Read Online The Year My Life Broke by John Marsden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Marsden
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before. You said I could wear a chicken suit.â
âYour offer was fraudulent,â he said. âYou withheld vital information.â
That word âfraudulentâ got right up my nostrils. People had used it about my parents. I knew I was in the middle of a major anger management episode. I struggled to control myself.
âOK,â I said, trying to speak really slowly. âFair enough. I admit Iâve been acting like a bit of a low-life since I got here. But now Iâd really like to play for Tarrawagga.â
He stood there staring at me. I was sure he was about to measure me up for the chicken suit.
âItâs not very fair on the kids whoâve been training all this time if you just waltz up and walk straight into the team,â he said.
âI know that,â I said. âBut if a new kid turned up today who was good enough to get in, I guess youâd take him.â
âThatâs different,â he said. He looked at Red. âWhat do you think, Redmond?â
I was a bit shocked. Not many teachers would ask a kidâs opinion like that. I crossed my fingers. After all, it was less than 48 hours since Red had tried to strangle me outside a toilet block.
Red looked up at the ceiling. It was a few seconds before he answered.
âI reckon everyoneâs entitled to a second go,â he said.
Mr Surrey thought about that for a while. Teachers and kids were coming into the hall for assembly. Finally he nodded. âAll right,â he said.
Seemed like I was in the team.
My first lunchtime practice was embarrassing. I rocked up as soon as I could, but walked into an earthquake of laughter. âOhmigod, look whatâs here,â was the only comment I actually heard, among all the noise. I didnât know what to say. One thing for sure, I didnât want to make a speech to every kid explaining how in one weekend I could go from someone who didnât know which end of the bat to hold to someone who could hit a ball that went vaguely where I wanted it to go.
It turned out that I didnât have to make any speeches, because I didnât have to do anything. Mr Surrey put me in the outfield, where I mooched around drawing patterns in the dust with my toe. Like Red, I couldnât wait to get onto the new oval, with its beautiful surface of fresh grass. The old oval, which we were using for practice, had a surface like the Simpson Desert.
I had to field a couple of balls, which I stopped easily enough, throwing them in without any fuss. I was pretty keen not to stand out. It was halfway through practice the next day before Mr Surrey finally decided I could come in from the dunes. Suddenly he beckoned me, and pointed to the non-strikerâs end. I ran over, grabbed a bat and took up my position. Rolf was at the other end. He blocked a couple of balls, then hit an easy single.
I jogged down the pitch. The ball was chucked back to the keeper and he lobbed it over my head to the bowler. I took guard. My moment of truth had arrived. Every member of the team who thought he or she had a sense of humour was enjoying a good time at my expense. You couldnât even call it sledging, because they didnât take me seriously enough to sledge me. They were just entertaining each other with comments like, âGet him a piano â heâd have a better chance of playing thatâ, âGet a car, see if he can driveâ and âHave a look at the back of the bat, Josh â it might have instructions.â
The only exception was Harriet, who was fielding at leg slip. When I looked around I caught her eye. She wasnât saying anything. She just had a little smile, like someone whoâs seen something funny that no-one else has noticed.
I turned back to face the bowler. I tried to concentrate on the ball. Lately, after a comment from Wally, Iâd been working on my follow-through. Iâd been trying to exaggerate it a bit, to make sure
âYour offer was fraudulent,â he said. âYou withheld vital information.â
That word âfraudulentâ got right up my nostrils. People had used it about my parents. I knew I was in the middle of a major anger management episode. I struggled to control myself.
âOK,â I said, trying to speak really slowly. âFair enough. I admit Iâve been acting like a bit of a low-life since I got here. But now Iâd really like to play for Tarrawagga.â
He stood there staring at me. I was sure he was about to measure me up for the chicken suit.
âItâs not very fair on the kids whoâve been training all this time if you just waltz up and walk straight into the team,â he said.
âI know that,â I said. âBut if a new kid turned up today who was good enough to get in, I guess youâd take him.â
âThatâs different,â he said. He looked at Red. âWhat do you think, Redmond?â
I was a bit shocked. Not many teachers would ask a kidâs opinion like that. I crossed my fingers. After all, it was less than 48 hours since Red had tried to strangle me outside a toilet block.
Red looked up at the ceiling. It was a few seconds before he answered.
âI reckon everyoneâs entitled to a second go,â he said.
Mr Surrey thought about that for a while. Teachers and kids were coming into the hall for assembly. Finally he nodded. âAll right,â he said.
Seemed like I was in the team.
My first lunchtime practice was embarrassing. I rocked up as soon as I could, but walked into an earthquake of laughter. âOhmigod, look whatâs here,â was the only comment I actually heard, among all the noise. I didnât know what to say. One thing for sure, I didnât want to make a speech to every kid explaining how in one weekend I could go from someone who didnât know which end of the bat to hold to someone who could hit a ball that went vaguely where I wanted it to go.
It turned out that I didnât have to make any speeches, because I didnât have to do anything. Mr Surrey put me in the outfield, where I mooched around drawing patterns in the dust with my toe. Like Red, I couldnât wait to get onto the new oval, with its beautiful surface of fresh grass. The old oval, which we were using for practice, had a surface like the Simpson Desert.
I had to field a couple of balls, which I stopped easily enough, throwing them in without any fuss. I was pretty keen not to stand out. It was halfway through practice the next day before Mr Surrey finally decided I could come in from the dunes. Suddenly he beckoned me, and pointed to the non-strikerâs end. I ran over, grabbed a bat and took up my position. Rolf was at the other end. He blocked a couple of balls, then hit an easy single.
I jogged down the pitch. The ball was chucked back to the keeper and he lobbed it over my head to the bowler. I took guard. My moment of truth had arrived. Every member of the team who thought he or she had a sense of humour was enjoying a good time at my expense. You couldnât even call it sledging, because they didnât take me seriously enough to sledge me. They were just entertaining each other with comments like, âGet him a piano â heâd have a better chance of playing thatâ, âGet a car, see if he can driveâ and âHave a look at the back of the bat, Josh â it might have instructions.â
The only exception was Harriet, who was fielding at leg slip. When I looked around I caught her eye. She wasnât saying anything. She just had a little smile, like someone whoâs seen something funny that no-one else has noticed.
I turned back to face the bowler. I tried to concentrate on the ball. Lately, after a comment from Wally, Iâd been working on my follow-through. Iâd been trying to exaggerate it a bit, to make sure
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