The Secrets Club (11 page)

I toss and turn all night long and by
Friday morning I've come to a decision.

I can't choose between playing
football or hockey, it's impossible. I love them both. And, contrary to what
Mrs Waters may think, I'm committed to them both.

So here's the thing. I'm
going for both. It's the obvious solution.
If
I can pull it off.

I've worked out a plan. Tomorrow
the footie match kicks off at 1 p.m. Half an hour each way because we're under
twelve. I've just got enough time if I nip off quickly after the match to get
the train straight back from Blackett and be up at Crowley School for three
o'clock.

As part of that plan I tell Mum at
breakfast that I'm not going to Gran's tomorrow.

‘I want to meet my friends in town
so we can
go to hockey together,'
I say, my fingers tightly crossed against the lie. ‘Hope you don't mind,
Jade. They're coming along to support me, you see.'

Behind Mum's back Jade does that
raised eyebrows thing which means,
What are you up to now?

‘What nice friends you've
got,' says Mum. ‘I'm not working tomorrow so Jade and I can come
too. Where did you say it was?'

‘Crowley School, three
o'clock.'

‘Don't forget to let your
Gran know you won't be seeing her this weekend.'

‘I will.'

So far, so good. Plot working. I
won't have to waste time going to see Gran (sorry, Gran, nothing personal)
and, even more important,
she
won't walk down to the park to see who
I'm playing football with like she threatened to. She'll think I'm
in town with my friends.

Now I've just got to tell Ali and
Tash and Lissa (who's back at school today, right as rain again) the opposite:
that I can't meet them in the morning because I'm going to see my gran.
I never knew I could be such a good liar. It helps that at break and lunchtime
I'm busy
training with Mrs Waters,
and then she takes me out of my last lesson for a pep talk, so it's the end of
the day when I finally manage to catch up with them back in our classroom.
They're in a huddle and they look as if they're making plans of their
own.

‘See you tomorrow!' I trill,
popping my head round the door. ‘At the hockey trial!'

The three of them jump apart. ‘We
were just talking about you,' says Tash. What a surprise. ‘We were going
to phone you,' she continues, ‘to make arrangements.'

‘What arrangements?' I ask,
my heart sinking.

‘We thought we'd all meet up
first.'

‘Meet up?'

‘Yep. At the cafe,' says
Ali. ‘About eleven?'

‘Eleven?'

‘Yeah,' says Lissa.
‘We could hang out, the four of us, have lunch, then go up to Crowley School
for your hockey trial. Together.'

‘Aahh, sorry, can't make
it,' I say, trying to look regretful. ‘What a shame. I'm going to
my gran's in the morning as usual so I'll see you up at
hockey.'

Three sets of eyes stare at me. Then
Lissa says flatly, ‘No way!'

I knew
she'd
try to sabotage my carefully
thought-out scheme. But then Ali joins in as well.

‘Mrs Waters told us we're
responsible for getting you there, Dani,' she says. ‘I think we should
meet up first. Just to be on the safe side.'

‘I'm not going to run
away!' I laugh. ‘I actually do want to get into the centre, you
know!'

But Ali doesn't laugh back.
Instead she exchanges a look with the others. I know what that look means. It says,
louder than words,
She's going to play football.

‘I've got to see Gran first,
poor old thing,' I protest. ‘She looks forward to Saturdays when Jade
and I visit her. She doesn't get out much and sometimes she sees no one all
week long.' I pile it on thick, substituting the picture in my head of my
busy, energetic Gran with one of a sad, lonely old lady, and adopt a suitably
virtuous expression.

Tash studies me silently which is,
weirdly, more unnerving than the others' objections. I wonder what is going on
in her head.

‘I'll be there!' I
appeal to her, even though she hasn't said anything. ‘Trust me! I
don't want to let anyone down.'

‘I know,' she says and gives me a sad little
smile.

She believes me.

But she thinks I will
anyway.

Saturday dawns bright and sunny.

Part of me is excited.

Part of me wishes it was pouring with
rain. Then the football would've been called off, but the hockey could still
have gone ahead because it's on an all-weather pitch. I'd have done it
properly then. I could've concentrated on doing Mrs Waters and Riverside
Academy proud instead of being sick with nerves.

What happens if my plan fails? It could
fall apart so easily. All it would take would be for the footie match to be delayed
and I'd miss the hockey trial. Then everyone would hate me.

I'd hate me too.

I leave the house at the crack of dawn
(at least that's what it feels like), determined to be on time for football at
least. I catch an earlier
train than
usual and I've got a carriage to myself. I find myself wishing Jade was here
with me.

‘You're going to play
football first, aren't you?' she'd whispered as I'd left the
house. I'd nodded and she'd given me a hug. ‘Don't be late
for the trial!'

As the train trundles its way to
Blackett I find myself staring gloomily out of the window and chewing the skin round
my nails.

Stop it!
I tell myself
sternly.
What's wrong with you? You've got everything you ever
wanted. You're an eleven-year-old girl and not only are you playing league
football in a class boys' team but today you are trying out for what is
effectively a place in the county hockey squad. What more do you want? You
should be over the moon.

But I'm not. In fact, I feel
decidedly
under
the moon. And alone. And empty.

I've just discovered a truth about
life.

Even if you get exactly what you want,
it's not much fun unless you've got someone to share it with.

I mean, Jade doesn't really count.
She doesn't understand football so she has no idea what a big deal it is for
me to be in the Blackett team.
It's my own fault. I've deliberately played it down so she won't
say anything to anyone.

It's my friends I want to tell:
Lissa and Ali and Tash. I hate all this lying and pretence and subterfuge. I want
them to be there watching me, cheering me on. I want them to see why football means
so much to me. I want them to be proud of me.

And I want someone else to be proud of
me too.

My dad.

I'm not the only one who's
early. Most people are already in the changing room. Our strip is there laid out
ready for us, washed and pressed. Quickly I tug my hoody off and pull my shirt on
over my T-shirt.

Next to me, Ryan gives me a funny look.
‘What you doing?'

‘I'm freezing,' I say,
offering up a prayer of thanks that, unlike Lissa and Tash, I have absolutely no
need whatsoever to wear a bra yet. Then I notice he's still staring at me.
‘What?'

‘Are you OK?'

‘Yeah. Of course I am.'

‘There's nothing wrong, is
there?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well …' He looks a bit
uncomfortable. ‘Why are you freezing when it's not even cold?'

‘I dunno …'

‘And …' He hesitates
and then blurts out, ‘How come most of the time you're brilliant on the
field, but sometimes you're rubbish?'

‘Thanks!' I say, stung to
the core. ‘That was once! And it was because my mum nearly caught
me!'

‘Yeah, well that's the other
thing! Why aren't you supposed to be playing football? What's the big
secret, Danny?'

I stop, scared where this conversation
is leading, and glance around but no one's listening. Ryan continues to stare
at me, his face full of concern. ‘You're not ill, are you?'

I'm so relieved, I burst out
laughing.

‘No, I'm fine. My
mum's just a fusspot, that's all.' (
Sorry, Mum, that is so
untrue.
)

Ryan's face clears.
‘You're a weirdo!'

‘
You're
a
weirdo!'

‘
You
are!'

We grin at each other. It sounds like a
compliment.

Then, as Ryan laces up his boots, I tug
my tracky pants off beneath my football shirt which conveniently drowns me and slip
on my shorts. No one notices a thing. Again I'm aware of
their silky softness but just in
time stop myself commenting on it to Ryan. Now
that
, he would think, was
definitely weird.

Pretending to be a boy is a minefield. Don't even think about the showers,
Dani. Just concentrate on the job in hand. Beating the opposition.

The other team arrives on time and we
go outside for a warm-up. All going to plan. I can feel myself relaxing. What could
possibly go wrong? Soon the whistle blows and the game begins. This team is bigger
and better than last week's and seems to be particularly dangerous down the
right side of midfield where a boy built like a tank is marking me.

We get into our stride though and
it's not long before a swift pass from Marvyn allows me to place the ball deep
into the back of the net. A cheer goes up from the touchline and my heart lifts. I
love this. The pace picks up as the other team goes into attack. We manage to hold
them off with some good defensive work but it's not enough. By half-time,
it's one all.

We're raring to go again in the
second half and so are they. I run back on to the pitch
and skip sideways while I wait for the game to restart, repeating
Terry's advice like a mantra to myself: ‘Keep in position. Don't
let them through. Keep in position. Don't let them through …'

My voice trails away as I see someone
striding down the hill towards us. Someone with short grey spiky hair and a flowing
skirt, with a scarf trailing behind her like a flag. Unmistakeable. I can
practically hear the beads and bangles jangling from here.

It's Gran.

My blood runs cold. What's she
doing here? And then I remember, too late, I was supposed to ring her to cancel.
With so much on my mind I'd completely forgotten. She must've been
waiting for us to arrive for our usual visit and worrying where we'd got to.
She knew where to find me though and now she was on the warpath.

‘Dani!' she yells as she
charges up to the pitch. ‘Come here! I want a word with you!' Terry
stares at her in surprise and Ryan and the others start laughing.

‘Who's that?' asks
Marvyn.

‘My gran,' I say through gritted teeth. But
he's not listening. He's been distracted by the sight of three more
figures running towards us. Oh no! I don't believe it!

‘Hey!' he says, his face
lighting up. ‘That's Tash. What's she doing here?'

‘Don't know,' I bluff.
‘Who's Tash?'

‘She lives near my cousin
Ajay,' he explains. ‘She goes to that posh girls' school,
Riverside Academy. See that girl with her, the tall one. Her name's Lissa. I
went to her party a few weeks ago. There was loads of posh totty there.'

‘I fancy the one with long dark
hair,' says Ryan, looking at Ali.

‘The tall one's not
bad,' says Lofty.

‘I fancy Tash,' says Marvyn.
‘Everyone does. But Ajay's going out with her.'

Is he? I watch as Tash comes to a halt
and spots Mr Little on the touchline. She points him out to the others and the three
of them make their way over towards him.

Beside me Marvyn says, ‘Actually,
I fancy her mate as well.' So Lissa is in with a chance after all. But then he
adds, ‘She's called Elle, but she's going out with Lissa's
brother. He's a right
prat.'
My face floods with heat but he's too busy looking at the girls to notice.
‘I wonder where she is today?' he adds thoughtfully.

‘Hey, Lofty. They're talking
to your old man,' says Ryan. ‘How do they know him?'

‘Dunno.' Lofty frowns, then
his face clears. ‘Oh yeah. He's teaching on supply at Riverside
Academy.'

‘Give him a wave!' says
Ryan, who's desperate to attract their attention.

‘Hi, Dad!' calls Lofty
obligingly. Mr Little and my three friends look up. Lissa's jaw drops a mile
as she takes in first me and then Marvyn. Automatically she raises her hand and
waves back, then the three of them start gesticulating to us.

Lofty is made up. ‘Yay! Think
I'm in there,' he says, looking pleased with himself. But it's not
him they're calling over, it's me. And my three friends are not the only
ones after my blood.

‘Dani!' shouts my
grandmother at the top of her voice, looking like she's about to march on to
the field and grab me. ‘Do you think I've got nothing better to do with
my life than chase after you? Come here this minute!'

Lissa, Ali and Tash turn to stare at
her,
open-mouthed. Terry, in alarm,
moves over to see what the matter is and takes her by the arm to calm her down. Gran
shakes him off.

‘I JUST WANT A WORD WITH MY
GRANDDAUGHTER!' she roars.

As I register the shock on Terry's
face – on everyone's face – I groan. The game's up. My secret world is
imploding. I close my eyes and wait for his voice to order me off the pitch in front
of everyone.

Oh, the shame of it! Can you be arrested
for impersonating a boy? You can for impersonating a policeman.

But then, suddenly, the whistle blows
for the start of the second half, and my eyes burst wide open again. What's
the point of worrying about anything or anyone any more? My cover is blown. But
until someone tells me to get off this field, I've still got a job to do. And
if this is the last chance I'm ever going to get to play for a decent team,
then I'm going to make the most of it. What have I got to lose?

I play like a person possessed. I come
out attacking and no one can stand in my way. Tank Boy doesn't stand a chance.
Three minutes into the game and I've scored.

Two–one. The crowd goes wild.

Not long after, an exquisite cross from
me (no time for false modesty) allows Ryan to head the ball into the net and take
the credit.

Three–one. I can even hear Gran
cheering.

Then the other team steps up their game.
Fifteen minutes of hard play and finally they manage a goal kicked low into the
net.

Three–two.

They've regained their confidence
now. We've hardly had time to reassemble properly before they've done it
again with a cheeky header.

Three all.

The crowd is behind us, spurring us on.
‘BLACK-ETT! BLACK-ETT! BLACK-ETT!' It sounds huge, but they're
just a blur.

I'm on the halfway line.
We've got to be down to the last few minutes of the game. I take possession of
the ball and see Tank Boy bearing down on me and feel a flash of panic. He's
twice the size of me. Get rid of it quick!

‘Take your time, Dani! Don't
rush it!'

It's strange. I can hear my
father's voice as clear as a bell, like he's standing here in the crowd,
watching me and willing me on. All that practice, all those words of advice he gave
me
over the years.
Calm down
, I
tell myself.
You can do this
.

I size up the distance, the angle, the
possibility, just like my dad taught me, then pull my leg back and take an almighty
kick at goal. The ball leaves the side of my foot and soars up high into the air and
comes down in a perfect arc to rest in the back of the net.

‘GOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAALLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

Four–three. And my first hat-trick.

The whistle blows for the end of the
game.

Job done.