Over the Wall

by Michael Panckridge

  There was a pause.

  ‘It’s Luci. Can you hear me? Where are you?’

  4:56.

  Another pause.

  ‘I don’t think we can meet in the usual spot,’ Luci was saying.

  It seemed that Bryce was okay. But where could he possibly be? It sounded like he was miles away rather than in the room next door to us.

  4:57.

  Miss Javros was looking curiously at Luci as she switched off her computer and collected her things.

  ‘Are you sure? Ascot College?’ Luci asked.

  ‘Give me the phone, dear. I can drive you to Ascot. Let me talk to your mother,’ Miss Javros said, her hand out for the phone.

  4:58.

  Luci turned slightly away from her.

  ‘Okay, so normal spot, at five o’clock. Thanks, Mum. Look after yourself.’ She put the phone back onto the receiver. ‘It’s okay, Miss Javros, no problems.’

  ‘Well, all right then. Time for lock-up.’ We raced back down to the sports end as the lights started to go out.

  4:59.

  ‘Bubba, any–’ I said. But there was no Bubba.

  We raced over to the panels, but they were shut.

  ‘What did Bryce say?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know, it was hard to hear him. I’m sure I heard him say something about Ascot College. He wasn’t here. I mean, in there. He was somewhere else.’

  ‘So what do we do? We can’t stay here. And now Bubba’s gone in. They could be in there all night!’ Becky said, panic-stricken.

  ‘I want this area tidied – now!’ Miss Javros yelled.

  5:00.

  We packed up the magazines and slid the boxes back onto the shelves.

  ‘What is it with these school year boxes, anyway?’ Miss Javros asked.

  ‘Miss Javros,’ said Becky. ‘Something awful–’

  ‘They say there’s something awful and spooky in one of them,’ Luci interrupted, staring at Becky.

  ‘And where’s Bubba? Wasn’t he with you?’ Miss Javros asked.

  ‘I think he slipped out while Luci was on the phone,’ I suggested. And, I thought to myself, he really had.

  There was no possibility of us staying another minute. Miss Javros was keen to get going. And Luci, for better or worse, had decided that now wasn’t the time to be talking about secret rooms. I could only hope Bryce had said something on the phone to make her think that things were okay in there. But now there was the extra complication of Bubba. And what about their parents, who would probably be waiting outside for them?

  ‘So, how do we get out of this little mess?’ Becky asked.

  We were walking slowly towards the car park, where a few cars were waiting.

  ‘I mean, we say to Bryce’s dad, “Oh, sorry, Bryce is in this secret room somewhere–”’

  Becky never got to finish her sentence. Two figures were racing across the ovals towards us, one a few metres ahead of the other, yelling and waving their arms.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Luci muttered, shaking her head. A minute later Bryce and Bubba arrived, puffing and out of breath.

  ‘You have some explaining to do,’ I said to Bryce.

  ‘I tried ringing,’ he panted.

  We all turned to look at Bubba. Luckily for him, he wasn’t ready to speak.

  A car horn blared.

  ‘C’mon, it’s time to go. We’ll call you tonight.’

  Bryce didn’t make it to school the following day. I rang up at recess, and his dad said Bryce was fine, just very tired. He hadn’t woken up till ten o’clock.

  We caught up with Bubba, briefly, at lunchtime. I’d heard the story last night but was happy to hear it again. He told us that he had got in, gone down about three flights of steps, and then followed a tunnel for ages, until he had caught up with Bryce trying to open this trapdoor. It was pretty brave of Bubba, really. I’m just glad there weren’t any spiders down there. I think he felt guilty about the mobile phone and thought he’d get in there himself to find Bryce.

  It turned out that the trapdoor connected to a room at Ascot College. It was in their boarding house, where kids stay at school if their homes are too far away. They had snuck around, trying to look for a way out. Bubba said that it had crossed their mind that they might bump into Jack, too.

  Everything was quiet. Bryce thought that all the boarders might have been at dinner. They snuck out, crossed Ascot Road, and that’s when we saw them heading across our ovals towards the car park.

  ‘So, you’re telling us that there’s a tunnel that runs underneath our ovals and the road, then links up with Ascot College,’ Luci said. We were all a bit amazed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How awesome!’ squealed Becky.

  ‘You thinking of paying a visit to the boys’ boarding house one night are you, Becky?’ I asked cheekily.

  She looked at me and rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah right, Mitch,’ she said.

  ‘Anyway,’ Bubba said, ‘Bryce wants to have a de-belief thing–’

  ‘Debriefing?’ I suggested.

  ‘Yeah, one of them. At his house. Next Friday, after school.’

  ‘Next Friday? Why not this Friday?’ asked Luci.

  ‘He says that we all need to concentrate on the Legend of Soccer for the week. He wants to wait till that’s over.’

  That sounded okay, too.

  Our last two games were both away. For once we weren’t able to muster much of a support crowd for our match against Scornly. All the Year 3’s and 4’s were on an excursion. Scornly had insisted, according to Mr Zucker, that the games be played at the same time on their two pitches. We headed over just after lunch.

  Scornly may have come last in the football competition, but they weren’t about to let that happen in soccer.

  Mr Zucker had spoken about the pride that our school felt in owning the inter-school football trophies for a year. They were sitting up there in the library now, and he said there was space for another trophy. Maybe another two. No school had ever held all four winter trophies: football, netball, soccer and basketball. There would be the biggest school party ever if it happened, he said.

  Our match against Scornly was a hard slog on a boggy pitch. The skills of players like Shane and Alex didn’t help much in the wet and muddy slush.

  At half-time, with the scores nil all, Mr Zucker took me off goalie position and changed the whole line-up around. He pushed Fisk up into the centre, and Paisley and me up even further. Our instructions were to play as high as possible without getting offside, and hope that Fisk and Shane could thump some long balls through and beat the Scornly offside trap.

  After a few minutes of the second half, the opportunity came. I ran wide and deep, making sure I never went past the line of the last defender. As Fisk latched on to a thumping through-ball, I raced off into the space in front of the penalty box. Their goalie hesitated, not knowing whether to come out or stay on his line. Paisley had run on to my right. The goalie rushed at me, and I snapped a neat left-foot pass just as he was beginning his lunge. We both went down in a flurry of water and mud.

  Even as the referee was blowing his whistle for a foul, and therefore a penalty to us, Paisley was calmly slotting the ball into the net. The goal was allowed. Paisley jogged over to me, a huge grin on his mud-streaked face. He gave me an arm, and hoisted me out of the slush.

  ‘Mate, that was awesome!’ he yelled, thumping me on the back.

  Fisk was scowling at him. The whole team, except for him, and Alex in goals, ran down to congratulate us.

  ‘Great running, yourself,’ I said to Paisley, watching to see how Fisk would handle this friendly chat.

  ‘C’mon, you two. You think you’ve won the game? Get real. We gotta do that again,’ Fisk growled at everyone. He’s a natural leader, I’ll give him that.

  As it happened, no one else scored in the last twenty minutes, and we left the pitch tired, wet, muddy and victorious.

  ‘Do you want the good news, or the good news?’
Mr Zucker beamed at us.

  ‘Let’s take the good news first,’ Paisley said.

  ‘Good idea. The Hoods beat Ascot!’ He was really very excited.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Paisley asked Mr Zucker.

  ‘I’ve got a spy there, haven’t I?’ he said with a glint in his eye. ‘And that little spy has made a little video of that game. Now, Mr Zucker has a little plan for those big bad Hoods.’

  I looked across at Fisk, who caught my eye. I raised an eyebrow at him. He looked at me a moment longer, then turned away, his face blank.

  ‘And the other good news?’ Paisley was talking as much as I’d ever heard him.

  ‘Oh! Scornly have got hot showers and some soup and bread for you. Glad you reminded me, Jimmy.’

  An hour later I crawled into the car, exhausted and happy to be heading home, looking forward to a warm fire and a slack afternoon in front of the television.

  ‘I did say that I wouldn’t interrupt your soccer research, but I have news,’ Bryce said to us at lunchtime the following day. ‘We’ve got a reply from Jack. He cc’d me in. Here, I’ve made you all a copy. Are you still okay to come round to my place next Friday? Dad wants to make it a tradition. You know, after each Legend sport.’ Bryce thrust a piece of paper into Luci’s hand and took off. It looked like he was heading for the library.

  Gee, how surprising!

  ‘It’s great that Jack’s replied,’ Bubba exclaimed. ‘We did get to him.’

  ‘Good news, yeah?’ I said. He’d been a bit down, especially after the Reds had been beaten three to five by Scornly yesterday. ‘Can you read it, Luci?’ I asked.

  Subject: Hi

  Email from: Jack Crossly

  mail to: “Luci Rankin”

  Cc: “Bryce Flavel”

  5:38 p.m. 14/07

  Hi everyone,

  Geez it was good to hear from you. First, I want to say sorry to Mitch for snubbing you at soccer last week. It’s all been really bad and Mum and Dad have split up, for a while, they reckon, and decided it would be good for me to be at a proper school. Then they thought I should board as well. Mum and Dad got really angry with Mrs Waite over the cracked ribs that Fisk gave me. Dad wanted me to guts it out, but Mum had had enough.

  It’s not so bad. The kids here are okay, once you get to know them.

  It was weird playing against you. I almost pulled out, but I had to see you.

  I’m still barracking for you guys. If your parents invite me, I can go out on Saturdays or Sundays.

  Watch out when you play the Hoods – they’re scary.

  Cheers, Jack

  It sure was good to hear from Jack.

  ‘I’ll email him a monster letter tonight,’ I declared.

  I spent a lot of the weekend preparing for the final Legend of Soccer week. Bubba and I had a kick on the pitch where Fisk and I had had our run-in with the Hoods. I was sort of hoping that my soccer ball might turn up, but that was probably wishful thinking.

  I showed Bubba the spot in the toilets where Fisk had been lying on the floor, a Hood boot on his chest.

  I did some study for the soccer quiz and on Sunday afternoon Luci and I fired off questions to each other online.

  On Sunday night I wrote Jack a long email about the Legend of Soccer competition, the tunnel, and even Paisley’s winning goal against Scornly.

  When I got to school on Monday morning, I went straight to the Legends noticeboard. They already had all the details up for the final week of soccer, with both an update of the results and a program for the coming week’s events.

  Instead of the usual assembly to present the awards, we were to have a big presentation after the Wetherhood game on Thursday night, back at Sandhurst. I suppose the soccer organisers were hoping that it would encourage a big crowd to come and support us at their school, which was the same distance away as Ascot College, but in a different direction.

  Legend of Soccer

  Final Week’s Arrangements

  Tuesday

  Skills test

  2:30 – 5:00pm

  Wednesday

  Soccer quiz

  2:30 – 3:30pm

  Practice

  4:00 – 5:30pm

  Thursday

  Game 3 (v Wetherhood)

  2:30 – 4:00pm

  (Meet at ground no later than 2:00pm. Green on top pitch, Red on bottom pitch next to tin sheds.)

  Presentations

  4:30 – 6:00pm

  (At Sandhurst gym. All welcome, barbecue provided. Trophy presentations at 5:30pm.)

  The weather for the skills test session was good. A big crowd had turned out to watch the soccer players show off their talent. As usual, plenty of snacks and drinks were available for everyone. Mums, dads, brothers, and sisters were eating, drinking, and generally running around having a good time. There were orange cones everywhere, marking off the areas that were reserved for the actual skills tests. A teacher stood waiting at each station, clipboard in hand, ready to mark down times and scores.

  Mr Zucker had given us a good idea about what to expect, so there were no surprises. We went around in groups of four. There were six stations to rotate through:

  • Throwing

  • Dribbling

  • Passing

  • Long kicking

  • Shooting

  • Saving.

  I started at station four, long kicking, and worked through each in order.

  My group didn’t give me much of a chance to see how I was going against the big guns like Fisk, Paisley, Chaz, Franko and Shane, although Mia was very talented, speedy and skilful. Aside from her, I was also with Jules and a friendly kid called Miles.

  While I tried to remain focused on my own skills, it was hard not to be on the lookout for the others and what they were up to. Franko was the person I really wanted to watch, but every time I looked he’d either just completed the skill or was too far away to gauge how he’d gone. He seemed to be doing pretty well in the Red squad, getting plenty of possession and trapping and passing with skill.

  The goal-scoring and saving was great. An older teenager who must have been a local soccer player had turned up to act as goalie when we took our five shots, and then as striker when we had a go in goals.

  I scored three times with my shots and managed to save four of his spot kicks.

  I worked out that he had a sort of routine going, just mixing up the order. I watched his hips, and dived in the right direction for his first two kicks. He looked over at Miss Lan, who was doing the scoring. She nodded at him.

  His next kick was much faster and higher. Although I went in the right direction, the ball was past me before I’d fully extended my arm. I stopped his next kick and got a fist to the last, just enough to deflect it past the side post.

  ‘How long you been playing goalie?’ the guy asked me.

  ‘Half a game,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, you play a few more half-games and we might need to have a talk.’ He smiled.

  ‘I watched your hips,’ I told him.

  ‘I know you did.’

  It was a long afternoon, and the smell of sausages cooking was getting pretty distracting by the end of the session. Mr Zucker gathered us all in after the last activity and reminded us about the special practice the next day.

  ‘It is vital that all of you attend. We have a very big game coming up. I have a plan for the Hoods, but it’s not going to work if you’re not all there tomorrow to learn it.’

  This was the second time Mr Zucker had mentioned a special plan for the Hoods. What was it about them that made me so anxious?

  ‘You okay?’ Luci asked me, a moment later. ‘You look worried.’

  I didn’t tell her I was thinking about meeting the Hoods again.

  ‘Nah, just tired,’ I replied. ‘Let’s get some food. Then I’m going home.’

  Fisk was looking extremely confident as we sat down for the quiz the following
afternoon. There was nothing fancy or flash about the soccer quiz, especially compared with some of the others we’d done. Mr Zucker was a bit old-fashioned, though he’d mastered the email system.

  There was nothing new about Fisk looking sure of himself, either. Only this time I sensed that he really was in control. It was kind of strange, actually. You didn’t often see him, or his mates, up in the library. They usually spent Wednesday afternoons mucking around outside, with maybe the occasional bit of practice thrown in.

  I worked my way through the pages of questions, feeling good about most of them, and leaving a couple blank to check later.

  After about twenty minutes, Fisk got up, took his paper out to Mr Zucker, dropped it on the table in front of him, and walked off. He’d either guessed the lot or else he had learnt his stuff very well. A few other kids left early, but I stayed on, checking my answers right up until the end.

  ‘I will see some of you down on the oval in half an hour.’ Mr Zucker beamed at us all as he gathered up our quiz sheets.

  That practice was the best session we’d had. After a few warm-ups Mr Zucker took out a small whiteboard and showed us where we would be playing. He went through each of our roles in detail.

  ‘You see that man over there?’ Mr Zucker asked us, pointing to a big guy in a black jacket and cap, standing off in the distance. ‘He’s from the Hoods, and he’s here to watch us. Don’t get too close, or he’ll bite you with his gold teeth.’ Mr Zucker chuckled. ‘Let’s show him what we can do, hey?’

  Aside from the man from the Hoods, there were a number of teachers and older kids about. I soon realised why they were there as they lined up on the field.

  We played in our roles against them, along with Mr Zucker, who doubled as the referee. It was fantastic. Mr Zucker called our set-up a 5-4-1.

  There were five defenders, four midfielders, and one high attacker. It meant a lot of running for the mids. The teachers and older kids couldn’t get through our tight and well-stacked defence, though. Shane got to play as the forward. Alex and I both had a go in goals, then Fisk was also given a turn.