by Cath Crowley
‘I was pretty awful to you, as well,’ she says.
‘It’s weird, how things have ended up. You’re with Martin and I’m with Dan. Kally’s my friend. Maybe Jane’s right. She says we’re not all that different.’
‘I have hair,’ she says.
‘I can’t argue with that.’
‘Does this make us friends?’ she asks.
I’d be lying if I said yes. I don’t think I can be friends with her after everything that’s happened over the years. ‘No,’ I say. ‘But it makes us not enemies.’ And for now, that’s as close to friends with her as I can get.
61
MARTIN
Annabelle comes to the door wearing her pyjamas. I stare at her, stomach twisting, hands sweating. She opens her mouth to say something. I know there are a lot of things to say, a million things, maybe. I know the last time I saw her she was angry with me. But I’ve been waiting all year to get close to her, so before she speaks I kiss her. I reckon that Annabelle Orion is the only road trip worth going on. She’s ocean and sun and salt and days of nothing to do.
I pull away. ‘I told Faltrain.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I told her about you and me. That we’re going on a trip and we’re coming back. That we’re studying and hanging out together next year and maybe visiting my mum in Sydney, one day.’
‘You didn’t tell me half of that. How do you know I’ll say yes to it all?’
‘I don’t,’ I tell her. ‘But I’m hoping.’
62
ALYCE
Every night for the past two weeks I’ve written in the diary that Brett gave me. I’ve neatly copied in my lists about him onto the pages. I’ve started a new line for everything I like. I’ve written an entry about how I felt when he asked me out. I’ve written who I was before I met him and who I am now. I’ve finished with a list of all the things I wish for him next year. Last night I wrapped it carefully in paper covered with football players. I put it in an Express Post bag addressed to him. I hope that he reads it.
School Soccer Final
1 September
Don’t worry, Corelli. Girls love a man who can cry.
Gracie Faltrain
63
GRACIE
It’s the first day of spring and the last game of the school soccer season. The wind is warm and the trees are pink. And yes. I’m feeling a little sentimental. I won’t play on my school soccer team ever again. We didn’t make it through to the finals this year. Like Coach said, ‘We were about as focused out there as a bag of toy cameras.’ But it’s the last time we’ll play as a team for the school. ‘It’s your finale,’ Dad says. ‘The last song.’
I look at my team before the whistle. I’ve been with these guys, with this coach, since Year 7. Sure, the team has changed a little. Martin and Flemming are on the side. There’s finally another girl on the squad. But in spirit, we’re all here.
‘Are you crying, Corelli?’ Francavilla asks.
‘No. There’s something in my eye.’
Yep. I’m definitely going to miss the old times.
We make it a great last game. We win. The sun is warm on my face. The grass is soft. Blossoms fall from the trees at the edge of the field and as the crowd cheers from the side those blossoms look a little like confetti.
‘So tomorrow we find out if we made the state squad,’ Kally says. ‘Char Taylor told me that there’s at least one surprise in the selection.’ I run my hand over my itchy head. It’s been a year for surprises.
‘Do you think we made it?’ I ask, thinking about how late I was to that practice match against the boys. ‘If anyone’s a wild card it’s me.’
‘Nothing we can do about it now,’ she says. ‘Nothing but hope.’
State Finals
8—9 September
Oh, come on. As if anyone actually doubted that Kally and
me and Corelli and Dan would make it. Life’s got to be like
the movies sometime.
Gracie Faltrain
64
GRACIE
So this is almost the end. I sit in the stands to watch the Victorian under-18 state boys’ team play in the final. They’ve fought through the qualifying rounds against the other boys’ teams like we’ve fought against the girls. They play this morning. We play this afternoon.
I don’t know who I’m more nervous for. ‘Watching is harder than playing,’ I say. Kally, Jane, Alyce, Flemming, Mum, Dad, Martin, Mrs Corelli and Mr Corelli all nod. No one says anything else. We don’t want to jinx the game. Dan shades his eyes and looks into the stands. So do Corelli and Francavilla and Singh. I wave. I grip my hands. Win, I think. You can do it.
It’s a tough game. At half time it’s 1–1. Twenty minutes into the second half the opposition scores and then they settle back into their deadlock. With ten minutes to go and the other team one up, it’s clear we’ve lost. It’s clear from the way the opposition are acting, that they’re pretty sure of themselves, too. ‘It’s not over till it’s over,’ Jane says. But she doesn’t know soccer. I’m a player who believes in hanging on till the final whistle, but even I’m not hopeful today.
I watch them run. The opposition’s goalie calls out to the other players. ‘What’s he saying?’ I ask. ‘He’s not speaking English.’
‘Sounds like Italian,’ Mrs Corelli says, and on the field her son starts to grin. He runs towards the ball. I’d bet money that the opposition’s midfielder was going to kick to the guy on his left. He kicks right. And somehow Corelli knows it. He takes possession and runs, moving straight down the line to his striker. ‘It’s in!’ I shout.
‘Go Corelli,’ Flemming’s voice is hoarse he’s calling so loud.
Jane looks at Mrs Corelli. ‘He’s predicting the play, isn’t he?’
‘My son speaks perfect Italian. I think that boy just told him their plan.’
I’m up and clapping before Corelli’s even kicked the next goal. I know he’s going to make the shot. It’s in the way he runs, eyes down, ball glued to his feet. I’ve been there a million times. It belongs to him. With one minute to go Corelli launches the ball. The striker heads it through goal. Everyone’s screaming, Jane louder than anyone. ‘My boyfriend speaks Italian,’ she yells as the team throw Corelli onto their shoulders and raise him up.
I look at Kally. ‘We’re on,’ she says, and we leave them behind to warm up for our final.
*
The opposition is tough. Determined. My ears are full of the crowd. Fear thumps under my skin. ‘Block it out, Faltrain,’ Flemming would say. ‘Turn down the world and get into the game.’ I nod at Char, my striker. Get the ball to her. She gets it to goal. Kally gives me the thumbs-up before the whistle. I search in the crowd for the people I love. It feels better knowing they’re here.
We’re off, running across the grass, chasing, flicking at the ball, desperate to call it ours. The other team plays as fierce as we do. Everyone wants to win, in the end. It’s just that not everybody can. At half time no one’s scored.
We huddle around Adelaide. ‘You’re playing well out there. Stay strong in defence. Look for a way to get through to the strikers.’
She didn’t tell us much. But sometimes you don’t have the answers. It’s a game of skill, sure, and trust. But sometimes, it’s also just dumb luck.
In the last three minutes Kally sees a way through their defence. It’s small and a long shot, but she weaves around, shark-like. I see it too and meet her halfway. I take the ball she gives me and pass to Char. Char sends it to Esther, who scores – a second before the whistle. The other team was every bit as good as us but we won by a breath. It took me seven years of training to get to this moment. And it was worth every single second.
We’re champions: me, Kally, Char, Esther, Alex, Joanna, Natalie, Rachel, Sophia, Beth, Brianne, the girls on the bench and the girls who fought hard to make it but missed out. We’re champions, every single one of us.
SELECTOR, YOUNG MATILDAS<
br />
There’s a few in there I want to try out. The centre forward, the two strikers. And definitely that girl with the shaved head.
Final Exams
5—23 November
Goodbye school. Hello world.
Gracie Faltrain
65
GRACIE
I’ve never thought much beyond soccer. Everything before and after the season was just one long lead-up: a circle with soccer at the centre of its circumference. ‘You love dropping in the Maths terms, don’t you, Faltrain?’
‘You bet I do, Jane.’
Like I was saying, life went on way past soccer this year. I’m still waiting to hear about being selected to go beyond the state, but Adelaide said she heard a rumour about me, Kally, Char and Esther, and I have a feeling she’s right. The four of us kept training together after the state final. We’ve trained all through the months leading up to the exams. I’ve got my eyes ahead, and not only on soccer.
Today, I’m looking ahead to the English exam. It starts in an hour. I’ve got my team around me. I’ve got my eyes on the wild goose looking for food. ‘Hands circle up,’ I say. ‘And arc, come down and shake them like little bird’s wings.’
‘I’ve found my chi,’ Corelli says. ‘I think I’m going to be all right.’
‘Don’t jinx yourself,’ Jane says. ‘Chi’s notoriously easy come, easy go. Shake your little bird’s wings.’
‘And arc again . . .’ I say.
‘What’s the term for when you use words that start with the same letter?’ Dan asks.
‘Alliteration,’ Alyce says.
‘And arc again.’ I shake my arms. ‘Right. I think we’re ready.’
‘Good luck everyone,’ Mum and Dad call as we walk out the door. ‘Just remember, whatever the question, read it slowly and carefully and don’t panic.’
‘Has anyone else noticed that the words “don’t panic” have the reverse effect?’ Jane asks before she gets into Corelli’s car. Alyce sits in the back.
‘See you there,’ I say, as Kally and I get into the Valiant Sahara. And we all start moving towards the final.
ALYCE
The day feels warm when we arrive at school. ‘I’ll meet you in the Year 12 centre,’ I say. ‘I have something to do first.’
I feel light, walking down the corridor. It’s nearly the end. Soon I’ll be free to do what I want. That won’t be the UN this year. I withdrew my application until I can honestly write that I qualify.
I take a last look around. It doesn’t matter anymore that I’m in the building where Susan called me a loser. It matters that I met Jane and Gracie here. It matters that I met Andrew. I walk into the toilets. I go into the third cubicle. I take out a thick black Texta and I draw a line. Alyce Fuller rocks the boys’ world – in her dreams.
Brett’s in the corridor when I come out. ‘What’s the Texta for?’
‘I was writing graffiti in the toilets.’
‘You’re full of surprises this year.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t make up for anything, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘I know. I got the book.’ He looks quickly at me and then away again. ‘So, good luck, today and next year,’ he says, walking me to the exam rooms. It’s nice that he does that, after everything that I did. He leaves me when we reach my friends. Who would have thought I’d be able to say that at the end of Year 12?
‘You know, those Textas are great for graffiti,’ Gracie says.
‘I know. I should have bought one in Year 7. I could have crossed out all the words people wrote about me. I could have written some of my own.’
‘It’s never too late, Alyce.’ She takes the lid off.
‘Faltrain, don’t get yourself kicked out before the exam. Your mum will have a heart attack,’ Jane says.
I love that we’re close to the end and I hate it. All at the same time.
GRACIE
‘You all need to relax.’
‘Corelli, you definitely need to relax,’ Jane says. ‘Stop sweating. You won’t be able to hold a pen.’
‘I’ve relaxed too much this year,’ Alyce says. ‘I need to wind up a bit.’
Kally looks along the corridor. ‘If you’re going to graffiti, do it now, before they open the rooms.’
One by one, I write all our names on the side of the locker. I even put Flemming’s on, as a record that he did half the year. ‘See, now people will know who we were.’
‘Yeah, like nice Principal Yoosta, when the cleaners come through tonight,’ Jane says.
Kally shakes her head. ‘The cleaners’ll just wipe it out. They won’t care.’
Maybe so, but I won’t be wiping out the memory of this year in a hurry. There’s a buzz in the air as everyone checks they have pencils and pens and erasers and dictionaries. There’s a buzz on people’s skin as they imagine life after exams and high school.
I think about all the things I’m going to miss: Jane for a start and school soccer and the lady from the tuckshop who serves me my doughnuts warmed just right and Coach and Mrs Young. I think about all the things I have to look forward to: hearing about Martin’s holiday, and flying with Dan and talking to Alyce about uni and kicking the soccer ball around with friends. I think about all the work I did this year to get me to this point. Win or lose, I couldn’t have trained any harder. I couldn’t have studied more. I couldn’t be happier. It’s times like these you have to notice the good stuff. I take a look around my friends. They’re the best a girl could have. Let the exams begin. And then let the life and times of Gracie Faltrain begin. I have a feeling it’s not going to be perfect. But I have a feeling that it’s going to get even more exciting. And I can hardly wait.
66
JANE
It’s a warm afternoon when we finish the History exam. The air smells sweet. Corelli and I walk outside towards his car. I know going back to England is the right thing to do but looking at him today, grinning at me as the sun hits his olive skin, it’s true to say I have a few regrets.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say, getting into the car. ‘It’s just that History is over.’
He locks the car doors automatically and grins some more. He turns on the engine and the smell of Ambi Pur air freshener wafts out of the vents. Britney starts to sing. ‘That History might be over, but we’ve still got a little lurve history to make.’ He lights a candle that’s sitting on the dashboard.
‘If you say “love” like that again, I’m running.’
‘The doors are locked. There’s nowhere to run.’ He leans in. He’s so close. I know this time we’re going to make it. ‘Baci,’ he says. And then he kisses me.
GRACIE
Finally.
