frenzy noun: delerium;
frenzied adjective: Gracie Faltrain
‘Here’s how the matches will run,’ Coach yells, ‘so listen up. Knight? Knight, stop looking at Faltrain and listen to ME!’ he barks across the room. ‘This is our only chance at this and I want to make sure we PLAY HARD.’ It’s like he’s woken up as the star of his own Nike commercial.
‘There are a total of six matches between us and the Championship. We have to win at least one match out of the next two to go into the second round. You get that, Faltrain? Faltrain? STOP looking at Knight, Faltrain. Look at me,’ he says, motioning to his eyes with his two fingers and then back to me. ‘Look at me. I don’t care if we lose, but I want to be proud of you. I want you to play your best.’
The more he tells me not to look at Martin, the more I can’t stop myself. I keep trying to catch his eye. I want my smile to say, see, I’m not freaking out anymore. There’ll definitely be no more tears. But then every time he looks away I want to cry and then he looks over and there are tears in my eyes and he sees and then he freaks out even more. Faltrain, stop it. Stop being a total idiot.
Martin walks off after Coach finishes his speech. I watch him leave and feel like our garden at the end of autumn. Bare. I’ve been lonely for most of the past few months, but I’ve never really been alone. Mum was always there. I had Dad and Jane, even though they’ve felt miles away. Up until now I’ve had Martin.
I have this overwhelming urge to apologise to someone. Maybe if I do, then I won’t feel so guilty. I want to tell Mum and Dad that it’s awful that we’re not going to be together. I want to say that it makes me sad because I love them, and because they won’t be happy. I run to the change rooms to call home. Mum’s not there. I ring Dad’s mobile – no answer either. There’s nothing worse than needing to say sorry and having no one to say it to.
I keep thinking, what if I can’t say sorry and something happens to them both? What if there’s a tornado and we all get blown away and I never get to say it? I’m working myself up into a sorry frenzy.
Then I think about Mum and the look on her face when she told me about Dad. She was worried about me. His face was the same when he found me at the field. I know it doesn’t matter that I haven’t said sorry. They’ll wait until I’m ready. And when I am they’ll listen. Even if it’s in the middle of a tornado.
I can’t go back. Not even for Faltrain. I might as well stop thinking about her.