Club President Leanne Savage said that last night’s storm could mean the end of the Meerkats.

  ‘Juniors and seniors can’t play here anymore,’ she said. ‘It’s just not safe. Who ever heard of a game of rugby league where players need to run around dodgem cars sticking out of the ground?’

  The storm has caused hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of damage. Even if everything could be dug out, it would be very expensive to replace the fields. ‘It’s money we don’t have,’ said Mrs Savage. ‘We would have to fundraise for years. That’s a lot of raffle tickets.’

  Sadly for the players of the Menangle Meerkats, their season is over before it has started. The blue and yellow jersey worn proudly for more than 50 years will no longer see another tackle, try or conversion.

  I slide the newspaper to the side of the table, along with the plate of cookies. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. If I can’t play footy, I’ll never fulfil my dream of playing first-grade NRL for the Sydney Roosters. My eyes are watery but I try not to show it. Mum puts her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.

  ‘We’ll sort something out, James,’ she says softly. ‘Dad will have a plan – he always does.’ We sit there for a while, not saying anything. The only sound is Nonna, sipping her tea and looking at us. She nods her head with a little smile. It’s her way of saying that things will be okay. But Ben, Gerard, Luke and I don’t have a club anymore. I wish I could believe her.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ I say. She takes her arm away and turns to face me.

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘Is this really true?’ I ask, pointing at the newspaper.

  ‘It is, James. It’s been reported on the TV as well,’ she says.

  ‘No, I mean the part about Mr Coleman.’

  Mum stares at me in a confused kind of way.

  ‘Does he really have

  I ask.

  Passing the ball

  Keep focused on where you want the ball to go. Spread your fingers wide and always check your hands through to the target.

  CHAPTER 5

  CURSED

  ‘Mum! Don’t kiss me,’ says Matt as his mates wait for him at the front of the school.

  But Mum races around to the back of our white Nissan where Matt is getting his bag from the boot. She hugs him and plants one on his cheek. Matt squirms and groans, trying to get away.

  ‘Oooooh, Matt!’ laugh his mates. Matt’s face goes as red as the Nike bag he’s carrying and he takes off. Mum kisses me but I don’t care and neither do my friends. In fact, she tucked them all in the other night. Plus, their mums kiss them as well. Well, everyone’s mum except Luke’s. Most mornings his mum scolds him for not brushing his hair. Then she goes back into the car to get the hairbrush and combs his mop so it’s parted down the middle. It looks like two black curtains, one on either side of his head.

  I run up past the St Gregory’s College entry sign and pull my footy out of my bag like I do every other day, ready to pass it back and forth on the way to class, but the boys are acting like there’s been a death in the family – and they are kind of right.

  ‘No more Meerkats,’ says Luke. He scuffs his shiny black shoes on the concrete path, heading towards our Year 7 classroom.

  ‘No more club footy,’ says Gerard, shuffling along behind him.

  ‘True,’ replies Luke. ‘No club footy sucks more than conjunctivitis.’ Alex turns around and laughs.

  ‘I remember when you had that,’ he says with a giggle. ‘You totally had the stink eye and Breeanna Lee wouldn’t go to the movies with you.’ Alex pulls a soccer ball from his bag and starts juggling it, tapping it off his toes.

  ‘Luke and Breeanna sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,’ he sings. Every time Alex says a letter, he juggles the ball between his feet. He keeps singing. ‘First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby with – STINK EYE!’ Alex laughs so hard at his own joke, the soccer ball lands on the ground and so does he. Alex can’t stand up, he’s laughing so much. I have to admit, it is pretty funny.

  ‘Shut up, Alex,’ says Luke. ‘It was just dust in my eye, plus I’ve never had stink eye in my life.’

  By now all the boys are cracking up and for a minute, we’ve forgotten about the death of the Menangle Meerkats Rugby League Club. We stop laughing when our home teacher approaches. Mrs Kelly has arrived at school and is struggling with her bags, full of maths books she’s been marking on the weekend. No surprises for guessing who owns the book at the top of the pile, complete with Roosters stickers and pictures from Big League magazine stuck down with sticky tape. I put my footy away and take a bag from her to lighten her load.

  ‘Sorry to hear about the Meerkats, Teddy,’ says Mrs Kelly, looking sympathetically at me, then at the rest of the boys.

  Mrs Kelly and I lead the way to the classroom. I can still hear Alex humming the words to the kissing song and Luke hissing at him to be quiet. ‘You know that my three boys played for the Meerkats until they were in their twenties,’ says Mrs Kelly.

  ‘I didn’t know that you had three sons,’ I say.We reach the classroom and she puts her bags on the ground to unlock the door. The rest of the boys put their bags in the racks outside and get ready to line up. I follow Mrs Kelly in with the bag I’ve been carrying for her.

  ‘When they left the Meerkats, two of them played first grade for the Camden Rams,’ she says, plugging in her laptop.

  What? The Camden Rams! Our sworn enemy! How could her sons possibly jump ship and play for that club? They must have felt like traitors.

  I see Mrs Kelly eyeing me, and it feels almost like she’s looking deep into my soul.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, James,’ she says. ‘You’re thinking that they were disloyal, aren’t you?’

  I am. It’s like she’s reading my mind.

  ‘I’ll tell you something that I’d prefer you didn’t tell anyone else – except your parents, of course.’

  I gulp. She is reading my mind! I better make sure I don’t tell any more lies about doing my homework.

  Even though we’re the only ones in the classroom, Mrs Kelly looks around and lowers her voice. ‘It’s a real shame about the football club and the Menangle Show,’ she says, ‘but, James, that football ground is cursed – our family has known about it for a long time.’

  She places her hand on her heart and looks to the heavens. Mrs Kelly is Aboriginal and very spiritual. Something tells me she knows what she’s talking about.

  Speed and agility

  Stay balanced. Keep on your toes. Don’t look at the ground. Look at where you want to go.

  CHAPTER 6

  BEST OUT OF TEN

  Matt and I pull the dark-green wheelie bin out of the tractor shed and ten footballs jostle around inside until we get to the conversion spot. I tip the bin over in the middle of our cow paddock footy field and the balls spill out onto a carpet of lush green grass.

  I wheel the bin back to underneath the footy posts and we begin one of our favourite games, Best Out of Ten.

  The aim of the game is to convert as many kicks as you can in ten attempts. You start in the middle of the field and after you’ve kicked five, you move ten metres to the left or right and kick the rest from there. Then the next person has a turn and tries to beat the first player’s score. Not many people know our secret, but this game is why Matt and I are the best kickers in our teams. It was Matt who taught me how to kick. Actually, I learnt a lot from watching Matt play for the Menangle Meerkats. He’s just as eager as me to start playing again, but for now it’s important that we keep practising our skills. Matt moves back behind the posts, ready to collect the balls as I kick them.

  ‘Did you know Mrs Kelly’s sons played for the Rams?’ I yell, placing the ball on the kicking tee.

  ‘Yep, everyone does,’ he yells back.

  I balance the ball carefully then walk in reverse, three steps. I stop, look up at the posts, run three steps towards the ball and WHACK! The ball hits the crossbar and rebounds back towards me. No conversion – zero from one.

  ‘Were they any good?’ I say as Matt places the first ball in the wheelie bin and I line up another kick from the same spot.

  ‘Really good,’ says Matt. ‘One brother got a contract with the Storm and the other signed with the Raiders. They didn’t make first grade, though.’

  This time I follow through with a slightly harder kick and get my foot under the ball a bit more. It goes sailing between the posts and into Matt’s hands. He slam-dunks it into the wheelie bin. One successful kick from two attempts.

  Matt tells me all about Mrs Kelly’s footy-playing sons. He says no one knows much about Mrs Kelly’s third son. Matt doesn’t know what he did after leaving the Meerkats.

  I kick three more from the next five attempts. It’s now four out of seven. ‘Mrs Kelly thinks the footy grounds are cursed,’ I say, lining up my next kick. It sails over the black dot in the middle of the crossbar. Five from eight, two kicks to go.

  ‘Cursed?’ says Matt, placing the eighth ball in the bin. ‘Nah! That sounds like a fairytale.’

  I run in to kick and hook the ball left. In the distance, a kookaburra laughs as the ball flies past the outside of the post. I usually get those ones. Five from nine.

  ‘Last kick,’ says Matt, jiggling the wheelie bin and the nine balls inside.

  This time I’m concentrating fully. No questions, no talk. I look down at the ball and then up at the posts. Down at the ball and then up at the posts again. Down at the ball and then up at the posts, just one last time. I move backwards, my usual three steps. One, two, three –

  This time the kookaburra decides not to laugh when he sees the ball scrape inside the left-hand goalpost. I finish the game with six successful kicks from ten attempts. Matt beats me easily with eight out of ten.

  As the sun goes down, we make our way back to the house. An amazing smell drifts across the farm and it tickles my tastebuds. Matt and I know this is the aroma of Nonna’s famous spaghetti and meatballs. Usually I would inhale a plate of Nonna’s signature meal and go back for seconds, but for the first time ever tonight, that won’t happen.

  In fact, even though I don’t know it yet, I won’t eat a single string of pasta.

  Catching high balls

  Keep your elbows in and your arm towards the ball. Keep your feet moving at all times.

  CHAPTER 7

  A ROOSTER OR A RAM?

  When Matt and I walk into the house after Best Out of Ten, the whole family is there, waiting.

  Mum and Dad pull party poppers as soon as they see us.

  ‘SURPRISE!’

  everyone yells.

  I jump back in fright, nearly knocking over the trophy cabinet, which is full of Matt’s and my footy awards. Matt grabs me just before I fall through the glass cabinet door. As I push the streamers and confetti from the party poppers out of my face, I see decorations all over the kitchen. It looks like Christmas. Or somebody’s birthday.

  Bunches of red, white and blue balloons are tied to the ceiling fan, the windows, the toaster and the air conditioner. A string of little flags hangs from one corner of the ceiling to the other, spelling out:

  Nonna is in her red-checked apron and holding the

  sign that she takes to all of my games. Nonno is next to her, doing a little dance. It’s the same dance he does when he watches Family Feud on TV and gets the correct answer.

  ‘I beat him in Best Out of Ten!’ says Matt. ‘How come he gets the party?’

  Dad comes rushing around behind me and throws his arm around my shoulders, ushering me to my chair at the dining table.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he says, half answering Matthew and half making an announcement. ‘This isn’t about beating your brother. This is way more important.’

  ‘Way more important!’ yells Mum, throwing her hands in the air with excitement.

  I jump in fright again and the tops of my thighs hit the table, rattling all the

  cutlery set neatly on the tablecloth that matches Nonna’s apron. Dad shoves a letter in front of me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask. Matthew looks at it over my shoulder.

  ‘That, my son,’ announces Dad, ‘is an invitation to join the Camden Rams. You start training this week.’

  I look around the room. Everyone is watching me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

  I’m not sure how to react. My head is filled with questions.

  Am I glad that there’s a chance of playing footy again?

  Yes.

  Am I happy that the Meerkats are now relegated to Menangle’s history books?

  No way.

  How do I feel about playing for our arch rivals?

  Not too sure.

  Did Luke, Gerard and Ben also get an invite?

  Good question. I’ll ask.

  Why are you talking to yourself?

  Maybe I’m still in shock.

  You definitely are. Time to snap out of it.

  Okay.

  I turn my attention back to Dad. And the letter. And everyone still staring at me. There’s one question that stood out from all of the others.

  The most important question of them all.

  ‘Did Luke, Gerard and Ben get an invite?’

  Dad glances at Mum nervously.

  Mum glances at Dad nervously.

  I know that look. It’s the same look they had when I was little and asked where babies come from.

  ‘Um –’ says Mum awkwardly, but Dad interrupts.

  ‘No, James,’ he says. ‘You’re the only Meerkat who was asked.’ He sits opposite me. ‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime offer,’ he adds.

  ‘But I’m sure they really wanted to invite the other boys,’ says Mum, trying to soften the blow.

  Even though they’re not at the kitchen table, I can feel Ben, Gerard and Luke watching on sadly, knowing that our team is about to be split up.

  An imaginary newspaper headline flashes past my eyes:

  Guilt shoots through me. It starts at my feet and circles around in my stomach. My face is flushed and beads of sweat start to form on my forehead. It’s the first time I’ve felt like this since I accidentally took out a duck with the football on the cow paddock. Nonno cooked it up and turned it into stew. I didn’t eat it but the guilt stayed with me for days.

  ‘Listen, James,’ says Dad, ‘you’ve got what it takes, and the Rams have been watching you.’

  ‘But, Dad,’ I say, ‘we’re a team.’ My voice cracks and I start to tear up. Memories of wearing the blue and yellow jersey with the guys, scoring tries, tackling opponents into touch, and high fives at fulltime come flooding back to me. I try to wipe a tear away before anyone sees it.

  Too late. Nonna shoves a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of me.

  ‘Non essere triste. Mangia!’

  Nonna thinks food can take away sadness, but I’m not so sure. Food is the last thing on my mind right now. My stomach has tied itself into a knot.

  ‘If the boys aren’t invited, then what am I supposed to tell them?’ I say.

  ‘But, James…’ Dad protests.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, wiping my nose on my arm and getting up from the table. ‘I’m not hungry.’ Dad gets up too and tries to convince me to stay, but Mum places a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Leave him,’ she says.

  I walk down to my bedroom, my heart torn in two. I throw myself on my Sydney Roosters doona and bury my head in my Roosters pillow. Above me, a poster of the latest Sydney Roosters premiership team watches me cry like a baby. My Roosters alarm clock says 6.36 pm. There’s no escaping it – I’m surrounded by my dream and the question that haunts me:

  To be a Rooster, do I need to be a Ram?

  Deep down I know the answer, and the damage this will bring.

  Goal kicking

  Keep your head down. Follow through after contact with the ball. Visualise the ball going over the post.

  CHAPTER 8

  KRISPY KREME

  There are two kinds of secrets. Joyful secrets and heavy secrets.

  Mrs Kelly taught us about them at the beginning of the year.

  Joyful secrets are things like birthday presents, surprises and exciting announcements.

  The one I’ve carried around today at school is the heavy sort. All I can think about is the invitation to play for the Camden Rams and my stomach is as twisted as it was last night. Most people would be doing cartwheels, but I’m worried about how the boys will react.

  Mrs Kelly told us that anxiety is normal, but it’s important to use our strategies if we start feeling anxious. Today I’ve tried deep breathing, writing my thoughts on paper (and then ripping them up and flushing them down the toilet) and meditating on my own in the library. But nothing I’ve tried is working and I just want to make it go away. I’ve also learnt three other things:

  1. I can’t concentrate on my schoolwork when I’ve had zero hours’ sleep.

  2. There’s no point hiding the bags under my eyes by wearing sunglasses. Mrs Kelly told me to take them off and stop trying to look like Justin Bieber.

  3. I’m the world’s worst liar.

  Lies I have told so far today:

  That I didn’t give my breakfast to Rabs, our cat.

  That I’m going to ‘own’ this maths test.

  That I’m not crushing on Emma, the yellow Wiggle.

  That I feel great.

  I’m watching the clock in Mr Wong’s History class. Half an hour until home time. The secret sits heavily in my chest and stomach and it’s getting harder to hide by the minute.

  Ben’s sitting next to me and I want to tell him but I can’t say the words. All I want is the safety of Mum’s car. Until then, I listen to Mr Wong talk about Ancient Egypt and how the Egyptians believed that after death, dead people could still have feelings of anger, and hold a grudge against a living person. I imagine Ben dying when he’s an old man and his last words being, ‘You betrayed us, James!

 

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