18

A Thousand Smiles

“Where the hell are they?” yelled Mr Hawtrey at no one in particular.

The second half was about to begin, and Maudlin Street were all waiting on the pitch, eager to finish off their demolition job. The school’s team was nowhere to be seen. Had they run away?

Then, suddenly, Lisa stepped out of the changing room and held the door open.

First Gareth ran out wearing a gold lamé ball gown…

Then Darvesh followed in a yellow polka dot frock…

Then the defenders were right behind in matching red cocktail dresses…

The rest of the team followed in a variety of outfits from Lisa’s wardrobe… And finally Dennis came out of the dressing room–in a pink bridesmaid’s dress.

There was a huge cheer from the crowd. Dennis looked at Lisa and smiled.

“Go get ’em kid!” she said.

As they ran onto the pitch, Mr Hawtrey bellowed at Gareth.

“WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, BOY?”

“You expelled Dennis for wearing a dress. But you can’t expel us all, Sir!” he shouted back triumphantly.

All the boys in the team lined up defiantly behind their captain, striking poses like they were dancers in a Madonna video. The crowd went wild.

“THIS IS A DISGRACE!” bellowed Mr Hawtrey. He stormed off, angrily brandishing his walking stick/seat thing.

Gareth smiled at Dennis.

“Come on boys. Let’s do it!” said Gareth.

The bemused referee blew his whistle before it fell out of his mouth. Within seconds Dennis had scored a goal. The Maudlin Street team were in shock.

They were still 6-1 down, but Dennis and his team-mates were back in the game.

“Woo!” shouted Darvesh, as he hitched up his skirt and weaved round a defender.

Laughing, Dennis scored again. He was on his way to a hat-trick and he was a hundred times happier than he had ever been. He was doing the two things he loved most at once: playing football and wearing a dress. Then Darvesh scored, sliding across the pitch and adding a large grass stain to his frock as he sneaked the ball past the Maudlin Street goalie.

6-3.

“My boy! My boy in the yellow polka-dot dress has scored!” shouted Darvesh’s mum.

They were on fire. Dennis set up a fantastic cross for Gareth, who just had to tap it into the net.

6-4.

Gareth being Gareth celebrated like this goal would be replayed forever on Match of the Day, doing three victory laps of the pitch, and hitching up his gold lamé ball gown as he ran. The crowd laughed and cheered. Then another goal followed. And another.

6-6.

Now there were only a few more minutes of the game to play.

One more to go. And they’d have done it.

“Come on, Dennis,” shouted Lisa. “You can do it!”

Dennis looked over at her and smiled. It would be really cool if I scored now, he thought, especially in front of Lisa… my future wife.

But, at that moment, Dennis fell to the ground in pain.

The crowd gasped.

One of the Maudlin Street strikers had nobbled him. Kicked him right in the shin when he didn’t even have the ball. Dennis lay there in the mud, holding his leg in agony. The referee had seen nothing.

“He’s putting it on, ref!” protested the Maudlin Street boy. The crowd booed.

Dennis was trying really hard not to cry. He opened his eyes, and his vision swam.

Lying there, grass pressing into his cheek, he peered up at the crowd. Through the tears he glimpsed a red-checked jacket that looked very familiar…

And then the red-checked jacket turned into a man…

And then the man shouted, in a deep voice that was even more familiar.

“OI! WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

Dad.

Dennis couldn’t believe it. Dad had never come to see him play for the school before, and now here Dennis was, lying on the ground with tears in his eyes wearing a dress. He was going to be in so much trouble…

But Dad looked at Dennis and smiled.

“OI! REF!” he shouted. “That kid kicked my son!”

Dennis rose to his feet, his leg still glowing with pain but a warm feeling spreading through him. He steadied himself. Then smiled back over at Dad.

“You OK?” asked Darvesh.

“Yeah,” said Dennis.

“COME ON, SON!” shouted Dennis’s dad, really getting into it now. “YOU CAN DO IT!”

“I called him at half-time,” said Darvesh. “After what you said about your dad never seeing you play in a match, I thought you wouldn’t want him to miss this.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Dennis. Whenever he thought Darvesh couldn’t surprise him any more, couldn’t be a better friend, he went ahead and did it.

Gareth tackled the ball of one off one of the Maudlin Street boys. Darvesh ran up the outside, and Gareth passed to him. Maudlin Street charged towards Darvesh and he passed back to Gareth. Gareth panicked for a moment, then passed to Dennis, who weaved straight past the defence before booting it right over the goalie’s head and into the back of the net.

The keeper didn’t stand a chance.

6-7!

The final whistle blew. It was all over.

Dennis looked over and smiled. For a moment he thought he saw John’s face in the crowd, but he couldn’t be sure as everything seemed to blur in all the excitement. Gareth was first to go up and hug Dennis. Darvesh was next. Within moments they were all hugging excitedly, celebrating their victory. The school had never even got the semis before–and now they’d won the cup!

Dad couldn’t contain his excitement and ran onto the pitch. He scooped Dennis up into his arms and sat him on his shoulders.

“This is my son! This is my boy!” shouted Dad, helpless with pride.

The crowd erupted with cheers again. Dennis smiled a thousand smiles. He looked down at Gareth, Darvesh and the rest of the team all wearing their dresses.

There’s just one problem, Dennis thought. I don’t feel that different anymore.

But he kept that thought to himself.