Sidelines, page 14
‘Ooops, sorry,’ Katerina says.
Audrey feels like hitting her, but the others are watching now, so she clenches her hands into fists and looks down at her boots. Sees the Swoosh again. Just Do It. Yeah, right. How can you do it if you’re not even on the field?
When the ref blows his whistle to start the game, Audrey tucks herself up on a chair in the technical area and wraps her arms around her legs. She feels like a dog tied to a kennel. It’s boring to watch when all she wants to do is go on. And it’s so unfair of Dominik to pick on her. If only she was one of his favourites, like Viktor, who never does the log, then writes three words and gets away with it. Yet here she is on the bench and Griffin has taken her place on the field.
Soon, though, she can’t help sitting up and watching. The Minotaurs are playing like champions. Passing. Moving into space. Giving the Tigers the run-around. How is this possible? she wonders, trying to see past Dominik.
At first, it’s hard to work out what’s going on, what the difference is. Then she sees it. The Tigers run like crazy but look slow, while Griffin cruises through like he’s doing nothing when he’s really doing everything. He gets the ball but never holds on to it. He floats into space and the ball meets him there. He bounds around like he has springs on his feet. He spreads the ball everywhere, passing, blocking, tackling, giving the ball to everyone else in the team, including Viktor.
Viktor can’t seem to see the opportunities Griffin sets up for him. With a permanent scowl on his face, he takes the passes from Griffin, but won’t pass back. Instead, he passes to his mates, even if they’re in a bad position. What’s wrong with him? He should be using Griffin to get goals. Maybe he’s too stupid.
‘Come on, Viktor,’ Griffin calls, frustrated. ‘Pass back.’
Viktor hogs the ball and the Tigers nearly score. Dominik goes apoplectic and threatens to take him off, which would be good for Audrey because then she might get to go on. She waits, ready to whip off her bib. No such luck, though. Viktor glowers and grumbles but Dominik leaves him on.
Griffin tackles the ball from a Tigers player and passes to Katerina, but she dribbles as usual and loses possession.
‘Come on, Minotaurs!’ Dominik shouts. ‘Be ready for Griffin. Katerina, no more mucking around.’ He turns and mutters something to Kyle, and hitches at his balls, right in front of Audrey. She winces.
Griffin passes to Viktor again and this time Viktor sprints onto the ball, lines up and slams home a goal. He jams his fists in the air and everyone piles on top of him. Audrey jumps up and shouts along with the other players on the bench. She watches Griffin stroll over to Viktor, grinning, and offer a high-five. Viktor stares at him then walks away. Audrey can’t believe it. What a dick! But after that the other players start looking for Griffin even though Viktor tells them not to.
By half-time, they’re up 3–nil and she can’t wait to get out there. In the change room, during Dominik’s half-time chat, she waits for him to say she’s going on. He’s busy scribbling on his whiteboard, drawing arrows and suggesting strategies.
‘Are you listening?’ he shouts at the team, rubbing his nose and rearranging his balls again. ‘We need to stay on the attack and shut the Tigers down. Take possession of the whole field. Follow?’ He glances at Griffin, a gleam in his eyes. ‘Good work, mate. You had the Tigers scrambling out there.’
Griffin gives a small nod, and that’s all. No smirking. No cocky looks at other players. If it was Viktor, he’d be rubbing it in.
‘Okay,’ Dominik goes on. ‘I want you all to get the ball to Griffin.’ He gives Viktor a meaningful look. ‘Our back line needs to be a shield to hold out the enemy. Our front line has to be ready to overpower them and fire the ball into the net. And our midfield needs to consolidate around Griffin and maintain the attack. Stay in formation. Defend the wing. Take no prisoners. Got it?’
Audrey is desperate to get out there. But what if she’s on the bench again? What if Dominik doesn’t give her a chance?
Finally, when they’re outside and ready to go on, he nods at her. She’s on at last and that’s all that matters. She chucks the bib at Katerina and dashes onto the field, yearning to share the magic she saw in the first half. But after sitting on the sideline for so long, it’s hard to find her rhythm. She dives in too quickly, mistimes her touch, overshoots with the ball.
Viktor roars at her when she misses a pass. ‘What the hell are you doing? Stop being so bloody hopeless.’
She cowers at the criticism, but won’t let it get to her. She can do this; she knows she can. You are strong, she tells herself. You have good skills. You can be a champion.
Noah makes a run down the line and passes to Griffin who controls the ball with a perfect touch.
‘Audrey,’ he yells. He points down the line on her side, and she sprints, breaking free of her defender. The ball flies off Griffin’s left foot and lands just ahead of her. ‘Time,’ he yells. ‘Look up.’
Three long strides and she finds her balance and meets the ball with her right foot. It rockets off her boot, over the head of the Tigers goalie and into the net. She leaps in the air, punching the sky, fireworks bursting inside her. The team packs on, shouting, crushing her, even Viktor.
She catches a glimpse of her father at the end of the field with the Minotaurs goalie. His wide smile. Her mother waving from the stands. But as she pulls free, it’s Griffin she looks for. His brown eyes and smile. He could have taken the shot himself, but didn’t.
As she walks back to her position, a Tigers player shoves her from behind and knocks her down. ‘Oops, sorry,’ he scoffs, stepping over her and sauntering away.
Griffin is there, reaching a hand to help her up. ‘Watch out for dickheads,’ he says, grinning and releasing her. ‘And hey … good goal.’
She smiles and bends to brush the mud from her knees.
Sunday, Audrey spends half an hour in the bathroom getting ready to go to the oval. She tries her hair in a ponytail. Then tries plaits. In the end, she decides on a bun. It’s tricky to roll her hair up and make it stay on top of her head. Eventually she’s happy with it. She pulls out a few strands so they curl down each side of her face, then smiles at herself in the mirror. She looks really feminine. Now for the make-up.
She traces the line of her lids with the eyeliner, finishing with a wing at the corner, just like on the YouTube clips she’s been watching. Then she applies mascara to make her lashes look long and voluminous, like the label says. Her eyes look pretty. It’s not as hard as she thought it would be.
When she’s finally ready, she grabs a ball from the wooden box on the back porch, and scoots through the house, calling to her mother from the front door. ‘I’m going to the oval.’
Her mother appears from the lounge room, holding a copy of The New Yorker and wearing a quizzical frown. ‘By yourself?’
Audrey angles her face away so her mother won’t notice the make-up. ‘Alex’s knee is still sore so he can’t come. I just want to practise my juggling.’
‘Can’t you do it in the backyard?’
‘It’s nicer down at the oval. The grass is softer.’
‘What about lunch?’
‘I’ll have it when I get back.’
‘How long will you be?’
‘Maybe an hour.’
She ducks outside and closes the front door before her mother can fire off any more questions. With the ball tucked under her arm, she walks down the street. It’s a beautiful autumn day. Her step is light. She feels like singing and dancing.
At the oval, the smell of warm grass hangs in the air. She looks around for Griffin, but he’s not there. He might be running late—it’s only just eleven thirty.
Nearby, she can see a woman with pale blonde hair walking a smiling Golden Retriever, its tail waving like a banner. Down the far end of the field, two long-legged boys are practising sprints. She walks a lap, startling a flock of galahs that lift into the air, shrieking in a mad flap of wings.
At the end of the lap, Griffin’s still not there. She plonks on the grass out in the middle—surely, he’ll see her there. But she doesn’t want to look like a loser, so she gets up and starts juggling. He’d be impressed by that, wouldn’t he? It’s hard to concentrate because she’s distracted about the idea of seeing him. Then the rhythm kicks in, and her touch is perfect. Maybe she can set a new record. Juggling is better than worrying about whether he’ll turn up.
Ten minutes later, still no Griffin. And no message either. She stumps around the oval again, booting the ball at some magpies who hop and flutter out of her way. Will he come? Has he forgotten? She doesn’t want to send a text because that might look desperate.
Fifteen minutes. Then twenty. And still no Griffin. How long should she wait before she goes home?
Another lap, then she stops and slams the ball at the high wire fence between two fields. It hits the wire with a satisfying twang then rebounds. She sprints to stop it, dribbles a short distance, spins, and slams it at the fence again. Thwack!
She sits on the grass and watches the galahs weeding, pulling up bits of dirt. Another five minutes and she’s just about done. Then she sees someone pedalling madly across the oval, bike jerking side to side. No helmet. It must be Griffin.
She stands up and prepares to say goodbye and that she’s just leaving, but as he approaches, his face is so torn with angst she instantly forgives him.
He pulls up, puffing, and dumps his bike on the ground. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he gasps, dragging the back of his wrist across his sweaty forehead. ‘Dad went on a bender last night and woke up in a shit mood. Made me wash his car before I could come.’
‘Why didn’t you text me?’
‘He took my phone. Look.’ Griffin tears off his backpack, rips open the zip and upends the bag to discharge its contents. Out falls a worn-looking soccer ball, a red plastic drink bottle, and orange football boots smudged with mud, nothing else.
‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘I’m still here. But I was about to go home. You’re half an hour late.’
‘Half an hour? I got here as fast as I could.’ He’s so distraught, he’s almost in tears.
‘How far did you have to come?’
He flushes and looks away. ‘I dunno. Five or six k’s?’
‘Where’s your house?’
‘Dad and me live in an apartment a few suburbs away.’
‘I thought you said you lived close.’
He meets her eyes with a shy smile. ‘I really wanted to see you.’ His smile deepens. ‘That was some goal yesterday. What a kick! You don’t need lessons from me.’
‘You set it up.’
He kicks at the grass. ‘And you put it in. You deserved it.’
‘My first goal of the season.’
‘I reckon you’ll score more.’
She laughs, tension seeping out of her. ‘Did you see Katerina? She couldn’t believe it.’
‘What’s up with her?’ he asks. ‘Why’s she got it in for you?’
Audrey snorts. ‘I don’t know. She’s always like that.’
‘I reckon she’s jealous coz you’re smarter and nicer than her.’
Audrey averts her eyes, her cheeks suddenly warm. No one’s ever said anything like that to her before.
For the next ten or fifteen minutes, they kick balls to each other, semi-fun, semi-serious. Griffin shows her how to position her body to get more power into her shots. ‘Don’t forget to follow through,’ he says, demonstrating and making it look easy.
They’re soon hot. Griffin offers his water bottle and, without thinking, she wipes the pop-up spout with her jersey before drinking. He laughs. ‘Scared of germs?’ When it’s his turn to drink, he makes it obvious he’s not planning to do the same.
They collapse on the grass and relive yesterday’s game. A 6–1 win in the end. When they run out of talk, Griffin rolls on his back and squints at the sky, using his arm to shield the light.
Looking down at him, Audrey notices a shadow of fur on his lip. A space between his front teeth. A slight dimple in his chin.
‘Sorry for being late,’ he says, squinting at her from behind his hand. ‘Dad’s a dickhead sometimes.’
‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’
‘I s’pose I have to say yes. He’s my dad.’
‘Does he hassle you about football?’
‘Nah. Doesn’t have to. I love it so I’m always trying to get better.’
‘Me too. But I’m no good.’
He props himself up on one elbow. ‘That’s not true. You made it into the team. And look at that goal you scored yesterday. You’re better than most of the boys.’
She digs her fingers into the soil, bashful. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Yeah, I do. They’re full of shit and they think they’re better than they are. But you’ve got actual skills.’
She sees the seriousness in his eyes. ‘I try hard, but I’ll never be good enough,’ she admits.
‘For what?’
She pauses. ‘I don’t know … for my parents.’ She pulls out a handful of grass. ‘They say I could play for the Matildas if I wanted to.’
His brow crinkles. ‘You could, but it’s hard to get to the top.’
She looks at him. ‘What about you?’
He sits up and runs his fingers over the grass as if stroking an animal. ‘I want to get a contract overseas, so I’ve just got to keep working.’
‘Does your dad help you with training?’
‘A bit. But, nah … he’s more into league. He used to play. He was fast.’
‘Is that when he got his tattoos?’
‘I don’t know. He got most of them before I was born.’
Audrey’s parents hate tatts and they call it ‘thugby’, not rugby. ‘He must be proud of you,’ she says.
Griffin snorts. ‘Only when he’s at the pub.’
‘That sucks.’ Her parents never go to the pub.
‘Yeah, he’s always there when he’s not working.’
‘What kind of work does he do?’
‘Truck driver. Carts gravel.’
Her friends’ parents are lawyers, bankers and doctors. Some of them own their own businesses. ‘What about your mum?’ she asks.
He looks away. ‘She’s a cleaner. Lives in Melbourne with my sister. She and Dad got divorced. That’s why me and Dad came up here.’
‘Do you miss them?’
‘Not really. They always fight. And my sister’s a bitch. Your parents seem really nice.’
‘They’re not,’ she scoffs.
‘Your dad’s good with the goalies. He seems decent.’
‘I bet your dad’s decent too.’
Griffin sniffs. ‘Not after he’s been on a bender.’ He lies back on the grass, folding an arm under his head like a pillow and looking up at her. ‘What did you do to your eyes?’ he asks. ‘They look nice.’
She smiles. It’s the make-up—but she’s not telling him that. She reaches playfully to hit him and he grabs her wrist and tugs her down beside him on the grass. They lie side by side on their backs, holding hands. His fingers are warm and he holds her hand tight. She’s not game to look at him.
‘See the clouds?’ he says. ‘See how fast they’re moving? Must be windy up there.’
She peers at the clouds, but from the corner of her eye she can see his chest rising and falling. He shifts his fingers to lace with hers and they lie there, gazing up at the sky. Her breathing is light and feathery. She doesn’t want this to end.
Then her phone rings. She knows she should answer it, and when she lets go of his hand and sits up, the magic is gone.
‘Where are you?’ her mum says. ‘You’ve been gone for ages. It’s way past lunchtime.’
‘I’ll be home soon.’ She doesn’t want to go but she rises to her feet, grabs her ball, and waits awkwardly.
Griffin stands too and drags his bike up by the handlebars. ‘So you really have to go?’ he says.
She feels shy. ‘My mum wants me to go home for lunch … But maybe we can meet another time, if you want.’
‘That’d be great,’ he says.
He smiles and she sinks into his eyes. The magic is back. She watches as he straddles his bike and takes off.
‘See you at training,’ he yells over his shoulder.
She grins to herself and dribbles the ball across the oval towards home.
At recess, first day back at school after the holidays, Audrey gathers with a crowd of girls at the Year 8 noticeboard where the cast list for Shrek will soon be posted. Georgia, quiet and pale-faced, stands beside her, while Pip and Darcie chatter away to each other.
When the drama teacher finally emerges from the staffroom holding a sheet of paper, Audrey’s palms go sweaty. She glances at Georgia who keeps clearing her throat and straightening her school dress.
The teacher pins the sheet to the board then turns to smile at them, shielding the list with her body. ‘Try not to be too upset if you didn’t get what you wanted,’ she says. ‘We’ll find a way for all of you to be involved. There’s backstage, lighting, make-up, set design. And just remember, there’s always next year.’
The teacher steps back and everyone crushes forward to look. Carried by the tide, Audrey feels bodies pressing up against her, Georgia in front and Pip squished up behind. It’s worse than jockeying in front of goal when someone’s taking a corner. She can’t get close enough, can’t see past Georgia’s head, the brisk irritated flick of her ponytail. Then a murmur reaches her and people turn to look at her. Incredulous gasps. Gaping mouths. She is Fiona.
She grips Darcie’s hand. Can it be true?
Georgia glances at her, stricken, then stumbles away, weeping as if there’s been a death in her family.
‘Poor Georgia,’ Darcie whispers.
Yes, poor Georgia. But Audrey can’t suppress the fizz of elation mounting inside her. She feels as if she’s levitating.
Pip and Darcie rush off after Georgia, and space opens around Audrey. Girls ogle her with new respect in their eyes. She almost laughs. She’d thought playing in a boys’ team would make other girls look up to her. And it has, but nothing like this.
