Here We Go!

by Helena Pielichaty

  For my super editors, Caz Royds and Annalie

  Grainger, who’ve supported Girls FC from kick-off

  to final whistle. Thank you so much.

  The Team

  Megan “Meggo” Fawcett GOAL

  Petra “Wardy” Ward DEFENCE

  Lucy “Goose” Skidmore DEFENCE

  Dylan “Dyl” or “Psycho 1” McNeil LEFT WING

  Holly “Hols” or “Wonder” Woolcock DEFENCE

  Veronika “Nika” Kozak MIDFIELD

  Jenny-Jane “JJ” or “Hoggy” Bayliss MIDFIELD

  Gemma “Hursty” Hurst MIDFIELD

  Eve “Akky” Akboh STRIKER

  Tabinda “Tabby” or “Tabs” Shah STRIKER/MIDFIELD

  Daisy “Dayz” or “Psycho 2” McNeil RIGHT WING

  Amy “Minto” or “Lil Posh” Minter VARIOUS

  Official name: Parrs Under 11s, also known as the Parsnips

  Ground: Lornton FC, Low Road, Lornton

  Capacity: 500

  Affiliated to: the Nettie Honeyball Women’s League junior division

  Sponsors: Sweet Peas Garden Centre, Mowborough

  Club colours: red and white; red shirts with white sleeves, white shorts, red socks with white trim

  Coach: Hannah Preston

  Assistant coach: Katie Regan

  Star Player

  Megan “Meggo” Fawcett

  Age: 10

  Birthday: 2 February

  School: Mowborough Primary

  Position in team: Goalkeeper

  Likes: football, hot chocolate with marshmallows, football, especially women’s matches on TV

  Dislikes: long school assemblies, burnt pizza, wet playtimes

  Supports: England, England Women, the Parrs

  Favourite player(s) on team: Haven’t really got one

  Best football moment: Winning the Nettie Honeyball cup

  Match preparation: warm-up, deep breathing exercises

  Have you got a lucky mascot or a ritual you have to do before or after a match? I wear the red bandana Hannah Preston, my old coach, gave me.

  What do you do in your spare time? Hang out with my mates, play with Whiskas, my cat.

  Favourite book(s): Keeper by Mal Peet. I read loads of magazines, too, such as Match.

  Favourite band(s): Rebecca Ferguson, Adele

  Favourite film(s): Hugo

  Favourite TV programme(s): Take it Like a Fan

  Pre-match Interview

  Hello. My name is Megan Fawcett and I’m the goalie for the Parrs Under 11s, the best girls’ football team in the world. Like I said in my last Pre-match Interview, don’t worry if you’ve never heard of us. I won’t be offended. Perhaps you’ve never heard of Donny Belles or Dick, Kerr’s Ladies either? Nothing would surprise me.

  Anyway, I’m going to finish the series by telling you what happened to the Parrs when half our players left because they got too old and we needed to recruit new ones. It didn’t turn out like I’d imagined but then nothing ever does in football, does it? That’s what makes it so brilliant.

  Love and penalty saves,

  Megan F xxx

  1

  “Ta muchly, Tabs,” I said as I gathered Tabinda’s shot safely in my arms.

  Tabinda scowled and jogged back down the field while I surveyed my options. Dylan was tracking back down the left wing and Petra down the right. Normally I’d have directed my goal kick at one of them but not this time. This time they were the opposition. I aimed straight down the middle of the pitch for Daisy instead.

  “Nice one, Megan.”

  I turned to see Mr Glasshouse, our head teacher, smiling at me. He had three chubby infants clinging to him like toffee apples to cellophane. “Hi, Mr Glasshouse,” I said.

  “What’s the score?”

  “Five–nil to us, so far.”

  “Excellent. Glad to see you keeping a clean sheet.”

  “Only because Year Six is out and JJ’s in detention.”

  He sighed. “Ah, my precious Year Sixes, looking round their new secondary schools. We’ll miss them, especially Connor. He’s such a top-class keeper.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I don’t know what we’ll do without him.”

  “You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  “Well, we might be. I’ve heard there’s an exciting prospect in Year Five. Brave, too. Rumour has it she broke her nose making a save once.”

  “Mr Glasshouse, you’re doing that thing again.”

  “What thing?”

  I craned my neck to see where the ball was. “Dropping hints about me coming to play for school.”

  “OK, I’ll stop dropping hints and ask you right out. Do you fancy being my goalie next year?”

  “I can’t. There’s only one team in my life and that’s the Parrs.”

  “I don’t mind sharing.”

  “I do! By the way, we’re after new players, too, so if you know anyone interested we’ve got an open day on Saturday. All welcome.”

  “Excuse me, I’m the one doing the poaching here.”

  I laughed and was about to say something else when I saw that Tabinda had filched the ball from Daisy and was speeding towards me. Nobody seemed to be trying to stop her, either. “Close her down, then, someone!” I ordered, moving forward to narrow the angle, then bouncing on my feet and watching, watching all the time.

  Tabinda, over-zealous now, dropped her right shoulder and had a shot. I flung myself to the ground and punched the ball away, straight into Dylan’s path. Dylan, caught by surprise, wellied it over the goal and almost knocked out one of Mr Glasshouse’s tiddlers. It was the last action of the match. By the time I’d collected the ball it was full-time or, as some people call it, the end of lunch.

  Everyone splintered into small groups and headed towards school. I fell in with Tabinda and Petra. “Five–nil. That’s appalling,” Tabinda complained, tossing her plait over her shoulder in disgust.

  “How come you always guess right? Like when Tabs shot just then?” Petra asked as we went inside.

  “What can I say? I’m a genius.”

  She laughed. “And so modest.”

  “Let’s wait for the twins,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “I want to ask them if they’re going to the open day.”

  It took a while for them to catch up with us. They were ambling across the field, heads together, engrossed in their conversation. They looked startled when they realized we were waiting for them.

  “Hey, Meganini,” Dylan said.

  “Hey, Dyl. Hard lines on that last shot.”

  Dylan shrugged. “I bestruddled it instead of being delicate.”

  “Exactly. You’re getting closer every time, though. Who knows – maybe you’ll replace Eve as top striker next season, eh?”

  The twins exchanged stricken glances, then Daisy nodded towards Dylan, and Dylan swallowed. “Meganini?” she said.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “We’ve got something to tell you.”

  “OK.”

  “Daisy and I aren’t going to do winging any more.”

  “What, during lunch?”

  “No. For the Parrs at Parsnip time.”

  “The thing is,” Daisy continued quickly, “we’ve enjoyed our football phase, but we’ve just read the highly wonderful book by Mrs Noel Streatfield called Ballet Shoes and so we thought we’d give ballet a go next, and ballet attendance times clash with football attendance times.”

  “Ballet?” I spluttered. “You’d give up footy for soppy ballet?”

  Dylan nodded. “Yes. We think we’ll look adorable in tutus.”

  I was speechless.

  “You’re not cross with us, are you, Meganini?” Dylan asked. “We’ll still play football at lunchtimes.”
/>
  “No,” I sighed. “I’m not cross.”

  Daisy and Dylan both looked relieved. “I’d hate it if you were in a frump with us. You’re our” – Dylan began counting on her fingers – “fourth best friend.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No worries, girlfriend.” Dylan beamed and they skipped off, leaving the three of us to stand there and stare.

  JJ just shrugged when I told her about it during afternoon registration. “Well, they’ve always been like that, haven’t they? Unpredictable.”

  “I know but…”

  I didn’t have a chance to say any more. Mrs Marston, our boring stand-in teacher, slapped a booklet down on the table in front of JJ. “Your report book, young lady,” she said coldly. “I’d aim for a good start in it if I were you.”

  I’d have been mortified, but JJ was a report-book veteran. She didn’t even flinch.

  Still, it did the trick and she behaved all through CDT and Music. She was even perfect during silent reading at the end of the day. Now me, I’m not so good at silent reading, not in classrooms anyway, so I did fake silent reading instead and let my mind drift. Naturally it drifted towards the twins’ news.

  We were down to four players. Four. What if no one else joined? We wouldn’t have a team. That couldn’t happen. I only had one season left in the Under 11s myself. I wanted to go out with a bang, not a whimper.

  2

  “Oh, hello, what’s with the long face?” Dad asked when I got in from school. “Decimal fractions for homework again?”

  I flopped down in the armchair opposite him. “No. Worse than that. The twins are dropping out of the Parrs.”

  Dad pointed the remote at the TV and turned down the sound on the cricket commentary. “What? No twins? Aw, that’s a blow.”

  “It’s not a blow, Dad, it’s a disaster. Get it right.”

  “Ah, a disaster. Like the sinking of the Titanic. I stand corrected.”

  “Do you think I should phone Hannah?”

  “Hannah? Why?”

  “To tell her the news.”

  “I would have thought if you were going to call anyone it should be Sian.” Sian is our new coach. She took over from Hannah and Katie at the end of last season.

  “But Sian doesn’t know the twins like Hannah does. The McNeils aren’t like normal families, are they? Hannah will know what to do.” My heart leapt at the thought of hearing her voice. I hadn’t talked to her since the presentation evening and that was weeks ago.

  Dad’s heart didn’t leap, though. Not even a flutter. “Listen, Fishface, we’ve discussed this. You’ve got to let the poor girl get on with her life. She’ll be snowed under preparing for teacher-training college. The last thing she wants is to be bugged about the McNeils. Leave her alone.”

  “But—”

  “No, Megan. You’ve got to stop relying on her. She’s not the coach any more.”

  “I know. I just…”

  “And didn’t she ask you to be as supportive as possible with Sian? To help her all you could?”

  “Yes and I have been. I’ve made a list of all the things she needs to know.”

  “Great. Then add ‘The twins have left the team’ to the list.”

  “Fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll add it to the list.”

  “Good girl.” Dad beamed at me. “And yes, I’d love a cup of tea. Thanks for asking.”

  So I made Dad a cup of tea and then I went upstairs and added “Twins leaving” beneath “Types of players needed” and “Who to watch out for in the league”. After that I sulked a bit about the Hannah thing, then came downstairs to play with Whiskas, my cat. I can’t say it was the most exciting evening I’ve ever had but, hey, it was a school night.

  The trouble with school nights is they’re followed by school days. As usual, in the morning, our classroom was noisy and Mrs Marston was nowhere to be seen. About ten kids on the far table were playing rucksack rugby. It was the newest craze. For three points you had to chuck your backpack or rucksack across an entire table without it knocking over any pencil pots or equipment. You weren’t allowed a forward pass. Whoever touched the rucksack down on Mrs Marston’s desk was the winner. Unfortunately, JJ always seemed to manage to touch the bag down on Mrs Marston’s desk at the exact moment Mrs Marston walked in, hence the detention and report book yesterday.

  I half expected to see JJ in the thick of it today, but she was sitting at our table quietly reading a book. It was as if she’d stayed in the same position overnight, only the book had changed. “What are you reading this time?” I asked.

  She quickly covered it with her hands. “Nothing.”

  “It’s Ballet Shoes. I recognize the cover,” Petra said.

  “Jenny-Jane Bayliss, reading a book on ballet?” I teased.

  JJ sniffed. “I wanted to see what was so special it would make the twins ditch footy,” she said.

  Mrs Marston bustled in then, throwing her heavy leather handbag on the desk with a thwack. Her eyes immediately focused on JJ, but she couldn’t find any fault, so she began shouting at the rugby players instead. I sighed and reached for my tray. Roll on lunchtime, I thought.

  That was pretty much it for the rest of the week. Boring old school made bearable by footy at lunchtimes. I tried my best to persuade the twins to come to the open day, but apparently they were having their first ballet lesson then. They promised me their mum had phoned Sian about leaving and Sian had been fine about it. I sighed and crossed that “To do” from my list.

  The other disappointment was Eve couldn’t come, either, nor could Nika or Lucy. I’d hoped they’d be there for old times’ sake, but it seemed Saturdays in June were busy, busy, busy. “We’re thinking of going to this at the end of August, though,” Eve said, handing round flyers her form teacher, Mrs Hulley, had picked up and thought they’d be interested in.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Only the biggest women’s football fixture of this century, dude. England at home to the USA. It’s a friendly, but it’s still going to be a-ma-zing.”

  “I am so going to that,” I said, snatching the flyer from her hand.

  “Thought you might.” Eve grinned.

  I tucked the flyer into my pocket to save for later. I had my own little team of internationals to think about first.

  3

  The morning of the open day was glorious. Bright sunshine, clear blue sky. Perfect weather. I got dressed in jeans and my Parrs home shirt, then I made Dad a cup of tea. Mum was on the early shift at the hospital and already at work or I would have made her one, too, in case you were wondering.

  We called for Petra en route and arrived at Lornton FC just before ten. I was so keen to see Sian, I didn’t even say hello to Auntie Mandy in the clubhouse first. “Tell her I love her and I’ll be round to eat all her biscuits later,” I instructed Dad.

  “And crisps,” Petra added.

  “Glad to see those lessons on healthy eating are making an impact.” Dad chuckled and waved us off.

  * * *

  I told Petra my team wish list as we headed for the training field behind the clubhouse. “A couple of solidly built girls to support us in defence. Two or three midfielders. Someone with Eve’s instinct for the net would be a bonus, and if we find anyone half as good as Gemma…”

  “…Result!”

  “Result times ten.”

  JJ was leaning against the bottle bank waiting for us. Like me, she was wearing her Parrs shirt, but unlike me she was also wearing a scowl deeper than the Cheddar Gorge. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled and led the way towards the pitch, hands tucked into her jeans pockets.

  I didn’t know what was up with JJ. I thought everything looked great. There were red and white striped gazebos with various banners and advertising hoards outside each one, lining the near side of the pitch. An ice-cream van was parked to the left of the away goal, a bouncy castle to the right. The smell of fresh coffee and doughnuts wafted across
the field from a marquee on the far side of the field. People were already sitting at the plastic tables alongside it.

  The pitch itself was set out with what looked like every piece of training equipment we had. Rows and rows of it; cones and skipping ropes, slalom posts and hoops. Bang in the middle was one goal with a net of footballs leaning against the near post.

  So this was what an open day looked like. “Wow,” I said.

  “All it needs is Splat the Rat and it could be the May Fair.” Petra laughed.

  JJ just grunted.

  “Look, isn’t that Tabs?” I asked. Over by the bouncy castle, Tabinda and her dad were chatting to a girl and a guy wearing a beanie hat and heavy sports coat. The girl had her head bent, examining her feet. I’d seen the two of them somewhere before, but couldn’t remember where. Tabinda waved. She said something to her dad, then came bounding over with the girl in tow. “Hey, everybody, do you remember Serena? Cuddlethorpe Tigers?”

  Serena, small with dark hair held back by a white headband, looked uncomfortable. “Hi,” she said, her glance taking us in hurriedly before resting back on her feet.

  “I thought I recognized you. You’ve got that amazing long throw-in,” I said, mentally ticking “midfielder” off my wish list.

  “And that dad who shouts a lot,” JJ added.

  “JJ!” I said and dug her in the ribs.

  Serena shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s true. On both counts.” It turned out her dad was the reason she was here. He felt she was wasting her time at Cuddlethorpe because they’d finished seventh out of ten in the league.

  “We were only fourth,” I pointed out.

  “But you won the cup. That counts for a lot in his book.”

  “Do you want to leave Cuddlethorpe?” JJ asked.

  “Not really,” Serena admitted.

  “Don’t, then,” JJ told her. “’Cos we won’t be winning diddly-squat this season.”

  “How do you know that?” Petra asked crossly.

  “I’ve seen who’s signing up, that’s how,” JJ retorted.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Tell them,” she instructed Tabinda.