero.”
“Yeah – and try and stop a few today.”
Simon sighed, and trudged towards the gap between the two trees that his older brothers used for target practice. He was never quite sure whether they tried to blast the ball past him or straight at him.
“C’mon, Zero!” urged Nails. “Get a move on.”
“Yeah – it’ll be dark soon,” cackled Jake, as he came up with one of his little jokey rhymes: “Dark on the park!”
Simon was not even in position when the ball flew over his head, but he didn’t bother to go after it. There was no need.
“Fetch!” he cried.
Woof!
Tilly sped away, and was soon dribbling the ball back with her front paws, keeping it under close control.
“Pity that mutt can’t play for us in the Cup on Sat’day,” Nails said with a grin.
“Yeah,” agreed Jake. “None of their lot would ever get the ball off her.”
Not even they could do that, without a lot of bother. Tilly would only let Simon have it. The little black mongrel bopped the ball forward with her nose so that it rolled right up to his feet.
“Good girl!” Simon patted her and the dog wagged her tail.
Woof!
“C’mon, Zero, give us the ball,” ordered Nails.
Simon threw it over their heads to use up a bit of time. He had a strong throw and the ball landed well behind them.
“You really are good-for-nothin’, Zero,” Nails complained, stressing his nickname. “Yer throwin’s as bad as yer kickin’.”
Simon was ready to run if Nails made any move towards him. The eldest of the Brown brothers had not earned his own reputation, Hard as Nails, without good reason. He was a tough-tackling centre-back for the school team and few strikers were foolish enough to tangle with him twice in the same game.
“Why did you want me to play, then, Kevin?” he said cheekily. Apart from their parents and the teachers, only Simon called Nails by his real name – and that was because he knew that it annoyed him.
Nails stared at him, fists clenching.
“Not my idea, you taggin’ along, Zero,” he snorted. “Blame Jake. It was him that wanted some more shootin’ practice.”
Simon gave a little shrug.
“Fetch it, Tilly!” cried Jake.
Instead the dog sat down, head on one side, looking at Simon.
“OK,” he laughed. “Fetch!”
Tilly fetched. She shot past the other boys, pounced on the ball and circled round, giving them a wide berth.
“Give!” yelled Nails.
Tilly ignored the command and steered the ball back to Simon.
“Stupid hound!” Nails muttered.
“Yeah, just like Simple Simon,” Jake grinned. “They make a right pair, them two – the nut and his mutt!”
Simon skimmed the ball towards him at a pace that made it hard to control – and Jake failed to do so. It bounced off him like a wall and looped up into the air. As it dropped, Nails caught the ball on the volley and smacked it goalwards. Simon caught it, too, grabbing the ball with both hands.
No one could quite believe what he’d just done, not even Simon himself. He usually dived out of the way of any ball struck with such force.
“How did yer do that?” gasped Nails. He even failed to call him “Zero”, for once.
Simon gave his usual shrug, and threw the ball away again.
“Bet Anil wouldn’t have smelt that,” said Jake. “He’s useless.”
Anil was the school goalkeeper, but when he had missed a game earlier in the season, Mr Smith, the headteacher of Redfield Primary, found that nobody else wanted to go in goal. In the end, he asked the captain, Nails, to wear the yellow goalie top, but that only weakened the defence even more. They lost 6-1, with Nails at fault for at least three of the goals – not that anybody dared to blame him.
“That’s the main reason we’re near the bottom of the league,” Jake moaned. “We’ve let in too many goals.”
Simon grew in confidence after that catch and he pulled off several more good saves, as much to his own surprise as theirs. They put the ball past him many more times, but now they had to shoot more accurately to do so.
“Has Smithy ever seen you play in goal?” asked Jake, as yet another of his shots was blocked.
Simon shook his head. “Don’t think so.”
“Too late now,” said Nails. “Anyway, Smiffy don’t like havin’ little kids in the team.”
“I’m not little,” Simon protested. “I’m as tall as Jake.”
“You know what I mean. He only picks people in the top juniors.”
“C’mon, let’s go home,” said Jake, booting the ball towards the park gates. “It’s time for tea.”
“Dead right,” agreed Nails. “I’m starvin’.”
“I’m going to give Tilly a walk first,” Simon told them.
“Reckon that daft dog’s had enough exercise,” Nails said with a scowl.
“Bet Simple Simon just wants to watch the birdies again!” Jake said, grinning.
Simon crossed the park, throwing a stick for Tilly until they reached the Redd, the brook that wound its way along the back of their school playing field. He often spent much of his lunchtime leaning on the fence, watching the wildlife down by the water.
Tilly paddled into the brook for a drink, before settling beside Simon on the grass.
Woof!
“Sshhh,” he said, stroking the dog’s neck. “Let’s wait and see.”
Over the next few minutes, he spotted a number of different birds that came to rest briefly in the bushes and branches of the small trees on the opposite bank. There were sparrows and blackbirds, a greenfinch, a big rook and even a couple of collared doves.
Simon was also rewarded by the rare sight of a kingfisher – a flash of vivid blue as it skimmed low across the surface of the water, then dipped down to take a drink on the wing, before disappearing from view.
“Beautiful,�
� he murmured in wonder.
When Simon eventually reached home, he didn’t bother to say anything about what he’d seen. He knew that no one would be interested.
“You’re late, and your tea’s gone cold,” said Mum crossly.
“Looks like it’s early to bed for you tonight, Zero,” said Nails, smirking, when Mum had left the room.
Jake grinned at Simon. “No telly and an empty belly!”
Goal Role
The weekly soccer practice on Wednesday was cancelled. Mr Smith was ill and no one else on the staff was willing to take the footballers out into the rain after school – not even Mrs Gregson, known as Greg by the pupils, who coached the girls’ netball team.
She held a lunchtime meeting in her classroom instead, and found that several players in the squad were also absent.
“They must’ve gone down with this bug that’s goin’ round, Miss,” Nails said.
The team captain was not feeling too well himself, but he was not prepared to admit it to anybody. Normally, he would not have minded a few days off school in bed, but there was no way that he was going to risk missing the big match on Saturday.
“Perhaps we ought to call the game off,” said Mrs Gregson.
Nails was shocked at such an idea. “We can’t do that, Miss,” he whined.
“Why not, Kevin?”
“Well . . . it’s the semi-final, Miss. It’s not just any old game.”
“I know that, Kevin, so all the more reason to postpone it until Mr Smith returns and the team is at full strength again.”
“But . . . it’s the Cup, Miss,” he repeated.
The teacher sighed. The last thing she planned to do on Saturday morning was to stand on a muddy touchline, watching a game of football.
“Right, then, Mr Smith has already chosen the team,” she said, checking the piece of paper in her hand, “and I’m pleased to see that there are two girls in it. It used to be all boys, of course, at one time.”
“Happy days. . .” Nails murmured under his breath.
The teacher beamed at Katie and Emma, who were also regulars in the school netball team.
“Glad you are both still well,” she said, “but three of the lads seem to be missing – including the goalkeeper, Anil. What shall we do about that?”
“Pick more girls, Miss?” suggested Katie.
“That’d make us a better team,” Emma said, grinning at Nails, who she knew would prefer to have no girls at all playing for the Reds.
Nails didn’t rise to the bait and ignored them.
“Well I ain’t goin’ in goal again,” he stated flatly.
“Please don’t say ‘ain’t’, Kevin. You know I don’t like it,” said his teacher.
Jake spoke up. “Well, there is somebody else who could play in goal, Miss.”
“I’m sure there must be,” said Mrs Gregson. “And who’s that?”
“Our kid brother, Simon.”
Nails pulled a face at Jake, but it was too late.
“I mean, he’s not that bad,” Jake admitted. “Y’know, if we’re really desperate, like. . .”
So it was that Simon’s name was added to the squad for the semi-final. He thought his brothers were teasing him when they broke the news.
“Thanks to me,” said Jake, thinking that Simon would be pleased.
He was wrong.
“You’re only there just in case,” Nails told him. “Anil will be back in time, don’t worry. I’ll see to that.”
He was right. Anil turned up on the Friday, but Simon still kept his place among the substitutes.
“Sure glad to see you today, Anil,” Simon said with relief, when they met in the playground at morning break.
Anil looked blank for a moment, then realised who Simon was.
“Oh, yeah – right,” he said. “Well, I might not have been here, if somebody hadn’t come round to my house yesterday.”
“Who was that?”
“Nails. Threatened what he’d do to me, if I didn’t show up,” he said ruefully. “You know what he’s like, man. He’s not somebody to argue with.”
“I do,” Simon grinned.
“Yeah, well – you might get away with it, but not me. So here I am.”
“Are you fit enough to play?”
“Sort of – but make sure you’ve got your boots and gloves with you tomorrow,” Anil told him. “Y’know, just in case. . .”
“I shall be a proud father if all my three sons are on the pitch at the same time,” Dad said, as they arrived at school next morning.
“Huh! We really will be in trouble if our kid has to come on,” grunted Nails.
Simon didn’t respond to the taunt. He was so nervous, he had not been able to eat any breakfast. He put his hand down onto Tilly’s head and ruffled the fur behind her ears, as much for his own comfort as the dog’s.
“Wish you could come to watch a few more of our games, Dad,” said Jake. “We don’t seem to lose when you’re there.”
“You know how busy I am in the shop, son. ’Fraid I’ve got to get back, too, straight after the match.”
Dad called all of them son. Jake joked that it saved him the bother of having to remember their names.
Simon gave Dad Tilly’s lead as the brothers headed towards the school building.
“Please don’t let her loose, Dad,” he said. “She’ll race onto the pitch after the ball.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry, son. You can have her back once the match kicks off – unless you’re playing, of course.”
“No chance!” scoffed Nails.
“If you get bored with the game, Si,” said Jake, “you can always go and watch the birdies and let Tilly have a paddle in the brook.”
They reached the boys’ changing-room to find Anil being sick in the toilet.
“Oh, that’s great,” muttered Nails, when the goalkeeper came out. “Does Greg know you’ve been pukin’ up?”
Anil shook his head. “Just pre-match nerves, man. I’ll be OK.”
“You’d better be,” Nails told him.
“Good job Greg’s still outside,” said Jake, pulling on his red number-ten shirt.
As he spoke, Mr Smith poked his head around the door.
“I couldn’t stay at home, wondering how we were getting on,” he told them. “I hope all of you are fit and raring to go.”
Jake glanced at Nails and a few faces turned towards Anil, but Mr Smith’s gaze had fallen upon Simon instead.
“Well, well, and who’s our new superstar?” he said, grinning.
“Smiffy’s as bad as Dad with names,” Nails hissed.
Jake smirked. “Just so long as he doesn’t start calling us ‘son’ too.”
“I’m Simon.”
“Course you are, I know that,” Mr Smith said. “Mrs Gregson has already explained the situation to me. It’ll be good experience for you. I’m always looking for people keen to play in goal.”
Simon was tempted to say that he wasn’t really all that keen, but the headteacher was already leaving.
“Must go. I don’t want to risk passing on any germs, but I’ll be staying to watch the game from a safe distance,” he said, smiling. “Good luck, Reds!”
“Huh!” muttered Nails under his breath, as he tugged the captain’s black armband up onto the left sleeve of his number-five shirt. “We’ll need it, too, if Zero has to go in goal!
Semi-Final
“C’mon, men!” cried Nails, as the Reds gathered around him on the pitch before the kick-off. “We’re in it to win it!”
“Hey! I made that up,” Jake protested. “You said I could say it.”
Nails ignored him, but got no further with his intended pep talk.
“And girls,” put in Emma.
“What?”
“Don’t forget us girls too,” Emma told him.
Nails stared at his tall, heavily-built partner in central defence, who grinned back at the captain, knowing that this would annoy him.
The team�
��s speedy left-winger, Katie, joined forces with her best friend. “We don’t want to be called men, thanks very much,” she added.
Nails pulled a face at them. “Right, men – and women,” he scowled, as some of the boys began to snigger. “Like I was saying, we can beat this lot, just like we did in the league. . .”
The referee’s whistle cut across him and the group broke up as Nails trotted towards the centre-circle for the toss. The Reds’ 3-1 victory over St Martin’s School – the Saints – before Christmas had been one of their rare successes this season, a season in which they had seemed to be saving their best form for Cup games. The reminder had served to boost the players’ confidence and they were hopeful of reaching the Final.
Only Jake knew that the captain was still not fully fit. They shared a room and it was difficult to hide secrets. Even Simon and their parents did not realise that Nails had been unwell during the week.
Sadly, only five minutes after the kick-off, the Reds were all feeling low.
A long clearance from the Saints’ goalkeeper bounced over the heads of both Nails and Emma and a green-shirted, blonde striker raced past them into the clear. She dribbled round the advancing Anil and then steered the ball into the empty net.
“Keep your eye on the ball, Kevin!” cried Mrs Gregson from the touchline.
Nails cursed under his breath. “Huh! What does she think I’m doin’? Starin’ at their number-ten?”
It was perhaps a guilty thought. The scorer had indeed caught his eye, but it was her quick feet that he’d noticed, not her blonde hair.
“C’mon, Reds, let’s show this lot how we can play,” cried Nails angrily.
It was another ten minutes, however, before the Saints’ keeper was forced to make a save. Jake managed to shake off his marker at a corner, but his header was well held by the goalkeeper.
At the other end of the pitch, Anil was handling the ball like a bar of soap. Time and again, it slipped out of his grasp and only some desperate defending prevented a second goal. In one of these goalmouth scrambles, Nails blocked the ball on the line and then hacked it clear of danger.
