TUESDAY WAS TRAINING night and we went through what had happened against Langton Blues. Mr Turner wasn’t there. Instead we had Mr James and Miss Rice taking the session. And Miss Rice was urging us to think about how well we’d played.
‘You were great, mostly,’ she told us. ‘Like a real team. You even passed the ball to each other . . .’
‘We still didn’t win, miss,’ complained Dal. ‘We’re always the best at school – why can’t we be the best in the league too?’
‘Ah, but we will be the best if we continue to play like that,’ Mr James said, holding a clipboard with lots of papers attached to it. ‘And Dal, we got the point from the draw, remember.’
‘Mr James?’ asked Chris.
Yes, son?’
Chris looked at me before he spoke. He looked unsure of what he was about to say. But in the end he spoke anyway.
‘My brother plays for a team like ours and—’
‘Does he want to join?’ asked Mr James, doing something that adults tell us kids not to do but do themselves all the time. Interrupt when we’re talking!
‘No – he’s too old, but he doesn’t have to call his coach “sir” or “miss”. Why do we have to?’
The entire squad gasped and looked a Chris. It was as though he’d just sprouted a new head. We were shocked. Mr James looked at Miss Rice and they burst into laughter. When they’d calmed down, Miss Rice replied.
‘We were talking about that the other week,’ she told us. ‘From the first training session all of you called us “sir” and “miss”. We just thought you were all extra-polite.’
‘Does that mean we don’t have to?’ asked Abs.
Mr James nodded. ‘Not if you don’t want to. I’m quite happy for you to call me Ian . . . and I’m sure Wendy would love it if you—’
‘Wendy?’ asked one of the girls, Gem. ‘Like in Peter Pan.’
Miss Rice grinned. ‘Exactly like Peter Pan,’ she said. ‘I can even fly . . .’
Most of us laughed or smirked at what Miss Rice had just said, but Gurinder – the first-choice keeper – can be a bit dim at times. He looked at Miss Rice and asked her how long it took to learn to fly.
‘You fool!’ shouted Abs. ‘She can’t really fly . . . can you . . . er . . . Wendy?’
‘Only when I really have to, people,’ Wendy replied.
‘So what’s Mr Turner’s name?’ I asked.
‘Steve,’ Wendy told us.
‘That’s so cool,’ said Abs. ‘Now it won’t be like being at school when we play . . .’
Wendy and Ian gave him a funny look.
‘I guess that’ll be the lack of maths lessons,’ suggested Ian.
Abs shrugged. Whatever,’ he said.
Wendy told us to go and get changed, but Ian stopped her.
‘We nearly forgot,’ he said, pulling some of the paper off his clipboard. ‘As our next game against Rockwell Rangers isn’t for two weeks, we’ve arranged a special team-building exercise this Saturday . . .’
I looked at Dal and Chris. Chris’s face was beaming with a big, broad grin.
‘Like a trip?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Exactly that,’ added Wendy. ‘So we’ve got some notes for your parents. You will need their permission to come along and we’ll also need at least two parents to come too.’
‘So can you check with them when you get in later?’ continued Ian. ‘And let us know by Thursday. Your parents have our phone numbers.’
Dal’s face fell a bit. ‘What if none of our parents can make it?’ he asked.
‘Then it may be difficult to arrange but we’ll see . . .’ replied Ian.
‘Why – where are we going?’ asked Lily.
‘To the moon,’ joked Abs.
‘Ahh!’ replied Parvy, defending her friend. ‘Look at that – the little boy tried to make a joke.’
The rest of the squad burst into laughter and Abs scowled, but not for long. I think he was getting used to having the girls around after the weekend. Especially after Lily’s brilliant goal. Not that he’d admit it.
‘OK, OK,’ said Wendy. ‘Cool it! We were going to take you on a tour of Wembley but that fell through . . .’
‘OHHHH!!!!!’ we all said together.
‘But,’ she added, holding up her hand to stop us moaning, ‘we will be doing that later in the season – as a reward – if you do well . . .’
‘YEAAHHHHHHHHHHH!’
Shut it!’ shouted Ian.
As we calmed down, I asked where we were going instead.
‘Paintballing,’ replied Ian. ‘A game of strategy and team—’
Only we didn’t let him finish. Instead we all went crazy with excitement. It took ages for us to calm down. When we had, Wendy told us to go and get changed.
‘Are we dancing again, miss?’ asked Abs.
‘Call me Wendy,’ she said with a smile.
‘And no, we’re not dancing, although I could arrange it just for you if you’d like?’
‘No thanks,’ replied Abs.
‘Didn’t think so,’ she added.
Dal’s dad gave me, Abs and Chris a lift home too after training and we were all really excited about going paintballing.
‘I’m gonna splat you all!’ boasted Abs.
‘Not if we’re on the same team,’ I told him.
‘Oh yeah,’ he said.
‘What’s this?’ asked Dal’s dad.
Paintballing,’ Dal told him. The coaches are taking us at the weekend. I’ve got a form for you to sign because we’re too young or something . . .’
‘Oh-OK,’ replied his dad.
‘And they need some parents to come too, Mr Singh,’ I added. ‘Will you do it?’
This weekend, Jason?’ asked Dal’s dad.
For a second I was disappointed. When my mum doesn’t want to do something I ask her to, she always replies like Mr Singh did. But then he surprised us.
‘Yes – I don’t see why not,’ he said.
‘Nice one, Dad!’ beamed Dal.
‘I’ve not been paintballing for years . . .’
‘My dad’ll do it!’ added Chris.
And mine!’ said Abs. I’m sure he will want to.’
Dal’s dad looked in his rear-view mirror at me. ‘Ask your mum too, Jason,’ he said to me. I’m sure she’d love to join us.’
I hadn’t thought about asking my mum. I had just assumed that she wouldn’t want to come along.
‘I’ll ask her when I get in,’ I said. ‘But she might be working.’
My mum works in an office and she does long hours sometimes. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted her to come either. She’d probably want to wear high heels or something. She was great, but sometimes she could be a bit embarrassing too.
‘We could have girls versus boys!’ said Abs excitedly.
‘You just fancy them,’ joked Chris. ‘That’s why you’re always having a go at Lily.’ ‘No!’ complained Abs. ‘And anyway, she’ Dal’s girlfriend.’
‘No, she isn’t,’ moaned Dal.
‘Oh, really?’ asked Mr Singh. ‘Is there something I should know, Dal?’
Dal’s face dropped. No, Dad. Honest!’
Mr Singh winked at me in the mirror. ‘Oh, chill out, kid – I was only joking,’ he replied.
This time Dal looked embarrassed.
‘Dad – can you please not use words like that?’ he asked.
I smiled. Maybe my mum wasn’t the only embarrassing parent in the world after all.
