‘Score! It’s three–four as I take the lead!’ Dad yells as he takes off his shirt, running around our backyard. He slaps the fence as if they’re supporters. And I thought Zain went over the top with his goal celebrations.

Dad and I are having one of our regular games of backyard soccer on our pitch between the shed and the veggie patch. Once Dad settles down, I tap the ball to start the next play.

‘Watch this.’ I launch the ball at Dad’s goal. It knocks over a pot plant goalpost but it goes in. ‘It’s four–all and the crowd goes wild.’ I lean my ear over to my cheering fans – the lemon tree at the back.

We trade killer shots at each other for another five minutes but the scores are still tied.

‘Have you been reading those leadership tips?’ Dad says.

‘Stop trying to distract me.’ I kick the ball hard and it goes way off course, bouncing off the fence. Rebounds are allowed in this game. I wish there was a convenient fence at school too.

‘No, I’m serious.’ Dad traps the ball between his feet.

‘I’ve been reading the four tips every day. I’m thinking about tip number two today, practise the things that make you feel uncomfortable,’ I say. ‘That’s pretty much everything I’m doing as a prefect, like hosting tomorrow’s assembly.’

‘It’s always good to challenge yourself.’ Dad folds his arms. ‘Now try to get through me.’

‘You’re on!’ I try to copy Zain’s spinning kick and I send the ball at the hills hoist pole, hoping it rebounds into the open field. It flies past Dad’s defences and I lunge at the ball to put it past him for the winning goal.

‘Oh yeah!’

I go on my knees with my arms in the air, as if I’m Michael Kola from the Western Wizards. Dad pretends to mob me, going for a hug. If I did that at school, the ball would probably land on the roof or in somebody’s meat pie. I’m all right at soccer when the field’s shrunk to the size of a car parking space.

But maybe Dad’s right, I should challenge myself to do more – or better still, dare myself.

I always used to switch off during Friday assemblies when I sat in the back of the hall, but not any more. It’s hard to zone out today, sitting near the stairs to the stage, facing the whole school.

‘I love sitting on chairs,’ Zain says, stretching out. ‘It’s another prefect perk.’

I look at the hard floor the rest of the kids are sitting on. ‘That’s true.’

We sail through the assembly. Randa’s memorised all of her lines, but I’m reading from the sheet. I stumble around a few words, but no one laughs or boos. So far, so good.

Randa brings Ally and Zain up for the prefects spot. ‘As your prefects, we will make Barryjong better.’

A few kids clap. I glance at Russell as if he’s the glaring sun, I don’t want to stare at him too long, otherwise I’ll burn my eyeballs.

The kindy kids at the front are fidgeting and rocking back and forth. The Year Sixers are turning to one another, making funny faces and chatting behind their hands. I’m getting mega uncomfortable up here.

‘Say something, man,’ I whisper to Zain.

Zain turns to me. ‘I dare you to say something …’

‘Seriously?’ I say. Zain’s supposed to be a motor-mouth, now his engine’s blown up. I feel like Dad’s whispering in my ear, about challenging myself. ‘Dare accepted.’ I take the microphone. ‘We came up with a list of what we want to do,’ I say. ‘First thing is that we want better air conditioning in classrooms.’

The whole school gasps. It feels like I’ve frozen time, freezing everything, including myself. It would be such a lame superpower. Then it all turns into wild applause. Now it’s like being under a gushing waterfall. Is this how Zain feels when he scores a goal?

I touch my prefect badge and feel a surge of electricity zapping through my bones. ‘We’ll be the best prefects ever.’

Ally does a few dance moves in front of me. ‘Yeah, we’re going to make Barryjong cool again!’

A chant rises up from the middle of the audience. ‘Raymond, Raymond, Raymond …’

I can’t stop grinning. People know who I am. Zain howls at me. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘Hey, you dared me,’ I say.

‘I dared for you to speak,’ he says. ‘I didn’t expect you to kick butt.’

I’m grinning like crazy. Those leader tips are like the words of a spell or something.

After the assembly, everyone’s looking at me, as though I’m their friend – like I really am a somebody to them.

Randa’s head looks like a burst olive. ‘What were you guys thinking?’ she says under her breath.

‘We were just thinking on our feet,’ Ally says. ‘Nobody’s booing us now.’

Randa throws her hands in the air. ‘We’re prefects, not genies.’

Mr Humble walks over. ‘My office. Now.’ He almost sounds like a normal principal, the kind where you only see him if you’re in deep trouble.

We cram ourselves into Mr Humble’s office. Randa’s jotting something in her notebook. ‘We can just tell the kids the truth,’ she says. ‘Tell them that someone kicked a soccer ball at Raymond’s head and he’s got concussion.’

Mr Humble strokes his beard. ‘Well, we can’t make crazy promises,’ he says. ‘So I’m afraid Randa’s right.’

Zain sighs. ‘Okay, I’ll get my soccer ball.’ He turns to me. ‘I promise I won’t kick the ball too hard, RayBee.’

‘No, Zain!’ I stand up. ‘How much would it cost to get air con for one classroom?’

‘You’ll need to rob a bank,’ Randa says.

‘If we had some rooms with new air con, then kids would work better. Isn’t that what you want, Randa?’

Randa breathes in my words. ‘You win, Raymond.’

I turn to Mr Humble. ‘Why can’t we do some fundraising, see how many classes we can get air con for?’

Mr Humble leans back in his chair. ‘I’ll look into the costs, Raymond. You guys can go.’

‘So, we’re not in trouble?’ Ally says.

‘Only if we don’t deliver,’ Zain quips.

I smile. ‘Well, it’s not Mission Impossible.’

‘Yeah, just Mission Impossibly Expensive,’ Randa mutters.

We all stand up to leave. Mr Humble reaches out and taps my hand. ‘You took a risk out there, Raymond. Nice move.’

‘I got carried away,’ I say. ‘But maybe there is a chance.’

‘We’ll see.’

I step outside and Randa’s eyeballs are hitting us like boxing gloves into our guts. ‘We are dooooooomed,’ she says.

‘But imagine if we did have air con in our rooms,’ Ally gushes. ‘It might even cool off Russell in class. Poor Mr Lovett is going to be bald by the end of the year.’

‘What’s it like being in the same room with him?’ I ask.

‘He walks around like he owns the class. He snatches my colour pencils without telling me.’ Ally sighs. ‘He’s a black hole that sucks up any learning or fun.’

Good thing Russell’s not in our class. He could send Miss Saxena into retirement. We say goodbye to Ally and step inside 6S. The blinds have been turned down. Everybody’s on their backs on the floor, reading books.

‘What’s going on?’ Randa says.

‘We’re cooling down,’ Miss Saxena says. ‘You can read quietly for ten minutes.’

We all grab our novels and find a spot on the floor. I lie down, wedged between Zain and Bilal. I bet from up above, we look like fish fingers on a tray. I open up my book, but all I can think about is how cool it would be to have air con. Imagine if we did actually do it, we’d be the prefects to go down in history as the coolest leaders ever.