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The score is 6 wickets for 72 runs, and when I get the next batter out, Old George and I high-five.
“Great bowling, young Alice,” Old George says, taking the controller. We’re playing cricket against the Two Phils on an old Playstation 2. It got donated to Nan’s nursing home a few weeks ago, along with a Wii and a virtual reality head set. The headset has been quarantined for the moment because one of the residents threw up while playing a roller coaster game.
Beside me on the lounge, Phil Johnson drops his head into his hands. “That’s the seventh batter out without even getting to double digits.” He glares at Phil Campbell. “Ruddy hopeless, you are.”
Phil Campbell passes Phil Johnson the controller. “I don’t see you doing any better.” He leans back into the chair and crosses his arms. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“You were the one who chose to bat when we won the toss,” Phil Johnson says, leaning closer to the TV. “I told you we should have bowled first.”
“Because you can’t make a decision,” Phil Campbell hits back. “And anyway, it’s a video game, not an actual pitch.”
“These two,” Old George whispers, pointing at them with his thumb. “Couldn’t agree on anything if their lives depended on it.”
I giggle as the two Phils bicker beside us, trying to decide who to send in to bat next.
“Hey, I almost forgot,” Old George says, tapping me lightly on the leg with his finger. “I saw a video of you the other day.”
“Oh?” I ask. “Where?”
“On the tube,” Old George says. “Betty Graves’ grand-daughter was showing us how to use the interweb-thingy.”
I can’t help but smile at what Old George calls the internet. Nan calls it the interweb, too. “You mean YouTube. Which video?”
“What do you mean which video?” Old George asks, his eyebrows squishing together in confusion.
“There are a couple,” I reply. “My representative team put up some training videos and I’m in a couple of them.”
Old George rubs his chin. “How do I see them?”
“You have to search for them,” I explain. “Or follow the State Championships channel. They’ll be on there.”
“Like on the telly?” Old George asks.
I shake my head. “No, on the internet. All our games are being streamed. You can watch my games if you want.”
“Streamed?” Old George says, screwing up his nose. “This new interweb-malarky has got lingo I don’t understand.”
“I’ll get Mum to set it up for you,” I say.
Old George smiles. “That would be fantastic. Might give some of us something to do other than fight over video games.”
We turn to see Phil Johnson snatch the game controller from Phil Campbell and from out of nowhere, Mum appears. Her mum sense is so strong it’s not even funny. “If you two can’t stop fighting,” she says in the same tone she uses when me and Adam fight, “I’m going to turn the game off.”
“He started it,” Phil Johnson says.
“Did not,” Phil Campbell replies.
Mum looks at me and shakes her head. “This isn’t what I meant when I okayed the video games.”
“You said it keeps their minds active,” I say.
“I meant physically active,” Mum says. “Why aren’t you using the Wii?”
“Because Elizabeth Stronach and her Blue Rinse Gang have commandeered it for the last two weeks,” Old George replies.
As if on cue, there’s a triumphant whoop from the other side of the room and we all turn to see Mrs Stronach thrust her arms high into the air as she says, “That’s how you bowl them, ladies”. She high-fives everyone watching as one of the other residents stands up and has her turn.
“We need a roster,” Old George huffs beside me. “Otherwise we’ll never get a go.”
“You’re all adults,” Mum says. “Surely you can work it out yourselves.”
“Just give me the controls and let me do it!” Phil Johnson says, yanking the controller away from Phil Campbell.
Phil Campbell pushes himself off the lounge. “Play it your damned self, you crazy loon,” he says and storms off.
Mum narrows her eyes. “Maybe a roster would be a good idea after all.”
“Right,” Phil Johnson says as if nothing’s happened. “Who’s bowling now?”
Mum puts her hand on my shoulder. “Alice has to go. Dad’s just called to say he’s on his way home with dinner.”
I stand up and hand the controller to Old George. “Looks like it’s up to you to get the last three.”
Old George gives me a mock salute. “I shall do my best, Captain.”
Mum hooks her arm into mine as we stroll to the courtyard where I park my bike. “I knew those games would be a bad idea.”
“They’re having fun,” I reply.
“Well, let’s just be glad they’re all too old for it to end in fisticuffs,” Mum says with a shake of her head. She kisses me on the forehead. “Save me some pizza.”
“We will.” I wave to her as I ride back home.
***
On Facetime that night, Charlie hoots with laughter when I tell her about playing cricket with Old George against the Two Phils. She packs while she’s talking to me, so every now and then she disappears from the screen, and all I can see is her dorm room wall with the poster of Jules Livingstone on it.
Tomorrow, when she’s finished school, Charlie’s getting on a bus and coming straight to my place so we can spend some time together before the State Championships start next week. It will be the first time since cricket camp last year that we’ll be in the same room together. To say I’m excited is an understatement.
“Hey,” Charlie says, appearing in front of the camera again. She brushes her hair away from her face and peers at the screen. “I’ve got some news.”
“What sort of news?”
“You remember the Girls in Cricket blog?”
“The one you keep going on about?” I tease.
“The one you keep forgetting to read,” she jokes. “I got an article accepted.”
“Charlie that’s amazing! I didn’t know you were even sending them stuff.”
Charlie shrugs. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”
I high-five the screen and Charlie high-fives her screen back. “You’re going to be a sports journalist before you even finish school.”
“I know, right?” Charlie says, grinning. “They’re publishing my first one this weekend.”
“What’s it about?”
“State,” Charlie replies. “I wrote a ‘Players to Watch’ post.”
“I didn’t know the teams had been released yet.”
“This morning,” Charlie says, disappearing from the screen again. She pops back up and wipes her fringe off her face. “Why didn’t you tell me Shari was in your team?” She disappears again.
“She was a late replacement,” I reply.
“Is she a snob like she was at camp?” Charlie asks, her voice a little muffled as she grabs some stuff from her bed in the background.
I think about our last rep training session, and how Shari was an almost completely different person than she was on the elite camp we were on together last year. “Actually, she’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll reserve my judgement,” Charlie says.
I don’t blame her. Shari was part of the fast bowler gang at camp that made our lives a misery.
“Do you want me to read you my article?” Charlie asks, sitting back down at her desk again. “Might be the only way you get to read it since you don’t read the blog.”
I roll my eyes. “I read it—” I start to say but Charlie cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
“I know that’s not true, Alice, but I don’t care.” And as she reads me her article, I think about how, in less than 24 hours, Charlie’s going to be sitting in my room talking cricket and statistics, and probably telling me all about the food she’s been eating at boarding school.
And in three days, Charlie and I will be playing in the State Championships.
“Hey, Charlie?”
Charlie stops mid-sentence. “Yeah?”
“What’s going to happen when our teams play each other?”
Charlie grins. “We’re going to take your team down, Alice. That’s what’s going to happen.” I poke my tongue out at her and she grins at me. I lay back on my bed and listen as Charlie reads her article. Spending a whole week playing cricket with other girls and with Charlie, even if we are on different teams, is going to be amazing.