CJ was in no hurry to get home. He killed some time making RUDE SHADOW PUPPETS on the local café’s awnings. He got quite a few toots and thumbs up from passing cars for his work. But when the café owner finally noticed, and dropped a plate of jam and scones on an old lady, CJ thought it was best to move on.
CJ’s mouth went dry as he rounded the corner to his street. He spotted Charlotte in her front yard. She was kicking to herself using her trusty football on a totem pole device. She had a HUGE PILE of books open on the grass. Pure Charlotte: EXTREME MULTI-TASKING.
CJ whirled back around. He decided to try some more shadow puppetry.
‘CJ!’ called Charlotte.
CJ froze. He turned back. ‘Oh, hey!’
‘We need to talk. ASAP. Get over here.’
CJ considered miming being taken by a tornado. But the wind had died down since yesterday, so perhaps it wouldn’t be 100 per cent believable.
As he got closer he listened in awe to Charlotte’s kicking and studying routine …
‘Hydrogen.’
SMACK! She thumped the football.
‘Helium.’
SMACK!
‘Lithium.’
SMACK!
‘What’s next, what’s next?’ wondered Charlotte, frustrated.
‘Um, gymnasium?’ suggested CJ.
Charlotte didn’t kick the ball. She just stared at CJ. ‘Sometimes I’m certain that you must practise being a dingbat.’
‘I take that as a compliment,’ said CJ, as he turned to leave. ‘Okay. Later!’
‘Don’t move,’ said Charlotte, grabbing his shoulder. ‘I’m still spewing about the dumb stunt you and Benji pulled at the beach.’
‘Yeah. Thought you might be.’
‘However, after thinking it over, I’ve decided I’m going to overlook it,’ said Charlotte, releasing a long calming breath. ‘Because as your co-captain, I have to ask you something. What’s up with you at the moment? Tell me. Now.’
‘Huh?’ asked CJ, playing dumb, but Charlotte tilted her head and used her ‘don’t mess with me eyes’. They were as deadly as Mile Jedinak in front of goal.
CJ sighed. ‘Fine. But this is top-secret, okay? I haven’t even told Benji.’
Charlotte’s expression softened. ‘Cross my heart.’
‘Cos I wouldn’t want to look stupid in front of all the others.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ said Charlotte. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s my special gold boots. The ones covered in glitter that glow in the dark. You know the ones?’
‘Know them? They should come with warnings, like staring at an eclipse.’
‘Well, no need to worry now because they’re gone. I’ve been wearing op shop replacements. Nowhere near as special as my originals.’
‘Come on, CJ. Boots are boots. How special could they be?’
‘It’s a long story.’
Charlotte checked her watch. ‘I have three minutes, thirteen seconds.’
‘I’ll speak fast. Let me take you back to a time many years ago …’
If this was a TV show – here’s where the screen would go all wibbly-wobbly and there’d be hypnotic harp music. Yes, it was time for a FLASHBACK …
It was 2012. At five years old, CJ was attending his FIRST EVER Socceroos match. It was a present from his mum, before she got sick. It was one of those presents that seemed to be just as much for the giver as the receiver, because CJ’s mum was as PUMPED as he was. She’d put streaks of green through her blonde hair and made them both matching T-shirts. When they stood side by side the T-shirts spelt out ‘BRAZIL OR BUST!’
The game was a World Cup Qualifier, in preparation for Brazil 2014.
Australia versus Saudi Arabia. AAMI Park. SELL OUT. 24,000 plus!
The Socceroos were down 2–1 at half-time. Even as a youngster, CJ was OBSESSED with football. He was jiggling his legs in his seat, worried for the team. The Aussies needed to pull out something special. CJ stood, trying to shake off his nerves.
That was when CJ’s mum grabbed his hand. She squeezed it. Twice. That had always been their secret signal to say, ‘I’m thinking of you.’ Whenever they were out and about and he and his mum were holding hands, if she gave him two quick squeezes, nothing needed to be said. And it always made him feel warmer inside.
CJ sat back down. His mum smiled. ‘Relax. Just like you, CJ, the Socceroos don’t know how to give up.’
She was right. In the second half the Aussies kicked THREE GOALS IN THREE MINUTES. Including one off the boot of the legendary Harry Kewell. They won the game 4–2. Little CJ sprayed his soft drink into the air and his mum had to grab him to stop him jumping the fence to celebrate.
Soon after the final whistle, superstar midfielder James Troisi came over to sign autographs for fans. A pair of football boots got thrown to him to sign. They were VERY gold and VERY sparkly. Troisi signed them, but couldn’t find the owners in the crowd, so he just handed them straight to CJ.
Once home, CJ stuffed the toes with tissue paper so he could wear the boots in his first ever game for the Jets: the Under 6’s.
‘… And wearing those boots I kicked the very first goal for the Jets,’ said CJ, back in the present day.
‘Whoa. And you’ve worn them ever since?’
‘Uh-huh. They’re my secret weapon. Make me kick straight. Troisi magic!’
‘Magic boots?’ Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘This another stupid prank?’
CJ shook his head.
Charlotte sighed. ‘Right. Well, we could use a bit more magic in the forward line on Saturday.’
‘Agreed. But my magic boots have disappeared. Maybe even gone FOREVER! And I haven’t been able to kick a single goal since I lost them.’
CJ was relieved to get his secret off his chest. Even if Charlotte thought he was TOTALLY NUTS, at least one person in the team now knew why he was playing so bad.
With honesty time over, CJ was never one to mope around – also he felt pretty silly about the whole magic boot story – so he started jumping about and shadow boxing the totem pole. Then he tried to boot Charlotte’s football that was hanging from the pole. He gave it everything he had.
CLAAAAAANG!
His toe SMACKED into the pole.
‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ yelped CJ, jumping on one foot. ‘See? What did I tell you? The magic boots really do help me kick. You’ve gotta believe me!’
‘I believe that you think that’s what they do,’ said Charlotte.
CJ didn’t follow that, but he appreciated the way Charlotte looked sort of like she cared. It made a nice change from her looking at him like he was a WART of some kind. She checked her watch, but then as if to say ‘screw it’, she walked them over to the front wall and they sat up against it, like they used to do when they were younger. As kids they used to sit there for hours talking about playing for Australia one day.
‘Okay. If this will help the team, I’ll help you,’ said Charlotte. ‘When was the last time you saw your so called magic boots? We need to get them back.’
‘Straight after the first game of the season against the Hammerheads,’ said CJ, picturing taking off his boots in the clubrooms during the celebrations. ‘But when I got home my boots weren’t in my bag.’
Charlotte had a faraway look. ‘If there was a mix-up and another teammate took your boots by mistake, you’d think they would’ve said something by now. I mean, they’re hard to miss. Maybe we should make an announcement just in case –’
‘No. Magic boots are kind of … embarrassing. Can we just keep this between us?’
Charlotte glanced CJ up and down. ‘Sure. You know, you’re an okay guy when you’re not in crazy CJ mode.’
CJ grinned. ‘Me? Crazy?’
‘So, the way I see it, if we want you kicking straight again, we need to catch the thief.’
‘Thief? Whoa! I’d never thought of that! Oh, oh, I know,’ said CJ, jumping to his feet. ‘Let’s do one of Benji’s top five things … We’ll call it TOP FIVE SUSPECTS WHO MAY HAVE STOLEN CJ’S MAGIC BOOTS.
1) Highpants – stole the boots to strip them for their colourful material to further increase the length of his pants in new and exciting ways.
2) Benji – he’s CJ’s best friend so no-one would ever suspect him. But perhaps this was his plan all along. Since birth. Or even earlier.
3) Garlic the dog – might have been taught to fetch slippers for Baldock, but Garlic might’ve taken his training one step too far.
4) The Paulveriser – may have thought the sparkly shoes were large Ferrero Rochers and swallowed them both in one gulp.
5) Charlotte – jealous of CJ’s incredible skill, popularity, and heroic braveness, Charlotte stole the boots for herself. Hopefully she likes toe jam.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘If you think I’d put my feet near ANYTHING your stinky feet have been associated with, you must be dumber than you look.’
‘I take that as a compliment,’ said CJ. ‘Hang on! Do my feet really smell?’
‘Not just your feet. Your WHIFF FACTOR is through the roof. I keep thinking there’s a gas leak!’
‘What? Me?’
‘It’s like you wear fart scented deodorant.’
‘But I shower every second week!’
‘I rest my case,’ said Charlotte. She glimpsed down at her watch. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Let’s talk more about this tomorrow at school. By the way, try to stay on Highpants’ good side for once. He’s on edge – I heard him mumbling to himself yesterday. Blames himself for how the team’s going, if you can believe that. Reckons his message isn’t sinking in.’
‘He has a message?’
‘He thinks he’s Graham Arnold. Look, I’ll do you a deal, if you get serious this week, I’ll help you get your detective on!’
‘Thanks, co-captain! Deal,’ said CJ, but it was difficult to concentrate on his co-captain duties when he knew one of his teammates, one of his friends even, was out to ruin him. He was playing alongside a BOOT THIEF! The more he thought about it, the more it ate him up inside. Friends, teammates, whatever … EVERYONE was a suspect!
