As with so many mornings, Josh was the first thing I thought about when I woke up the next day. But for once my thoughts weren’t soft-focus images of us picnicking in a field of sunflowers or strolling hand in hand along a deserted beach. That morning, all I could think about was making Josh look as stupid as he’d made me feel.
When the bell went for recess, Simon handed me the container of energy bars. “All set?”
“Just say exactly what we rehearsed yesterday,” said Maz. “And make sure he eats at least two of them while you’re watching. At the minimum he’ll get a bad case of gas.”
I went over my speech in my mind as I walked to the canteen where Josh would, no doubt, be buying his daily ration of energy bars. True to form, he was next in line to be served when I got there.
“You don’t need to buy any bars today,” I told him, lifting the lid on the container. “I baked you some energy bars from a special family recipe. I know it’s not as romantic as a rose, but I thought of you the whole time I was making them.”
Josh flashed me a huge smile that made me feel a tiny bit guilty. “Wow, those smell delicious, Al. The guys are gonna love them!”
He reached for the container but my fingers had frozen around it.
“The guys?”
“Yep. It’s Whitlam tradition that the team captain supplies the energy bars before a big game,” he said, easing the container out of my grip.
“But, but … I made them for you. Just for you.”
“That’s so sweet of you, but this is a huge batch of bars. There’s no way I can get through this many on my own. Besides, I want to show off to the team how great my girlfriend is.”
No. NO. NOOOO! There was only one way to save myself.
Time seemed to slow down as the container flew out of Josh’s hands and hit the bitumen in slow motion. “Whoops.”
“What’d you do that for?” Josh surveyed the chunks of energy bar all around us with dismay.
“I’m so sorry. I must’ve tripped.”
“But you were standing still.”
“I, um … maybe someone pushed me?”
He glanced around. There was no one within five metres of us.
“Let me make it up to you,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “I’ll pay for Power Kick bars for the whole team.”
“You did what?” asked Maz. “Couldn’t you have gotten him to eat even one before your conscience kicked in?”
“All I could think of was what people would say about me when they found out I gave the entire A-grade soccer team the runs before the most important match of the year. I couldn’t spend the rest of my school life being known as the girl who cost Whitlam the district cup.”
“It could’ve been an ugly end to the season,” agreed Simon. “We’ll have to come up with another way to get back at him. Surely you’re up to the challenge, Maz?”
Maz sniffed. “You know I am. But that was the best revenge plan I’ve ever come up with. On the bright side, at least now we don’t have to go to the boring game after school.”
“I’m still going.”
Maz stared at me as if I’d volunteered for detention. “Are you insane? Why would you want to go and risk seeing Josh win and be hailed as the new king of Whitlam?”
“I have to write my post for Whit’s Wit. Consider it my punishment for chickening out with the energy bars.”
Besides, I’d decided I would meet Josh after the game as we’d planned.
“Suit yourself,” said Maz. “But you’re on your own. If I have to watch that guy gloating for one more second, I’ll puke.”
The sports field had lost its bright spring-is-here green and was beginning to reveal worn brown patches and bald spots from the wear and tear of the football and soccer seasons. I took a seat in the front row, the same one I’d sat in at that first game with Maz, when the prospect of Josh liking me had almost seemed too good to be true. I should’ve trusted that instinct.
When the two teams ran onto the field, the crowd went wild, cheering and whooping. Rochelle Sullivan and her gang formed a cheer squad on the sideline, leading our side of the stands in a chant of “Whip ’em, Whitlam”. The girls next to me were bubbling with excitement, making up victory cheers and wondering amongst themselves whether the players would swap shirts after the game.
“Go, Josh!” I yelled, playing the role of the devoted girlfriend. The last thing I wanted was for him to suspect that our meeting after the match was going to be anything other than a celebration of how great he was. Josh blew me a kiss. I could feel Rochelle’s seething glare from three metres away.
I’d planned to use the game time to work out exactly what I was going to say to Josh, figuring this was my one chance to force him to answer my questions, but it was hard to keep my eyes from following his every move. Even knowing what I knew, and feeling as betrayed as I did, part of me still found him irresistible.
I mentally replayed every moment we’d spent together, from the first time he came into Say Cheese to when he gave me the rose. I remembered how being near him made me forget about everything that was bugging me. And swaying in his arms to Vertigo Pony’s love song. I’d never admit it out loud, but part of me was tempted to forgive him for everything, if it meant I could have more of those moments.
At half-time, Whitlam was ahead by two goals, both of them scored by Josh. Talking to him after the game was going to be ten times harder if he was on a high from winning Whitlam’s first district cup in years. When the game started again to a chorus of “Turner, Turner, he’s our man,” I felt my hopes of getting Josh to admit his wrongdoings slip away. All I could hope now was that Maz was working on revenge plan B.
The shouts of protest from all around me alerted me to the fact that the second half had got off to a dramatic start.
“Come off it, ref – that wasn’t a trip!”
“Get your eyes tested!”
“That is so gay!”
The referee was unmoved by the complaints from Whitlam’s side of the stands, holding up a yellow card in his right hand and counting down on the fingers of his left one. You didn’t have to be a lip-reader to know that Josh was mouthing off at him about the penalty. Not far from him, a Westside player was clutching his ankle.
Josh crossed his arms and stood with his legs spread defiantly until the referee got down to one finger and swapped his yellow card for a red one. Coach Hardy raced onto the field to intervene, but he can’t have been very convincing because a minute later Josh jogged past the Whitlam team bench and off the field.
Al Miller is making her move.