Read Online So Gross! by J A Mawter - Free Book Online

Secker,’ said Gumby. ‘It’s a rare one. Sort of shaped like a monkey’s head.’
    ‘I’m not talking about another Secker,’ said Simon, getting excited. ‘I’m talking about Secker giving his cold to Coach.’
    ‘And how is he going to do that?’ asked Yonnie.
    ‘I dunno. Breathe on him. Sneeze on him. Something like that.’
    ‘Germs do fly through the air,’ said Dillon. ‘That’s not a bad idea. All we need to do is make Seckerand Coach get so close to each other that the germs jump over.’
    ‘How do we do that?’ asked Yonnie. ‘Get them both in a headlock?’ ‘Maybe,’ said Gumby.
    ‘Ask Coach to work on scrums and get Secker an’ him to engage,’ suggested Dillon.
    ‘Secker’s not in the front row,’ said Simon. ‘That won’t work.’ The boys shook their heads in despair.
    ‘I’ve got it,’ said Gumby, just as Coach called them out for practice. ‘Leave it with me. Oi. Secker,’ he yelled. ‘Got a minute?’
    For the next half-hour the boys ran and passed, passed and ran till they were knackered.
    ‘Five minutes break and then we’ll work on tackling,’ yelled Coach.
    Gumby winked at Secker then threw himself on the ground, pretending to rest. He showed no reaction when Secker came and sat on him. Nor did he react when the five-buck note was lifted out of his pocket.
    ‘Be back in a minute, Coach,’ said Secker. ‘Shouldn’t’ve had baked beans for breakfast,’ he added with a smirk, letting one rip that could curl your nose hair.
    ‘Righto, boys. Back to work,’ said Coach. ‘Find yourself a partner.’
    The boys got into pairs. Gumby with Yonnie. Simon with Dillon.
    ‘You’ll have to pair up with me,’ said Coach, when Secker finally came back. Secker nodded and went over to him.
    Coach used to be an A-grade footballer in the Olden Days. You know how muscles turn to flab if you don’t use them? Well, Coach must’ve had a mighty lot of muscle, once. He stood beside Secker, blotting out the sun.
    ‘Get down low and go, go, go,’ said Coach. ‘That’s the secret of a good tackle. None of this sheila stuff about grabbing by the arms or hanging off the guernsey.’ He threw the ball to Secker. ‘Start running up that way and I’ll show you.’
    Secker caught the ball and tucked it close to his chest. He took off, with Coach in hot pursuit.
    Coach tackled.
    There was a loud ooohf and a thud, and a tangle of legs and arms on the ground.
    Later, it was described as ‘Secker versus the Tank’.
    Everyone thought that the Tank won.
    Secker knew better. He knew he’d started his fall a fraction of a second before Coach had even touched him.
    One footballer stood up and one did not.
    Secker lay there like a body in a morgue.
    ‘You’ve killed him,’ yelled Frank Castro as he and the team came running up.
    Coach knelt on the grass, gently shaking Secker and calling, ‘Matt. Matt.’ Begging him to get up.
    But Secker wasn’t going anywhere.
    ‘Get an ambulance,’ shouted Pete Richards. ‘I think he’s dead.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Gumby. ‘He’s all blue. Looks like he’s stopped breathing.’ He crouched down beside his team-mate. Secker lay still, a goner. ‘Do something, Coach.’
    ‘Stand back,’ yelled Coach, leaning over the body. ‘Give him some air.’
    The next thing Secker knew, his mouth was being prised open and a pair of very bristly lips were latching on. It felt like a date with a toilet brush.
    The team stood watching, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
    This was really something. Secker sharing spit with Coach!
    ‘Geddorf,’ screamed Secker, making a miraculous recovery and furiously wiping at his mouth. ‘You’re sick,’ he yelled, before flapping like a suckerfish that’d lost his suck.
    ‘That’s enough for today,’ gasped Coach. ‘Training’s over.’

Chapter Three
    Over the next two weeks the boys kept an eye on Coach, anxiously watching for any sign of a cold.
    Even a sniffle would be welcome.
    He sneezed once or twice, but