by David Warner
‘No problem, Mr Mudge.’
Mr Mudge waved them past. ‘Now, straight to class.’
They set off again, moving quickly this time, with Mudge bringing up the rear.
‘Good one, Warner,’ Sunil whispered in Davey’s ear as they approached the classroom. ‘What a crazy idea! Who’d have thought you’d pull it off?’
Davey rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Deep.’
‘Now, we’ve just got to get McNab out of his dancing thing,’ Sunil muttered. ‘Wonder what Pepi’s other idea was?’
CHAPTER 10
GEORGE’S NO-BRAINER
Davey spent all of recess in the sports storeroom polishing the school’s lawn bowls.
Mr Mudge, who loved lawn bowls almost as much as he hated cricket, was on hand to supervise. ‘Like this, Warner,’ he said, carefully picking up one of the bowls as if it was a brand-new puppy. He dipped a rag into a bucket of warm soapy water. ‘Gently rub it in circles. Then use another rag to dry.’
For once, Davey made a real effort to do exactly what his teacher asked.
‘Once it’s dry, you give it a quick spray with the polish, and then another good rub until it shines. Got it?’
Davey nodded and eyed the six sets of bowls that Mr Mudge had lined up. It would take all recess and lunchtime to get it done.
Mr Mudge seemed to read his mind. ‘These will keep you busy for a while. So you’ll have to help Mrs Trundle after school.’
Davey nodded. Whatever Mrs Trundle had lined up for him, he figured it would be worth it if it meant he could play in the match the next day.
But at the end of the school day, when he was standing in Mrs Trundle’s office, his optimism evaporated.
‘I have just the job for a boy like you.’ Mrs Trundle’s eye twitched as she led him towards the big cupboard in the corner.
She pulled open the cupboard doors to reveal the shelves within. They were stacked with all kinds of stationery – scissors and glue, rulers and erasers, protractors and pins, boxes of bulldog clips.
The centre shelves were stacked closely together. Now Mrs Trundle pulled one of them towards her, like a drawer. Davey leaned forward to see what was on it.
Paperclips. Thousands of them, all in little compartments.
Davey had heard the legend of Mrs Trundle’s paperclip collection, but no one had ever actually seen it so Davey had never believed the stories were true. And yet here he was, staring at the collection, perhaps the first person in the world (other than Mrs Trundle) to ever set eyes on it.
‘It’s the biggest paperclip collection in the southern hemisphere,’ Mrs Trundle said proudly. There are four shelves like this one. But, as you can see, they need some re-sorting. That’s your job.’
Davey took a closer look. Even he had to admit that the paperclips were in some disarray, with big ones jumbled in with small ones, and blue ones with orange ones.
Mrs Trundle glanced up at the big clock on the wall. ‘I’ll be here until half past five. You have until then to get these in order.’ She smiled. ‘You might receive a merit award for this, David. Now, chop chop!’
By the time Davey climbed on his bike to ride home, he could hardly see from all the sizing and sorting and picking and positioning. When he reached his house, Sunil, George and Kevin were hitting a ball around on the footpath out the front.
Sunil stopped in the middle of his bowling run-up. ‘How’d you go?’
‘Done! I’m in!’ Davey raised his fist in victory. ‘Batfish, here I come!’
‘Good one!’ Sunil gave him a slap on the back.
George put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a Whopper Chomp. ‘Here, Warner, a little reward.’
Davey popped the lolly into his mouth.
‘We’ve got some other good news,’ Sunil said. ‘Pepi has come up with a good plan to get McNab out of dancing.’
‘Yeah? What?’
‘Well, I’ve been reading about tarantulas,’ George said. ‘Apparently, if one bites you it makes you dance like crazy and wave your arms about.’
‘Mmm. And?’ Davey couldn’t see what any of this had to do with Kevin, but he was keen to find out.
‘So the idea is, Kevin pretends he’s been bitten by a tarantula and does a crazy dance, waving his arms around a lot. He won’t be able to do the ballroom dancing because you have to hold your partner the whole time.’
Davey made a cross-eyed face. ‘Doesn’t that mean he’ll miss the cricket too?’
‘No. He just does it long enough to miss going to the dancing thing, and then gets better in time to play cricket. It’s brilliant!’ Sunil’s eyes were shining with excitement.
‘Wouldn’t it be easier to pretend to be sick?’ Davey asked.
‘Nah, Mum won’t fall for that,’ Kevin said. ‘But spiders! She hates them, so it’ll freak her out. And Dad’s away, so he won’t know.’
‘Of course, there aren’t actually any tarantulas in Australia,’ Sunil said knowledgeably. ‘And it’s true that a tarantula bite doesn’t actually make you dance so much as twitch – and only sometimes. But, you’ve got to admit, it’s brilliant, a no-brainer. Much better than yours, Warner.’ Sunil grinned.
‘Yeah, it’s good,’ Davey said. ‘Do you need a big spider? Because I know where one lives. I might be able to catch it, so long as you don’t hurt it.’
Kevin put his hand on his heart. ‘Promise.’
CHAPTER 11
‘TARANTULA’
That night after dinner, Davey passed up a game of backyard cricket with his brother, Steve. ‘Nah, I’m too tired,’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
Davey’s mum looked at him as if he’d turned into an alien. ‘You? Tired? What’ve you been up to?’
‘Nothing . . . But I need a jar with a lid. There’s a spider on my wall and I need to catch him to put him outside.’
After a lot of rattling around in the back of a cupboard, Davey’s mum found an old Vegemite jar. ‘Careful not to drop it,’ she said. ‘And make sure you let him out as far away as possible. I hate spiders.’
Armed with the jar and broom, Davey and his dog Max headed for Davey’s bedroom. The spider Davey was after often hid behind the poster of Ricky Ponting that hung on his bedroom wall.
After punching a few holes in the jar lid with a pen nib, Davey climbed onto his bed and carefully tugged on the corner of the poster. ‘Whoops,’ he whispered. The sticky stuff on the back of the corner had come off the wall, bringing a big chunk of paint with it. ‘Don’t tell Mum,’ he hissed at Max.
Davey peered behind the poster, but it was too dark to see. ‘Max, get the torch!’ He pointed at the bedside table.
Max wagged his tail and barked before dashing out through the door. Davey heard the sound of his claws skittering down the hallway.
‘Idiot pooch,’ he muttered as he reached down and grabbed the penlight. He switched it on and shone it up behind Ricky. In the upper corner, he spotted a dark shadowy form. ‘Gotcha!’
Except he hadn’t, not yet. He grabbed the broom and gently poked the end up behind the poster. Nothing happened. He shone the light up again – the spidery form hadn’t moved.
Max ran in and barked.
‘We’ll have to take Ricky down.’ Davey gently pulled the other bottom corner of the poster off the wall. ‘Ouch.’ Another big chunk of wall and paint came off. He reached up and tugged carefully at a top corner – the one he was fairly sure didn’t hide a giant spider. He looked down at Max, who was standing on the bed next to him, his two front paws up on the wall.
‘Ready?’ With the jar in one hand and the broom in the other, Davey pulled on the last corner. At the same time the poster came away, a big brown spider scuttled down the wall. Davey quickly stuck the broom in front of it. The spider clambered on and in a moment was running down the handle towards him. Still holding the broom, Davey held the jar at the end of handle. The spider ran straight into it.
‘The lid!’ Davey slapped his hand over t
he top of the jar and cast his eyes around. There it was near the end of his bed. He dived and slammed it on.
‘Now I’ve gotcha!’
After setting the jar on his bedside table, Davey rescued his poster of Ricky Ponting and stuck it up quickly, so his mum wouldn’t see all the chunks out of the wall.
‘So, what do you reckon, Ricky?’ Davey stared into the former Australian captain’s eyes. ‘Will things work out tomorrow?’
Ricky’s face looked like a huge green moon in the half-light of dusk. Davey threw himself back on the bed, and Max jumped on top of him.
‘Get off!’ Davey pushed the dog to the floor.
It had been a long day of polishing lawn bowls, sorting paperclips and catching spiders. Davey could hardly keep his eyes open. Still, he stared up at Ricky. ‘Can we beat the Batfish, Ricky?’ he whispered.
Did he see his hero wink? A thought came into his mind out of nowhere. Tay Tui was a good wicket-keeper – a really good one. If she also liked to sing, well, he’d have to get used to that.
But what about Mo?!
Davey knew what his mum would say. ‘Give him a chance! Maybe Mo will learn to love cricket.’
‘Hmmm.’ Davey wasn’t buying it. That was never going to happen.
He looked at his spider. ‘We’re counting on you,’ he said.
The creature was playing dead, but Davey was sure he saw one of its legs move . . .
The next morning, Davey was up early. After a quick breakfast of Corn Pops, he grabbed everything needed for the big game and jumped on his bike.
Stuffed into his school backpack he had his cricket gear, his bat, Kaboom, his ‘baggy green’, and, importantly, the Vegemite jar with the spider in it.
‘Max, you’re staying here,’ he said firmly as he closed the back door behind him. Davey’s dog was not only banned from the school grounds but from any school sporting fixture in the district. Max was that famous.
Davey wheeled his bike down the side path, then jumped on and headed to Kevin’s place to give him the spider.
He couldn’t let his friend down. After all, it was going to be incredible. He could see his friend now, doing the tarantula dance and freaking out his mum.
Davey laughed out loud. Mrs McNab would fall for it for sure. He could feel it in his bones.
CHAPTER 12
SANDHILL FLATS SLUMP
Lessons dragged that Friday morning. Mr Mudge seemed to take forever to explain long division for the hundredth time. Then he droned on about healthy eating choices in PDHPE for an hour, before asking Bella Ferosi to make an impromptu speech about leadership. Finally, after what felt like thirty-seven hours, 6M was allowed out for lunch.
Davey, Sunil and George quickly made their way to the school gate to wait for the rest of the cricket team. The plan was to walk to Flatter Park around the corner, where the match would be played.
‘No sign of McNab,’ George observed as they strode towards the gate and freedom.
‘We’ll see him down at Flatter.’ Sunil seemed confident. ‘He’s got to be sick and crazy enough to miss the dancing but get better quickly enough to make the match. It’s a fine line, but I reckon he’ll do it.’
Davey wanted to believe his friend, but now he wasn’t so sure. For one thing, the spider had played dead for so long he wondered whether it was actually alive at all. In which case, would Kevin’s mum fall for the trick? It was touch and go.
At the gate, Ms Maro was ticking names off a list. ‘Ah, here they are! My star players!’ She smiled at Davey and his friends, then looked up and over their heads. ‘Oh, and here’s Mo and Tay and Ivy! I didn’t hear you coming!’
Davey glanced around. Tay, Ivy and Mo were a few steps behind them. But Ms Maro was right: the girls’ mouths were so full of lollies, they couldn’t make a sound.
‘Hi, everyone!’ Mo leered at Davey. ‘Looking forward to losing?’
Davey gave the mini-minded muppet a happy smile.
When everyone was accounted for, the team formed two straggly lines and set off towards Flatter Park.
Two and a half minutes later, they were there. The Batfish Beach team had already arrived and had started warming up.
Davey scanned the field. Kevin was nowhere to be seen. ‘McNab’s not here,’ he said quietly to Sunil.
‘That’s okay. If he comes any time before afternoon tea, they’ll let him play.’ Sunil still sounded confident.
‘So long as Mo doesn’t say anything to the Batfish before McNab gets here.’
‘It’s a risk we’ll have to take.’
When it was time to toss the coin, Kevin still hadn’t arrived. Sunil called tails, won, and opted to bat first.
‘Hopefully McNab makes it by the time it’s his turn to bat,’ Sunil whispered as Davey pulled on his helmet and gloves. Then he’ll be here to do some bowling when the Batfish are in.’
As he trudged out to the pitch with George, who was Sandhill Flats’ other opening batsman, Davey scanned Flatter Drive. Still no sign of Kevin.
He took his place at the crease and tried to put Kevin, Mo and that awful B4U song out of his head for good. At this point, his main job was to take his time, score some runs and set Sandhill Flats up for a nice big run tally. He gave Kaboom a quick kiss for good luck. ‘Come on, K, we can do this,’ he whispered to his bat. Then he got into position and waited, ready.
The first Batfish bowler started with a few leg-spinners. Davey took it slow – so slow that by the end of the over he hadn’t scored a run.
That’s okay, he told himself. No rush. Then George at the other end also played out a maiden over.
After two overs with no runs to the score, Davey was pleased when, first ball next over, the bowler strayed down the leg side. Davey shifted his weight onto his back foot and pulled the ball to cow corner for three.
With George on strike, Davey watched as his friend blocked the first few balls. George was right to take it slow, he knew; but he was out LBW to the last ball of the over. He hadn’t even had a chance to settle in.
Davey grimaced as George trudged off. One for three was not a great start.
Next up was Ivy. As she approached, Davey noticed she was no longer sucking on a lolly. He just hoped she wasn’t going to start singing, like her new friend Tay.
But Ivy didn’t sing – at least, Davey couldn’t hear her. Instead she started scoring steadily with some stylish shots that had the Batfish fielders running everywhere.
It gave Davey the confidence to try a couple of his own scoring shots and forget about Kevin, Mo and B4U in the process. His score climbed to fourteen.
When Byron, the Batfish captain, sent a fast one down the leg side, Davey jumped at the chance to try his switch hit, something he’d been working on for ages.
With some fancy footwork, he turned, swapped hands on the bat handle, and played a right-handed drive for four valuable runs.
‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’ Ivy called out from the other end of the pitch.
But a few balls later, Davey was out for twenty-one, caught in slips when Kaboom didn’t quite connect.
Usually at this point, Kevin would have come in to bat. But as Davey traipsed back to the boundary his friend was still nowhere to be seen.
‘Good one, Shorty,’ Mo hissed as Davey passed. ‘Wait till I get out there and start bothering those Batfish. Ha!’ Mo’s pink eyes were gleaming.
Ignoring the blithering blockhead, Davey eyed Sunil. ‘No McNab?’
Sunil shook his head. ‘Not yet. Tay’s up instead.’
‘Tay, no lollies out there,’ Ms Maro said as the new girl pulled on her gloves. ‘We don’t want you to choke.’
‘Sure, Miss,’ Tay said before heading out to the pitch. ‘I don’t have any left, anyway.’
That’s a worry, Davey thought. Tay’ll be singing for the rest of the match. He made a note to ask to field on the boundary, as far as possible from the warbling wicket-keeper.
Davey had no idea whether Tay or Ivy were sin
ging out on the pitch. But they certainly made some great shots and scored some quick runs. When Tay did get out it was unlucky – she stumbled going for a quick single and was run out. Still, she had scored a respectable sixteen runs.
Even without Kevin playing, it now looked as if they’d reach a competitive total, but when Ivy was dismissed for nineteen, it led to a collapse. The rest of the Sandhill Flats batters came and went with almost no runs added to the score. Sunil, at his usual number ten position in the batting order, added a few runs to the tally before being caught behind.
The result was that, even though Ivy, Tay and Davey had batted well and notched up decent scores, Davey doubted it would be enough. To have any chance of beating the Batfish, Sandhill Flats would need at least eighty-five runs or so. As it was, they were sitting on sixty-nine. It would be up to their last batter to bump up the score.
Unfortunately, with no sign of Kevin, the only batter left for Sandhill Flats was Mo Clouter.
Davey, George and Sunil exchanged worried looks. If Mo’s performance at cricket training was anything to go by, his chances of scoring even one run were slim. On top of that, the cocky cabbage was no doubt hell-bent on pestering the Batfish. If that happened and he was caught, Sandhill Flats would be disqualified on the spot.
They watched as Mo grabbed a bat and started swatting invisible flies before tramping across the field towards the crease.
George shook his head. ‘How did it come to this? I was sure our spider plan would work.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Sunil said. ‘It seemed like a no-brainer.’
Davey nodded. ‘It did. Speaking of no-brainers, Mo’s almost ready to go.’
They held their breath . . .
CHAPTER 13
THE WARBLING WICKET-KEEPER
Davey watched as Mo planted his feet wide apart and waved his bat around in the air. ‘Keep the bat down! Didn’t he learn anything at training?’
