When it was Henry’s turn to bat that afternoon, he ducked every ball, even the gentle, juicy, smashable ones. The other kids groaned in agony. ‘Ohhh, nooooooo!’
‘I told you we should have played him as twelfth man,’ said Reed. ‘Even Lulu could do better!’
Cassie ignored them all and kept clapping harder. She fluttered up and down the sidelines, calling out instructions. ‘That’s the way. Take your time, Henry. Get your eye in. Hold firm and play it forward, okay? And don’t forget to move your feet! Straight down the wicket, yeah? You’re doing well.’
When Henry smashed Mr Carson down the bike path for four on the very next ball, Cassie did three cartwheels in a row and cried out, ‘Hello, Mr Cricket! Did you see? Whoo-hooo! A lofted drive! Take a bow!’ And Henry laughed and bowed to her and to his dad and to the rest of his team.
‘Well done, Heno!’ said Dad. ‘That’s the ticket.’
‘Hey!’ called Mr Barone from the sand flats. ‘Just remember whose side you’re on.’
Patch clapped. ‘See, you can do it, Henry. You just have to focus.’
Henry nodded. He cleared his throat. He licked his lips. He clunked his bat against the bike path, like a warrior, inviting the contest, welcoming it even. The skin tingled on the back of his hands. As Mr Carson bolted down the path, Henry lifted his bat and shuffled forwards. But the ball came skimming through so fast and low that he felt the breeze of it, before he’d even spotted it. It smacked hard against the boogie board wicket, flinging it sideways.
‘Howzat!’ cried Mr Carson, trotting backwards, waving a finger in the air.
Reed rolled his eyes. ‘Aw, geez, Henny. Clean bowled! Typical.’
‘Neeeeigh,’ said Lulu to Reed. ‘If you’ve got nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything, Reed Barone.’
‘You should take your own advice, Lulu Poobler,’ said Reed.
Henry slunk back to the sideline, kicking at the grass, suddenly angry and disappointed. Cassie patted him on the shoulder. ‘Ah, bummer,’ she said. ‘What a daisycutter! You know, that ball would have taken out anyone, even Donald Bradman, the very best batsman in the whole wide world!’
Henry sniffed. ‘Really?’ he said, slumping down on the grass.
‘For sure! It was a hard-to-read ball,’ said Cassie.
‘Really?’
‘Promise,’ said Cassie. ‘I swear on my Nan’s Bible.’ And for some reason, the way Cassie held Henry’s gaze for a long moment, her golden eyes so clear and vivid, made the fuzzy ball of worry in his chest suddenly lift and float away.
When Cassie’s turn came to bat, she belted the ball; hooking, pulling, sweeping and slogging, smashing it through the gaps, over the tents, out on the sand flats, down the bike path, in between the cabins. She dashed down the pitch with a leap, a skip and a fiery ‘YES!’ as she hunted down more and more runs with each of her batting partners, first Dylan, then Jay and finally Patch.
‘I thought you said you were a bowler?’ said Dad, scratching his head, after he had finally bowled Patch out.
‘I can bat a bit,’ said Cassie.
‘A bit! Sheezy-wheezy. That might be the understatement of the century. You’re a whirlwind. I’ve never had to run so much. Every single one of us has shredded feet from chasing your shots through the reeds and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to see a chiropractor tomorrow. I might even need traction!’
‘Here we go! Drinks time,’ said Mr Barone, carrying out a tray. He crouched down and placed it on the grass and then handed Dad a plastic cup. ‘Pink lemonade. It’s the closest thing we have to a sports drink. But it should do the trick. Get us back on track. Or at the very least send the kids hypo.’
Lulu pranced about on the grass. ‘I LOVE pink lemonade,’ she said. She scooped up a glass and took a long gulp and smiled, a rosy moustache stained across her top lip. ‘Are we winning yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Dylan. ‘But we’re on the way.’
‘Haha,’ said Patch, giving Dad a little shove in the back. ‘You ready for your thrashing yet? No more excuses now. It’s time to bat, old man.’ He threw the ball to Cassie. ‘You take the new ball, champ.’
‘Nah,’ said Cassie, smiling. ‘You go first.’ She tossed it back.
Patch rubbed the ball while he waited for Dad and Mrs Barone to take their positions. And then he charged down the pitch, hurling ball after ball like he was throwing lightning bolts. But even though he steamed in like an express train, bowling long-hops and yorkers, pounding the pitch with sledgehammer feet, only one wicket came his way.
When everyone had taken their turn to bowl – Dylan, Jay, Carey, Reed, Henry, even Lulu and Kale – and the runs were mounting and the adults were beginning to get lighthearted and giddy, sensing a win within their grasp, Dylan turned to Cassie and knelt before her. ‘Help us, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re our only hope.’
Cassie laughed. She tossed the ball up and down, up and down with one hand and then she reset the field, pointing at Dylan, Patch and Jay, bringing all of her big boy fielders up close to the strike end. ‘It’s best to cook your victims slowly,’ she called with a big grin. ‘That’s what my Pop says.’
‘Whomp! Them’s fighting words,’ cried Mr Barone. ‘Bring it on!’
Four balls later, Cassie had two wickets. And two overs later the game was finished and the kids had won the first ever Yelonga World Camp Cricket Cup. The big boys bolted around the grass with their T-shirts flapped over their heads, singing ‘Victory!’ They slapped hands, swapped T-shirts and laughed and sang all the way to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.
The moon rose like a pale pearl.
Kale held Henry’s hand as they walked back to the tent. He smiled at the painted walking figure on the bike path. ‘Hello, man,’ he said.
‘That’s not a man!’ said Lulu. ‘It’s not even real, you silly!’
Dad limped in front. ‘Egad, Cassie, you’re a hypnotist!’
‘A snake charmer, more like it,’ said Mr Carson. ‘Did you see the way the ball danced down the pitch? One second it was going one way and the next it was striking you on the pads.’
‘How did you get so good?’ asked Mum.
‘She’s some kind of genius,’ said Mrs Barone. ‘Like Heno at board games. Is that right?’
‘Nope!’ Cassie scrunched up her nose. ‘Mostly I just got good because my Pop is always taking me down to the nets when he picks me up from school. We go there nearly every day, except for in the summer, when there’s a lot of cricket to watch on telly instead.’
‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘So it’s all practice!’ He arched his eyebrows at Henry. ‘Just practice, practice, practice.’
Henry shook his head. He turned to his mum. ‘Can Cassie stay for dinner?’
‘If she’d like to,’ said Mum.
‘Sure I would,’ said Cassie.
‘Do you need to go tell your Pop?’ Mum touched Cassie gently on the shoulder.
‘It’s okay. He’s gone to the bowling club now to play a little bit of bingo, so it’s leftovers for me tonight.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Mum, glancing over at Dad.
Lulu tucked her hand through Cassie’s arm. ‘Maybe we can go for a walk to the park after dinner and have a go on the big nest swing and the pirate ship?’
‘Maybe,’ said Cassie. She gazed over at Henry. ‘If you want to.’
‘Sure,’ said Henry, with a grin. ‘Sounds good.’
After a quick World Cup Cricket presentation, where every kid was officially presented with a slightly tattered You’ll Always Belonga at Yelonga Inlet Haven baseball cap, everyone tucked heartily into a World Cup Cricket potluck dinner. There were spicy chicken kebabs, tabouleh, tzatziki and flat bread, linguini marinara, cheesy macaroni, avocado and mango salad and for dessert, big bowls of fresh raspberries and cream, with crushed choc-chip cookies sprinkled on top. When the kids finished eating, they all washed and dried the dishes together, chasing each other around the gazebo sink, flicking each other’s legs with tea towels.
Then everyone gathered round a small fire, toasting marshmallows and drinking hot chocolate. And Cassie told them stories about the boats she had seen shipwrecked out on the breakwater near the bar, and the sea rescues her Pop had been involved in. She told them about the fishing records her Pop had broken and all the rare species he had caught and thrown back: the elegant wrasse, the Ballina angelfish, eastern blue devilfish, and even one time a great white shark.
‘A great white shark,’ breathed Reed. ‘He sounds like a fishing genius. I may need to meet this man.’
Cassie talked about her Nan and how she made the best rice pudding in the world, with a cinnamon and nutmeg skin on top and with real vanilla beans but not too sweet, and how her Nan had crocheted hand towels for the oyster festival to help raise money for the school library, even though she was sick with cancer and couldn’t get out of bed.
Then Mum took Lulu, Henry and Cassie for a visit to the park. They played tag all over the pirate ship and then took turns spinning each other dizzy on the mini twister maypole. They hung from the monkey bars until their arms ached and they all agreed they never ever wanted to live in the jungle.
‘It’s nearly time to go,’ said Mum.
‘Not yet,’ cried Lulu. ‘We haven’t even been on the nest swing!’
‘Hop on,’ said Mum. ‘Because I’m ready to push.’
Mum pushed Henry, Cassie and Lulu on the big-netted swing. They gripped on tight as they flew up and down together, the world tilting this way and that, the damp rising against their backs. As the swing began to slow, they watched the moon make a wobbly lemon ladder out on the water.
‘I wish this day could go on forever,’ murmured Cassie.
‘Me too,’ breathed Henry.
‘Me five,’ said Lulu, with a sigh, hugging her ponies beneath the front of her hoodie.
After that, they walked slowly back to the tent, down past the wharf and the quiet bobbing fishing boats, along the bike path, counting the sea birds sleeping on the tops of the light poles.
When they got back to the tent, Cassie tucked Lulu into bed with all her ponies and kissed Peony without hesitation. And then Mum and Henry escorted Cassie back to her darkened caravan, with the three beady-eyed meerkats.
‘Goodnight,’ Cassie whispered, as she lifted the zipper to the annexe. ‘Thank you for having me!’ She turned around and doffed her new baseball cap.
‘It was a pleasure, Cassie,’ said Mum, smiling. ‘We hope we see you tomorrow.’
‘Me too!’ said Cassie, flashing them a big grin.
Mum took Henry’s hand.
They walked back towards the tent, over the speed humps, their thongs snick-snocking in time. A truck braked in the distance and then, a moment later, rumbled over the bridge. A bat flapped heavily above the tips of the pine trees.
Mum squeezed Henry’s hand. ‘Aaaaah,’ she breathed. Their eyes met in the dimness.
‘What?’ Something caught in the back of Henry’s throat. He squeezed her hand tight.
‘Oh, it’s just . . .’ Mum brushed her face. ‘Well, what a girl, hey!’
Henry nodded.
‘She’s plucky,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Henry.
‘Brave!’ said Mum. ‘And daring and gutsy.’
They were silent together. A cool night breeze lifted up the nearby tarps.
The sky was filled with stars, right down to the horizon, like Lulu had gone crazy with a glitter shaker.
‘I think you should tell Cassie the truth,’ said Mum. ‘About your bike and the brakes—’
Henry pulled his hand away.
‘Just tell her you’re still learning how to ride.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘It’s just so much better to be honest,’ said Mum. ‘Always. But especially with friends.’
‘She’ll think I’m a baby!’
‘Oh, Henry.’ Mum breathed in deep. ‘I don’t think so. She’s different.’
Henry wanted to share something he had noticed about Cassie too. But finding the right words was hard. He scratched his head and thought for a moment. And then it came to him. What he wanted to say. But he couldn’t say it out loud! Good gravy, what would Mum think? Maybe she’d think he was silly! Or in super-soppy over-the-top love! Then what if Reed found out? He would twist it in a second. In any case, how could Henry know such a thing about Cassie, in such a short time?
Mum delivered one of her sneaky catch-him-by-surprise kisses on the top of his head. ‘I have a hunch,’ she murmured, ‘that Cassie is the type of friend who is as rare as hen’s teeth.’
‘Ha!’ said Henry. He got what his mum meant straight away this time. He knew hens did not have teeth. ‘So, unbelievably rare. Like almost extinct?’
‘Yes. Exactly,’ said Mum.
A warm slosh of happiness flooded through Henry. His mum could see the special thing in Cassie too. How Cassie was bright and loud and more alive than a normal person! And how she had the clever, funny knack of making everything seem possible.
But a second later, a sudden rush of bruising sadness rose up. Because Holy Lamoley! How could it be? Why did it work that way? How could he meet a friend as rare as a hen’s tooth on a holiday, so far from home?