Sidelines, page 12
‘Don’t worry,’ he says with a smile. ‘Next time.’
When her father finds out about Viktor smashing Alex, he’s furious. He wants to call Dominik straight away, but Mum stops him.
‘Nothing can be done about it now,’ she says, pouring him a wine and setting his dinner in front of him.
Audrey keeps her distance, but poor Alex is stuck on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on his knee, Honey snuggled up on his lap. His face droops as he strokes Honey’s ears and listens to Dad going off.
‘Bloody Viktor! He’s got a rotten temper and Dom lets him get away with it. I hope he got a serious talking-to. If not, I’ll do it myself. I can’t believe it.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Mum says. ‘That wouldn’t help at all. Leave it to Dominik.’
Dad takes a big sip of wine and turns to Mum. ‘What now then, Jonica?’
‘I’ve booked a physio appointment for tomorrow.’
Her father tops up his glass. ‘I should make Santos pay. But I haven’t got the energy to chase it up with him.’
‘As if that’s going to happen,’ her mother says.
Just as well, Audrey thinks. She doesn’t want him to make things even worse for her in the team.
Later she strips off her clothes in the bathroom and checks herself out in the mirror, standing tall and sucking her tummy in to make it look flat. Her boobs are getting bigger, that’s for sure. She feels weird looking at them—her body is changing so fast it’s like it belongs to someone else. She prods her boobs with her index finger: the soft nubs of white flesh bulging. Her nips are getting wider, thicker and darker, and hair is sprouting under her arms and all over down below. Georgia says she should get her pubes and armpits lasered, but Darcie says laser hurts, and Audrey doesn’t want to do anything that hurts. It was bad enough getting her vaccinations last year. So much talk and build-up in the queue, then she went all woozy and nearly fainted at the sight of the needle.
She swings sideways to inspect her bum and rubs a hand over her belly. At the end of training tonight, Griffin had pulled off his jersey to change shirts and she saw how skinny he was. Zero fat and a six-pack stomach. Why can’t she look like that? Would she be better at football if she had a six-pack?
She leans close to the mirror to examine the blackheads in the crease on her nose, squeezes them out with her fingernails. The little white worms are disgusting. She turns to check her profile, but it hasn’t changed—her nose is too big and her eyes are too small. Why can’t she have blue eyes, instead of brown? Would mascara make her eyes look bigger? Would Griffin like her better with make-up?
In her bedroom after the shower, she drops her towel on the floor, slips into her pjs and grabs her fluffy blue wallet to check her savings. Three hundred and fifty dollars from last year’s birthday and Christmas. That should be enough to buy make-up. But what sort should she buy? Foundation and mascara? When she was little, her mum used to put some make-up on her for special occasions—mascara and a touch of eye shadow and lipstick. Sometimes Mum even sat on the floor and let Audrey do her hair. She never let her experiment with make-up, though, because she said she didn’t want to look like a clown.
If Audrey had had some practice, she might know what to do now. She could use some of her mum’s make-up, of course, but she doesn’t want to look like her mother—she wants to look hot. She could ask Georgia, because Georgia wears make-up for drama productions. But she doesn’t want to give Georgia the satisfaction of acting all knowledgeable and superior. She sits on her bed with her phone and searches best ways to do make-up. Tons of YouTube videos pop up. That’s how she’ll learn.
She hears footsteps in the hall and shoves her phone under her pillow, snatches up the book from her bedside table and pretends to be reading. Her mother peers in. Audrey feels like she’s under a microscope in science class.
‘Nice to see you with a book instead of your phone,’ her mother says. ‘What are you reading?’
‘Animal Farm.’
‘I loved that book when I was at school. Are you enjoying it?’
‘It’s not the kind of book you enjoy, Mum.’
‘Maybe not, but are you finding it interesting? I can tell you all about the Russian Revolution, if you like.’
‘Not now. I’m too tired. Wait till I’ve read a bit more.’
‘I suppose you’ll have to write an essay on it. Make sure you don’t leave it until the last minute.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Anything else on at school? Any tests coming up?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Audrey lies.
‘Let’s check your diary.’
Sighing, Audrey slides off her bed, drags her schoolbag from under a pile of clothes and pulls out her school diary.
Her mother reaches for it and flicks through the pages. ‘You have a maths test on Friday.’
Audrey works to keep her face straight. ‘Yes, I know. I did some study yesterday.’
‘Good. School first, football second. I know you love soccer, but kicking balls won’t earn you a living.’
‘If I play for the Matildas I’ll get paid heaps.’
Her mother’s mouth arches into a smile. ‘Compared to working at McDonalds, perhaps. But if you want to earn real money you need a university degree and a career.’
‘Or a rich husband,’ Audrey says.
Her mother frowns. ‘Better to have a career and be independent. You get a sense of self-worth from a career. Weren’t you talking about being a lawyer the other day? You’ll have to study hard if you want to do that.’
‘You don’t work,’ Audrey points out. Her mum has been at home for as long as she can remember.
‘I’ll be going back soon,’ her mother says, leafing through the diary without looking up. ‘I’d prefer to be working.’
Audrey notices tight lines around her mother’s mouth, and a niggle of doubt coils in her stomach. Her parents have been arguing a lot lately, at night, when they think no one can hear them. She worries they’re going to get a divorce like so many other parents. Sometimes, she tiptoes down to listen. Mostly it’s just Dad raising his voice when they’re talking about politics. But other times they argue about Mum wanting to go back to work and looking for jobs.
‘What sort of work will you do?’ Audrey asks.
‘I am a solicitor, you know.’ Her mother drops the diary on the desk and heads for the door.
‘Are you going to check Alex’s diary too?’ Audrey asks. ‘It’s not fair if you only check mine.’
‘Of course I’ll check his diary.’
‘You should get him to tidy his room.’ Audrey crinkles her nose. ‘It stinks in there.’
Her mother smiles. ‘It is a bit of a cave … I should check his bag in case something’s rotting.’
‘It could be his feet,’ Audrey says.
Her mother’s lips twitch. ‘Maybe.’
‘Or his armpits.’ Audrey starts giggling.
‘Perhaps he needs stronger deodorant,’ her mother suggests. ‘Some of that glow-in-the-dark stuff.’
They exchange looks and her mother bursts out laughing. Then they’re belly-laughing together, clutching their sides with hysteria.
Until her mother stops, contrite. ‘Poor Alex and his knee, we shouldn’t be laughing about him.’
And then they’re laughing again, so hard Audrey’s cheeks hurt.
Wednesday, Dominik is on a rampage about the soccer log because not enough people have been completing it. ‘Last Thursday I told you that if you didn’t fill out every single session this week, you’d be starting on the bench this weekend,’ he blusters.
Audrey smiles because she knows for certain he’s not speaking to her; she hasn’t missed a single entry.
Alex puts his hand up. ‘I couldn’t do it because of my knee.’ Yesterday, Mum took him to the physio, and apparently it’s just a strain that should get better with rest and ice. It’s still puffy, though, and he can’t play for a couple of weeks. All he can do is a little bit of walking and the exercises the physio gave him.
‘You’re off the hook, Alex,’ Dominik says.
‘What about Griffin?’ Viktor snarls. ‘Did he do the log?’
‘When we’ve set up his account, he’ll have to fill it in like the rest of you.’
‘Good,’ Viktor mumbles, glaring at Griffin.
Audrey is secretly pleased that Griffin is bothering Viktor. It serves Viktor right. Payback for all the shit he gives everyone.
‘Why are you smiling, Audrey?’ Dominik says, startling her mid-thought. ‘You were the only one who didn’t write up last weekend’s game. And you know what that means, don’t you?’ He stares down his nose at her.
Everyone’s eyes land on her, and she goes hot all over. Katerina and Viktor smirk. And Alex shakes his head as if he’s embarrassed by her. Audrey wishes she could melt into the ground. ‘But I did it,’ she protests. ‘I wrote it up on Saturday afternoon. I wrote heaps.’
‘Well, it’s not there,’ Dominik says.
Audrey knows she wrote up that game. So why didn’t it go through? Did she forget to press the submit button? And what about all the other times she’s written up sessions and nobody else did, including her brother? Doesn’t that count for anything? A surge of fury rushes through her. It’s so unfair. She always fills in that log, and now she’s the one in trouble. ‘It should be there,’ she says. ‘I know I did it.’
‘Enough, Audrey!’ Dominik flicks a hand at her as if shaking off water. ‘You know the consequences. Bench on Saturday. Pay heed everyone, or next time it’ll be you.’
Audrey’s skin burns. She hangs her head, avoiding Dominik’s eyes, cops an eyeful of his belly instead. It’s disgusting. Who is he to judge her? He couldn’t even run a lap of the field. She glances at him and he’s still frying her with his eyes. Mortified, she peers down at her pink and white Mercurial Superfly Elite boots, flecks of mown grass on the Nike Swoosh. Tears well in her eyes. She was so excited to come to training tonight and now she feels like crying. Dad will go off at her when he finds out that she’s on the bench this weekend. And what will Griffin think of her? She flashes a look at him and discovers him watching her with kind eyes and a small smile, head tilted forward, a loose curl on his forehead. It makes her feel a bit better.
Dominik tells everyone to pair up for drills, but Audrey can’t move. By the time she finds the courage to look up, everyone has left her for dead. That means there’s only Griffin. Drawing a raggedy breath, she sidles over to him and asks if she can be his partner.
His brown eyes lock with hers. ‘Yeah, okay.’
Butterflies flip in her stomach as she and Griffin start knocking the ball to each other.
‘What was that all about?’ he asks, nodding towards Dominik.
‘It’s just this dumb soccer log we have to do. Dominik’s been getting mad at people for not filling it out. I always do it. But I must have forgotten to hit send.’
‘That sucks.’
‘Yeah, totally.’
Her body starts to loosen. She tries to play well, but it’s hard to get her touch right because she’s so busy looking at Griffin. At first, he doesn’t seem to notice that she’s watching him. And when he does, she feels herself blushing. He smiles and passes the ball back to her, but she’s so rattled, she misses and the ball runs away. She dashes after it. When she passes it back to him, his smile is still there, crinkles around his eyes. Is he laughing at her? No, she decides. He looks kind.
At drinks break, they flop on the grass while Dominik talks about plans for Saturday’s game. She’s careful not to sit too close to Griffin, but her skin is prickling. Is he watching her?
Dominik goes on about how he wants things to work in the midfield. ‘We need to be a powerhouse,’ he says. ‘If we’re going to win the game, we have to win the midfield. I want to see passing, running into space, and calling for the ball. No standing around. And definitely no ball-watching!’
Viktor scowls at Griffin. Audrey overhears him whispering to Katerina. ‘He’s a douchebag, so don’t pass to him. He’s not as good as he thinks.’
When they start playing, he slams into Griffin then lifts his palms in the air, feigning innocence. ‘Sorry,’ he mocks, ‘I didn’t see you.’ Then he does it again.
Audrey hates the sound of their bodies colliding. Griffin’s soft grunt as he falls. Viktor’s smug face. She trains okay, though. Not exactly a champion, but not a total loser either. Funny how that happens. One day you’re shit, then the next day you remember how to play again. Her father says it’s all in your head and that bad days aren’t real. They feel real, though. You get all locked up inside and forget how to do it. Tomorrow she could be crap again, but today she’s on fire … and it just keeps getting better. Her touch is great, her passes are on target, and for once everything has clicked. She can feel the others watching her. Maybe playing with Griffin has rubbed off on her. But no, she was always good, it’s just that today she’s feeling confident. Take that, Dominik, she thinks. She’s absolutely smashing it, even though he picked on her about the soccer log.
At the end of training, she does her stretches next to Griffin hoping he’ll talk to her, but he leans into a calf stretch, saying nothing. This is when Viktor or Katerina usually hassle her. Normally, they wait till Dominik isn’t looking then amble over and kick her shins or tug her laces or pretend to trip over her legs then laugh and jeer at her. Today, though, they’re staying away, and that’s good. Glancing sideways at Griffin, she asks, ‘Why did you let Viktor do that to you?’
He pauses before answering. ‘Do what?’
‘Knock you down. You shouldn’t let him get away with it. He’s a bully.’
He straightens a leg and pulls on his toes to stretch his hamstring. ‘It’s no big deal. Part of the game.’
‘He’s out to get you. If you smash him back, he’ll stop doing it.’
Griffin’s mouth twists. ‘That’d just make things worse.’
‘You should get your dad to talk to the coaches. That’ll stop him.’
‘No way. My dad would say just deal with it.’
She checks to make sure no one is listening then lowers her voice. ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He thinks he’s the boss.’
‘Well, he’s not.’
‘Who’s the boss then?’
He hesitates then looks away. ‘Dominik’s the boss. I just play the game.’
‘But you tell us what to do on the field.’
He stops stretching to look at her. ‘That’s because I know where the ball will go.’
‘How do you know?’
He pulls up bits of grass. ‘I dunno. I just do.’
‘You’re lucky. I wish I had something I’m good at.’
‘You do,’ he says. ‘Everyone does. Maybe you haven’t found yours yet.’
‘What about football?’ she says, stung.
‘You’re a good player.’
‘But not amazing like you.’
His eyes flash into hers and his cheeks flush. ‘That’s not what I meant. I have to work hard too. It doesn’t come easy.’
‘Dominik said you’re a natural.’
He looks away. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’m good at school,’ she says. ‘I can do maths and English and French.’
‘I’m crap at school,’ he admits. ‘I just wanna play football.’
‘You have to try at school, though,’ Audrey says, shocked.
‘Why?’
‘To get a job.’
‘My job’s gonna be football.’
‘What about when you’re older?’
‘I’ll always play football.’
‘But you have to get a job sometime. Even Messi has to stop playing one day.’
‘I’ll coach.’
‘What if you’re no good at it?’
‘I will be.’
Audrey shakes her head. ‘My dad says good players don’t always know how to coach. He says they do things by feel and can’t explain it.’
Griffin stares at her.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks, anxious. ‘Are you mad at me?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Football just comes automatic.’
She smiles. ‘That’s because you’re a freak.’
His face falls. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘No. Not really. I think you have a sixth sense.’
Griffin’s face softens. ‘Maybe it’s ball sense.’
Audrey leans closer and whispers, ‘Viktor has ball sense too. But it’s not the same kind of balls.’
Griffin smirks and looks away.
After stretches, everyone has to pack up. Griffin curves a ball across the field and it lands right next to the pile of equipment. Then he places another ball in almost the exact same spot. ‘How did you do that?’ Audrey asks, wistfully.
He glances at her slantwise. ‘I can show you sometime, if you like.’
Her breath stops in her throat. ‘Really? Can we do it after training on Thursday?’
‘Nah, I have to go home with my dad.’
‘At the game then?’
‘Nah. It’ll be too busy.’ He pauses and hitches at his shorts. ‘How about Sunday? We could meet at an oval somewhere. Where do you live?’
‘That’d be great,’ says Audrey, trying not to sound too keen.
She tells him where she lives and he nods. ‘I can ride my bike. Give me your mobile number and I’ll text you. We’ll work out a time.’
On the way home, she tries to think how to tell her dad about the soccer log and having to start on the bench next game. In the end she doesn’t have to, because Alex does it for her over dinner.
‘Why didn’t you do the log, Audrey?’ her father asks, searing her with his eyes.
‘I did it after the game, but you called me in to talk about Braedon, and I must have forgotten to submit it.’
His face hardens and her stomach churns. ‘Don’t blame me,’ he says. ‘Be more responsible. When I come to games, I want to see you play, not watch you sitting on the bench. That’s why I give up my time to help the goalies—so that you’ll get game time. Don’t let me down.’
