‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Wen-Lee said, snatching back the piece of paper.
‘But can I at least keep that?’ Billy asked, holding out his hand. Anything about the Melbourne Stars and with their logo on it was worth having, even though he’d be reminded of the fact that he never made it to the cricket camp every time he looked at this particular memento.
‘Sure.’ Wen-Lee handed him the brochure.
‘Hey, I’ve got an idea,’ Billy chirped, jumping out of his seat.
‘What?’
‘Billy, you’re up,’ Janine called.
‘Tell you after,’ he called to Wen-Lee, walking out to continue his innings. He was feeling better again until he looked up, groaning audibly when he saw who was about to bowl.
‘Hasn’t Marcus bowled his two?’ Billy asked, pointing his bat at the large man with the friendly smile.
Marcus stood at the bowler’s end, tossing the ball from hand to hand. It looked like a tiny apricot in his oversized paws.
‘Your team’s innings is over except for you, Billy, so that means it’s back to top order for the bowling list.’ Janine glanced at her phone. ‘You’ve still got seven minutes, so make the most of it. Your team sure needs you.’
But Billy’s time at the crease didn’t last long. He was clean-bowled by a cunning slower ball.
‘Right, well, I guess that really is the end of the innings,’ Janine said, jotting down the team’s total. ‘Forty-two runs to win, Katie’s team. Looks like we’ll be back at our stalls early tonight.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Billy said quietly as Katie approached him.
Friday afternoon
‘Billy, I’m giving you permission today to bowl as fast as possible,’ Katie said, tossing him the ball. Billy smoothed down the black tape that covered half the tennis ball.
‘That’s good, Katie, because I really, REALLY feel like bowling fast today.’
‘Oh, yeah? And why is that?’ Katie asked, only half-listening.
‘Because I’m a loser with no money who’s found out too late about a Melbourne Stars cricket academy at the MCG.’ Billy gripped the ball tightly and stared at the ground.
‘Is that right?’ Katie asked, her eyes roaming the field. ‘Jack Karuzo, can you please be wicketkeeper?’
Billy sighed. ‘I’m going to do my run-up.’
‘You go do that, Billy Hunter,’ Katie said.
Billy had to push aside quite a few boxes and crates to clear a path. He couldn’t move Nat’s table covered with wooden toys, but it only slightly blocked his line; he’d just have to do his best to avoid it.
‘Ready?’ he called, standing beyond Granny Romana’s fish stall and outside the actual market itself.
‘Ready!’ came the shout 20 metres away.
He didn’t even know who was batting as he began his run to the crease. It was narrow and tricky to manoeuvre, but Billy was used to the barriers and obstacles. By the time he’d arrived at the crease, he was almost at full pace. His arms whirled and the ball flew out of his hands, swinging viciously through the air before clipping the side of the wheelie bin.
Marcus had barely had time to lift his bat. ‘Blimey, I never even saw it!’ he moaned, looking appealingly at Giorgio, who stood at the other end. ‘Don’t suppose that was a no ball, Giorg?’
‘Not a chance,’ Giorgio sighed, shaking his head.
‘Right then, guess that’s me,’ Marcus said, good-naturedly. ‘Well bowled, lad,’ he added, ruffling Billy’s hair as he walked off.
Billy took five wickets in his two overs, his team winning by seven runs.
The players stood around, chatting about the game before slowly drifting off to prepare their stalls for the evening’s customers, who’d be arriving when the market reopened at six o’clock.
‘Giorgio?’ Billy called, pocketing the ball. Katie had told him he could keep it. It was his first five-wicket haul.
‘Yes?’ Giorgio cocked his head to one side. Wen-Lee was standing close behind him.
‘Well, you see, Wen-Lee here showed me this cricket camp brochure and it’s the Melbourne Stars and I want to go but it costs a lot of money, so I was wondering if you could pay me 20 weeks in advance. You know.’ Giorgio was staring at Billy, his mouth ajar. ‘Actually, maybe 25 weeks, yeah? I mean, there are going to be all sorts of extra little expenses and things, and it would be nice to buy Meg Lanning some flowers and maybe get Luke Wright a new belt for his trousers.’
‘Definitely,’ Wen-Lee agreed, nodding vigorously. ‘Definitely a new belt for his trousers, Billy. That’s a great idea. And maybe for Glenn Maxwell too.’
‘Of course,’ Billy chimed in. They waited for Giorgio’s response. ‘So …’ Billy said, breaking the silence.
‘Twenty-five weeks of pay in advance?’ Giorgio said, his eyes narrowing. ‘That’s three hundred and seventy-five dollars!’ he spluttered.
‘You are a human calculator,’ Billy said, his voice syrupy with admiration. ‘Isn’t that right, Wen-Lee?’
‘Billy, I don’t think this is a good idea …’ Wen-Lee said, taking a few steps back. Giorgio’s face was getting redder and redder.
‘No, maybe not,’ Billy muttered.
‘How about 15 weeks, Giorgio?’ Billy asked as he frantically tried to count how much more money he’d need to make up the difference.
And then Giorgio started laughing. He laughed and laughed until there were tears pouring down his old, lined face.
‘Five weeks?’ Billy suggested. ‘And that’s my final offer.’
Wen-Lee and Billy watched as Giorgio wiped the tears from his eyes with his wrinkled handkerchief. ‘Billy,’ he said, finally, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are a good boy, hmm? A very good boy. A good worker, but 25 weeks of pay?’
‘I was happy to knock it back to five,’ Billy said eagerly.
Giorgio reached into his pocket. For a brief moment, Billy thought he had changed his mind.
‘Here’s this week’s pay,’ he said, slapping three five-dollar notes into Billy’s palm. ‘Spend it wisely,’ he added. ‘You’ve worked for this. All week you work and here is your reward. Three hundred and fifty dollars? That is free money. That’s not how it goes, hmm.’ He trotted away, still chuckling quietly.
‘That didn’t go so well,’ Billy sighed, pocketing his wages.
‘Well, at least you tried,’ Wen-Lee said, giving him a gentle punch on the arm.
‘I don’t get it, Wen-Lee. I mean, I’ll eventually earn the money. I’m just asking for an early payment.’
‘Billy, how does Giorgio know you’ll be working for another 25 weeks? For all he knows, you could take the money and never come back. You’ve only been working here about six weeks.’
‘But I wouldn’t do that!’ Billy spluttered.
‘I know you wouldn’t, but Giorgio is a businessman. He just can’t go and give a kid three hundred and fifty bucks. And anyway, I think he was giving you a message.’
‘A message?’ They had walked away from the fruit and vegetables section and were heading over to Lucy’s Fun ‘n’ Games stall. It was one of their favourite stalls in the whole market.
‘Yeah, remember how he said it was free money?’ Wen-Lee said. ‘I think he was giving you a hint.’
‘A hint?’
‘Yes, a hint. As in, try to come up with a way of making the money on your own,’ Wen-Lee explained as they reached Lucy’s stall.
Billy stared at the clown called Bozo. It’s head was slowly turning from side to side on the counter.
‘You wanna play, kids?’ Lucy asked, reaching for a bucket of five table-tennis balls. Billy glanced at the sign at the rear of the stall.
‘Sure,’ Billy agreed, forgetting about saving his money and taking the bucket. He’d watched heaps of people give Lucy their money to play the clowns and everyone did seem to get a prize, regardless of their score. ‘So, Lucy,’ he began, placing the ball in the clown’s mouth. The ball weaved its way down the chute, ending
up in slot number three. ‘How does this work? How come everyone wins a prize?’
Lucy tapped her nose a couple of times. ‘You want to know my secrets, do you?’
‘No,’ Billy replied, ‘of course not. I was just wondering how everyone can get a prize. That’s pretty generous of you.’
‘But everyone’s paid for their prize, Billy,’ Wen-Lee said, snatching one of the balls and popping it into the clown’s mouth. It came out in lane four. ‘And, no offence, Lucy, but the prizes aren’t really special or expensive or anything.’
‘Not special?’ Lucy gasped, plucking a big cuddly monkey from the rack behind her and thrusting it at Wen-Lee, who grabbed the toy and gave it a big hug. ‘Don’t let Mango the Monkey hear you say that.’
‘It’s totally random,’ Billy said, watching another ball appear in the little wooden chute.
‘Ah, not at all,’ Lucy retorted. ‘It’s about timing and skill. Watch the clown face and time the moment you drop the ball.’
Billy paused, his hand suspended in midair. ‘Yes, that’s it!’ he cried, dropping the ball into the clown’s mouth.
‘There you go – a six!’ Lucy clapped her hands.
‘Thanks, Lucy,’ Billy said, turning to leave.
‘Hey, what about finishing off the other balls?’ Wen-Lee cried. Billy didn’t answer. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, catching up to him.
‘To see Mrs Butterwhump.’
Wen-Lee stopped. ‘Mrs Butterwhump? You want to go see Mrs Butterwhump?’ She watched Billy disappear around the corner. ‘This is not going to end well,’ she moaned, setting off after him.
Friday evening
Billy knocked tentatively on the side of the wooden ticket office. Every Friday night, Mrs Butterwhump would squeeze her enormous frame into the ticket booth at the front of the market to collect and count all the money from the stalls.
Mrs Butterwhump wasn’t someone you would normally choose to visit; quite the opposite. Everyone tried their hardest to keep out of her way, including the stall owners. She had been the boss of Northstage Market for over 30 years now. Billy had met her just once, when Giorgio had briefly introduced him to her. She had grunted something then waved her hand, dismissing them both from her presence.
But Billy knew his idea wouldn’t work if he didn’t have Mrs Butterwhump’s approval. Billy also knew that he didn’t have time to stop and think. If he was going to get into the cricket academy, he would have to act fast – super fast.
He knocked again.
‘Billy, are you sure about this?’ Wen-Lee whispered, standing a few metres back, ready to dash away if required.
‘Who’s that banging out there?’ Mrs Butterwhump bellowed.
‘It’s just me, Mrs Butterwhump. Billy.’
‘Get off with you or I’ll call the police!’
Billy swallowed. ‘I work here. At the market. With Giorgio.’
There was a pause.
‘Step around to the front so I can see you, you stupid boy,’ she growled. Waving to Wen-Lee, Billy stepped to the front of the ticket booth, where Mrs Butterwhump now stood.
‘Well?’ Mrs Butterwhump boomed, glaring at Billy through the opening.
Mrs Butterwhump was almost as wide as she was high. She wore a floral dress that barely covered her chubby knees. She had purple hair that looked like an enormous bird’s nest, and wore bright red lipstick and pointy glasses that sat on her bulbous nose. She was the most frightening human being Billy had ever encountered. He reckoned that was the case for pretty much everyone who worked at the market.
‘Hello Mrs Butterwhump,’ Billy began. Bravely, he lifted his head to look at her directly. Their eyes met. ‘Can I ask a favour?’
‘A favour?’ She lowered her head, peering at Billy over the top of her glasses.
‘Y-Yes. You see, there’s this cricket camp on next week –’
‘Go to that cricket camp and you’ll lose your job here!’ she snapped.
‘But no, you see, it’s, like, school time. You know, during school hours. It wouldn’t affect my work here …’ Billy’s voice trailed off. ‘I love working at the market,’ he added, hoping that might help.
Afraid of making eye contact with Mrs Butterwhump again, Billy stared hard at the wooden frame of the ticket booth.
‘What are you staring at? Do you think this ticket booth has shrunk?’ she asked suddenly, glaring at him.
‘I … er …’ Billy didn’t know what to say. Of course the ticket booth hadn’t shrunk. He looked at the door swinging on its hinges. It was probably Mrs Butterwhump herself who’d got bigger. But he wasn’t going to tell her that. ‘I reckon it might have, actually. You know how wood expands when the weather gets hotter so that –’
‘You’re right, that’s it!’ she barked, causing people around to stop and turn their heads in her direction.
‘Yup, so, um, about my idea, Mrs Butterwhump?’
‘What idea?’ she said.
‘The cricket camp –’
‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work here, then you can go.’
‘No, you see –’
‘No?’ A tinge of colour rose in the old woman’s cheeks.
Billy took another deep breath. ‘The thing is, it costs three hundred and fifty dollars to go and I don’t have the money, but I have an idea to raise the money. So people at the market pay, like, two dollars or something, to bowl. And if they can bowl faster than me, they get a prize or their money back. And I know I’m just a kid, Mrs Butterwhump, but I can bowl real fast. Like, real fast. So yeah. That’s what I was thinking.’
Billy looked eagerly at Mrs Butterwhump and waited for her reply. Seconds ticked by. He watched her mouth and nose twitch, like some invisible insect was tickling her around her lips.
‘Good idea,’ she said finally.
Billy stood there, his mouth agape, staring at Mrs Butterwhump.
‘Well?’ she demanded, glaring at Billy. ‘What’s wrong with you, boy?’
‘N-Nothing, Mrs Butterwhump, nothing at all,’ Billy said before darting away.
‘And?’ Wen-Lee asked as Billy sauntered over to her.
‘I don’t know what all the fuss is with Mrs Butterwhump,’ he said nonchalantly.
‘Fuss? Mrs Butterwhump? Haven’t you heard the stories?’
‘Yeah, well, she was super nice to me.’
‘Really?’ Wen-Lee exclaimed.
‘Okay, nice, maybe. Anyway, doesn’t matter.’ Billy explained his idea to Wen-Lee as they weaved their way back through the stalls.
‘And what if someone bowls faster than you?’ Wen-Lee asked.
Billy frowned, his brows creasing as he tried to come up with an idea. ‘If the impossible happens and someone bowls faster than Billy Hunter, then they get a prize.’
‘What prize?’
‘I dunno. Maybe we give them their free choice of anything in the market. They choose.’
‘Anything they want?’
‘Yup. Anything.’
‘Oh, Billy. Do you really think that the stall owners are going to agree to that?’
‘Of course they will.’ Billy stopped, looking at the doubt written all over Wen-Lee’s face. ‘Won’t they?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Wen-Lee paused. ‘Listen, here’s what we’ll do. We’re going to have to run this competition tomorrow morning. Saturday is the busiest day by far, so we should get plenty of customers, especially since there are lots of kids around then. You go set up the competition with the signs and equipment and everything. I’ll go talk to everyone and see if I can organise some prizes. Okay?’
‘Wen-Lee, you’re the best,’ Billy cried, giving her a hug. He stood there a moment, confused suddenly. ‘What am I doing again?’ he asked.
‘Go!’ Wen-Lee snapped, giving him a shove.
Friday evening
In the back of Billy’s mind was the worry that he was too late and that all the places for the camp had been filled. He’d looked at the phone num
ber on the brochure a few times and been tempted to call to check, but he was afraid of the disappointment he’d feel if he was told that the camp was booked out.
Better to not know and pretend that it wasn’t full, he’d decided. He knew the bowling competition at the market would be fun.
Billy smiled as he thought about the cricket academy. Apart from his friends at school and at the market, no one really knew about his fast bowling skills. It was time for people to take notice. Even if he didn’t get into the camp, he’d try to get his parents to take him anyway, just to have a look. They couldn’t kick him out for watching, could they? It would almost be better than going to a Big Bash League game. He’d be that close to the players.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, I could sneak in a quick bowl in the cricket nets. One of the coaches might spot me.
‘Wow, where have you come from?’ he’d ask.
‘I bowl rotten apples at Northstage Market.’
‘Well, with your talent, you’ll be bowling white cricket balls with the Melbourne Stars –’
‘Billy, my lad, mind where you’re going!’ Jack Karuzo cried, struggling to balance a huge box of pot plants on one of his broad shoulders.
‘Sorry, Jack,’ Billy apologised, quickly darting out of his way.
Billy headed over to Giorgio to break the good news to him about the bowling competition.
‘She said that?’ he asked, surprised, after Billy had relayed his conversation with Mrs Butterwhump a second time.
‘Exactly that,’ Billy confirmed.
‘Well, if you say so,’ Giorgio replied, though he didn’t sound convinced.
Billy’s mind was racing. He’d already worked out a spot for the actual event. There was an open stretch of grass right behind Giorgio’s fruit and veggie stall, just outside the actual market. He’d wanted to use the space to practise his bowling, but Giorgio parked his little truck there. Once Giorgio sees all the huge crowds gathered around his stand, he’d be more than happy to move it, Billy thought.
Next, he needed to pay Olga a visit. She was the queen of gadgets. She’d know exactly how to sort out the problem of measuring the speed of everyone’s delivery.
Academy Smash Page 2
