I don’t say anything. I’ve heard it all before. Everyone seems to know what my dad is like except for me.
‘The thing is, Nick, you’re very different to your dad as well. In some ways you’re more like me, with your blond hair and your stubborn streak.’
‘I’d never do what he did,’ I say. ‘I’d never choose football over family.’
‘I hope you never have to make that choice,’ says Mum. ‘Maybe being at this school is your chance not to, Nick.’
I look up at her.
‘You know, I never wanted to talk about your dad because I didn’t want what happened to always be hanging over us. But it has, anyway. It’s time we stopped living in your father’s shadow, Nick. It’s time for you to step into the light and show the world who Nick Young is.’
Mum’s right. No more feeling sorry for myself and no more trying to impress kids with trick shots or trying to outdo Kane on the field and failing miserably. I decide that when I try out for the rep team next week, I’ll stop trying to be Shane Young’s son and be Nick Young instead.
NSF Fields. Rep Squad Tryout Game:
NSF vs Westwood Sports High
Week Nine: Thursday
Bazzo and I sit on the sideline bench with seven other boys, watching the game closely. It’s only a trial match but it feels more important than that. It’s the game that will decide if we make it into the NSF rep squad – although I can’t help but feel that my chances are pretty slim after Mr Antonelli witnessed my totally unspectacular own goal in the futsal final.
It’s also the first game that the NSF has ever played against another school, and everyone has come to watch: teachers, parents and year 11s. There’s even a group of spectators that Westwood brought with them on their team bus.
Right now it’s 1–1. NSF scored first, when Elvis set up a great cross for Kane to score with an amazing header. As much as I still can’t stand the guy, I have to admire his ability. With that effort, he’s definitely going to be the starting striker of the rep squad.
The Westwood Sports High kids are really good, too. Apparently they won the district comp last year and were runners-up in the State Cup.
‘OOOOOH!’ gasps the entire crowd as Bull Ant deflects a ripping shot from the Westwood striker.
But it isn’t long before Westwood gets another crack at goal, and this time the striker is successful. Suddenly we’re behind, 2–1.
My knees are bouncing up and down like crazy and Bazzo looks at me weirdly. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then stop shaking the bench.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, looking down at my frantic legs and willing them to stop. But they won’t do as I want them to. I’m just itching to get out there and I don’t even know if Mr Antonelli is going to give me a chance to play.
Finally, with just 20 minutes left in the game, Mr Antonelli walks over to the bench.
‘You …’ he says, pointing at Bazzo. ‘Defensive midfield.’
‘But I …’ Bazzo begins, but Mr Antonelli gives him his scary look – his eyes pop out and his eyebrows slowly rise.
‘I mean … Okay, I can do that,’ says Bazzo.
Then Mr Antonelli looks at me. ‘False nine. You know this position?’
I nod like crazy. ‘Yep.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Four-three-three formation. Be bold.’
‘Okay,’ I say hesitantly.
Baz and I leap off the bench and start stretching and warming up our legs. I adjust my shin guards and jump on the spot a few times, and a moment later we’re running out as substitutes.
‘Good luck,’ I say to Baz.
‘You too,’ Baz says, punching his fist on mine.
When we get to the middle, Kane is there to greet us.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘These guys are good. Any bright ideas?’ he asks.
‘Mr Antonelli wants a four-three-three formation with me as false nine.’
‘But I’m the striker!’ protests Kane.
I shrug. ‘You still will be. There’ll be three – you, me and Elvis – but I’ll pull back deeper to draw their attention and create some space.’
Kane shakes his head. ‘This better work.’
‘It will,’ I say, even though I’ve never played as false nine before and everything I know about false nine comes from watching Leo Messi and Barcelona highlights. Of course, even though I’m a bit on the small side, I’m no Messi. If this is going to come off, Kane and I will have to work together.
The play starts again from a Westwood High corner that turns out to be another near miss. If we don’t score soon, Westwood High will.
Ant returns the ball to the centre with a massive goal kick to our midfielder Marcus de Souza and I drop back from the front while Elvis and Kane push out to the wings. I can see the Westwood High sweeper eyeing me. He wants to stay on me but he doesn’t want to come forward and leave the goalie undefended. I edge my way back further and he follows. Marcus beats the front line of Westwood defenders with a nice burst and manages to peel off a short pass to me. The sweeper stays on me, then I turn the ball around and pop it up over his head and into the space behind him. Kane is on it like a rocket. He bursts in from the wing and latches onto the ball before the defenders can react. Then it’s just him and the goalie. He pushes it right and easily beats the Westwood goalie to score his second goal of the match.
‘Yeah!’ cries Kane as he performs a victory dance in front of the goal.
He doesn’t thank me for creating the shot, but that doesn’t matter. When I turn back towards our bench, Mr Antonelli gives me a stone-faced nod. I think that means he’s happy.
The game isn’t over yet, though. Westwood comes at us hard, trying to hit back and make it 3–2.
Luckily we have Bazzo. I have to hand it to him – he might not have wanted the defensive midfield position but he proves to be very good there. He’s a hard worker and his height allows him to get first contact and intimidate the opposition. Most of all, he’s awesome in the way he defends the back four. He’s a great tackler and he always looks to turn defence into attack. For the last 15 minutes of the game, he single-handedly prevents Westwood from setting up any goals. Deep down, I know he’ll make the starting 11 of the rep team. The question is, will I?
I need to do something special. Like Mr Antonelli said, I need to be bold.
I’m still hanging deep near halfway but the Westwood sweeper is more reluctant to be drawn in now. I just need half a chance, and the Westwood midfielder provides me with one when he slips with the ball. I pounce and snatch it away from him then tear up the middle of the pitch. It’s as if the ball is glued to my toe as I dribble it towards the goal at warp speed. The sweeper comes at me but I beat him with a quick scissor step. When I get in range I don’t even think about it. I fire the ball at the goal and turn the goalie inside out as he tries to reach for the ball, but it flashes past his gloves.
GOAL!
It’s 3–2 and I know the game is ours. The whole school roars.
‘Way to go, Nick!’ cries a familiar voice from the crowd. I turn and see Garth jumping up and down on the sideline and waving. Mum is alongside him, waving and cheering as well. They must have left work early to catch the last half of the game. As I wave back, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
It stays there long after the referee blows the whistle.
NSF Auditorium
Last Day of Term One
‘Well, what a great first term it’s been,’ announces Principal Vale as she stands in front of year seven for our last assembly of the term. ‘First, let’s congratulate Cahill house, who won the NSF Futsal Champions Cup.’
There’s some applause – mostly from Kane and the Cahill house.
‘The term has been capped off by a great start on the field last Thursday when two of our teams recorded their first wins in the trial match against the highly talented Westwood Sports High. After some deliberation, Mr Antonelli, our rep-team selector, has deci
ded who will represent the National School of Football next term. I’d like to call those students out now so they can receive their brand-new NSF strips, starting with the girls’ squad for 2016, led out by team captain Lexi Pope …’
I join in the applause as each member of the girls’ team walks out onto the stage. Kristy and Maddie are in the squad, as well as Grace. They’re all beaming – even Grace – as they collect their shiny new rep shirts from Principal Vale. The strip is red and white but I can’t quite make out the insignia on the front.
Principal Vale begins calling out the names of the boys’ squad and I hold my breath.
‘And now for the boys’ team, captained by Kane Kruger …’ starts Principal Vale, and my whole body shudders at the thought of Kane as captain. She continues. ‘Congratulations Roberto Bazzo …’
Yay for Bazzo!
‘Joel Carney, Marcus de Sousa, Charbel El-Boustani …’
As Principal Vale rattles off each name, I feel an awful vomit sensation that’s catching the elevator up from my gut to my mouth. It’s all because I’m nervously wondering one thing: did I make it?
‘Raymond Guerra, Elvis Hernandez, Anton Ivanonic, Christian Kavanagh, Matti Lewis …’
Come on, Ms Vale, you’re killing me!
‘And last but not least … Nick Young.’
I breathe a sigh of relief and the vomit sensation disappears. I make my way to the stage and now I can’t get the grin off my face. I’m smiling so much it hurts.
Mr Antonelli is there on stage to hand us our jerseys. He shakes my hand with a crushing squeeze. I look up and he says nothing but there’s the smallest smile on the corner of his lips. I guess that means he’s pleased with me. Or he enjoys crushing my hand.
As I stand on the stage, I look down at the shirt in my hand. On the back is the number ten. Usually that’s the number for the playmaker. I can definitely live with that.
I turn my shirt over and then I see what I couldn’t make out on the girls’ shirts before. The emblem is a cannon, a little like the Arsenal one my dad wears. I turn to Principal Vale. What’s with the cannon?
As if she’s reading my mind, she says, ‘And, in honour of our site’s Australian Defence Force history, our representative teams will be known as the Cannons!’ A giant version of the NSF rep-team cannon emblem appears on the auditorium’s twin projector screens as the whole of year seven cheers.
‘So, a final round of applause, please, for our new squad of NSF young guns!’ says Principal Vale, and the assembly responds with thunderous clapping.
I smile, but for a moment I feel a little strange. All I can think about is a clipping I pulled from the paper when my dad had transferred to Arsenal four years ago. The headline read: ‘Aussie Young Gun Signs with Arsenal!’ But then I push the thought aside and enjoy the moment. I may be following in my dad’s footsteps but it’s not because I’m Shane Young’s son. This is what I want.
End-of-term Clean-up
Later …
I’m cleaning out the mess of paper and work-sheets in my locker. I stare for a moment at the mark on my crumpled-up English speech feedback form. Twelve out of 20. It’s not the greatest mark, but it’s a C at least. ‘A solid effort!’ reads Miss Blasco’s comment. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.
That’s when I hear someone say my name.
‘Hi, Nick.’
I look up and I’m stunned to see Grace Valdez standing there in front of me.
‘Well done on making the rep squad,’ she says with smile.
‘Yeah, you too. I mean, unless you didn’t want to …’
‘Relax. I wanted to make it. Just because I’m not a total football nut like you doesn’t mean I don’t want to represent the school.’
‘Cool,’ I say.
There’s an awkward pause and I’m expecting to hear that chorus of crickets in my mind again but this time I don’t have to worry. Grace has something to tell me.
‘I have something to tell you.’
‘Okay …’
She looks me dead in the eyes and I think I may have actually stopped breathing.
‘I’m sorry for the other week at the station,’ she says, softly. She’s standing very close to me. I notice that she has a small patch of freckles on her nose.
‘I’m just not very good with all the … the boy/girl stuff.’
‘Oh, well, neither am I,’ I say, ‘but I guess you could tell that, right?’
‘Kinda,’ she says with a little smile. ‘Anyway, I liked talking to you that day. I hope we can talk some more. See you later?’ she asks. Then it happens. Grace Valdez puts her hand on my arm.
I can’t believe it. I guess she doesn’t think I’m a mega-super-sleaze after all. She probably just thought I was making a move and freaked out. I think she might actually like me!
She takes her arm away and smiles again and then a moment later she’s gone.
‘WOOOO HOOOO!’ I scream, and then I start doing my happy dance. I can’t help it. I’m in love!
‘What are you doing?’ asks Bazzo as he peers out from behind his locker door, which is right next to mine.
‘Happy dance,’ I say, slowly bringing my funky gyrations to a halt.
‘I knew it …’ says Bazzo.
‘What?’
‘You like her.’
I smile sheepishly and Bazzo laughs. But before he can begin teasing me about it, we’re interrupted by a very different voice.
‘Oi Young!’ calls Kane as he strolls over with some squad members behind him.
‘Hi Kane,’ I say joylessly.
What does he want now? Probably just to gloat that he was presented the Futsal Champions Cup and got made rep-team captain at the same assembly.
‘Now that I’m officially your captain, I just wanted to make a request for some tickets to the match,’ says Kane.
‘What match?’
Then Kane is waving his huge phone in my face again. I see a flash of the English Premier League website.
‘Oh, you haven’t heard? Arsenal are coming out to Australia for a friendly with Sydney FC next month!’ Kane informs me gleefully. ‘I’m sure you can get all of us tickets, right? And with your dad in the team, I bet you can get us VIP treatment. You know, corporate box, meeting the players in person after the game … All that jazz.’
All that jazz? Who is this guy?
He looks me right in the eye and smiles venomously. He’s loving this. ‘Won’t be a problem, will it?’
‘Too easy,’ I say.
What? Did I actually just say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
‘Good,’ he says. ‘See you after the break!’
‘Hey,’ asks Bazzo, when Kane and his cronies are gone, ‘how are you going to get those tickets if your dad doesn’t know you exist?’
‘I’m not. Besides, he does know I exist. I’m just not sure he cares.’
‘Well,’ says Bazzo. ‘I care.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Football brothers?’ he asks.
‘Football brothers,’ I agree.
We pack our bags and head back to homeroom. After another agonising two minutes of end-of-term limbo, the bell finally rings. Just like that the first term of high school is over and, despite everything, I’m feeling pretty happy.
Sure, I guess I should be worried about the whole Arsenal game thing and how I’m going to wrangle tickets for the entire team, but that’s Next Term Nick’s problem. Right now, I just want the holidays to begin.
As Bazzo and I head out the large iron gate, I turn to him. ‘Fancy some hot chips? My shout.’
‘Oooh yeah!’ says Bazzo, and the next thing I know, we’re racing each other to the train station. If I’m lucky, we might even see Grace there. And you want to know something? Right now, it’s good to be Nick Young.
Read on for a sample of
Football High: Fire Up
BOOK TWO
OUT NOW
My Bedroom, 15a Banksia Crescent,
Gree
n Hill
Sunday Night
To: Management, Arsenal FC
From: Nicholas Arthur Young
Subject: Sydney FC Friendly
Hmm … Where to start …
Dear Dad,
Long time no see.
Nope.
Dear Mr Young,
I’m a big fan of yours from Green Hill, Australia. Also, I’m your son.
Nah.
Hey Shane,
Waazup? It’s me, your Aussie son from Down Under.
Nooooo …
Okay, I officially give up.
It’s the night before the first day of Term Two and I’m trying to figure out how to ask my Premier-League-football-star dad, who I’ve never talked to before, if he can hook me up with VIP tickets to the friendly Arsenal are playing against Sydney FC in two weeks’ time so all the kids at school – including big jerk Kane Kruger – will think that my famous dad and I are best buddies, not total strangers!
So how will getting tickets to the game help things? Well, it’s kind of a long story but I might have accidently promised Kane that I could get VIP tickets for the whole school football team. Kane of course told everyone, and I really don’t want to turn up to school tomorrow and have to admit that I lied about everything just to impress people. Kane’s a great footballer but he doesn’t like anyone to show him up – or maybe he just plain doesn’t like me. Either way, he’s had it in for me since day one and he’s obsessed with proving to everyone that I’m some kind of fake. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right about me and my dad, even though he kind of is. Right, that is. That’s what makes it even harder to back down.
So now can you see my problem?
Maybe I should just go with the truth …
Dear Shane (Dad),
It’s your other son, Nick. Remember me?
I’ve never written to you before but I have something important to ask. If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could allocate some tickets to my school football team so that we can watch you play with Arsenal in Sydney. I go to the National School of Football. My dream has always been to be a professional football star, so it would be great to watch you play for Arsenal in Australia with all my friends (even though I’m more of a Chelsea fan). But also it would be great to see you because …
Football High: Young Gun Page 6
