Well, we couldn’t do any harm in the library, researching. And that’s where we decided to go during Monday lunch. Besides, we hadn’t seen Bryce for ages. Jack hadn’t turned up to school, either.

Studying for the quiz was okay. It was going to be another classic Sandhurst quiz. There were three parts. The first of these was a rules section, which was the same for everyone. Then you had to choose any club and any year to study. Whatever club and year you chose would be tested in the quiz. I had chosen Hawthorn and 2015. It had been the third premiership in a row for Hawthorn and they were being spoken of as one of the greatest teams of all time.

Jack went for Sydney and 2012, when they were the underdogs against Hawthorn in the grand final. Most kids went for a year when their favourite team won the premiership.

Bubbaman was studying 2016. He was convinced that the mighty Bulldogs weren’t far away from another premiership, but for now he’d have to settle for basking in the afterglow of their first grand final victory since 1954. He was good on the stats. Bubba could quote you the best defensive team, the player with the most tackles and the leading goal scorer, including how many goals he’d kicked. Bubba also had second, third, fourth and fifth favourite teams. I had a feeling they changed from year to year, depending on who was up near the top of the AFL ladder.

I was curious to see what Luci was studying, so before I settled down to the 2015 AFL Yearbook (could study at school get any better?), I checked in on the little AV room where a heap of DVDs, computer screens, cameras and TV equipment were set up.

Luci explained that there was a full-on national netball comp. She was watching a video of the Melbourne Phoenix playing the Adelaide Thunderbirds. Cool names. I was only going in to say hi, but I ended up watching the rest of the game. It was amazingly fast and the shooters were scoring goals with about 90 per cent of their shots! After it finished, I left her to her note-taking and went back out.

Mr T had told us not to get too bogged down with minor details and statistics. ‘Keep an eye on the big picture’ was one of his favourite sayings. ‘Study smart and, for heaven’s sake, make sure you’ve got the right book!’ was another.

Jack didn’t make it to training the next day. In fact, he didn’t even get to school. I hadn’t seen Bryce about anywhere either. I stayed well clear of Fisk during the warm-up and drills. We did a lot of running. Mr T was worried that our kicking and handpassing on the run weren’t strong enough. And if we didn’t run against Ascot, we’d be slaughtered.

By the end of the afternoon he was more positive, saying that if we wanted to win and were prepared to run all day, then we were Ascot’s equal. Ascot had won seven of the past eleven titles in the four-way inter-school comp (the Wetherhoods had won the other four). But last week Ascot had only beaten the Wetherhoods by nine points. Either they weren’t as strong as last year, or else the Wetherhoods were pretty good, too.

Jack arrived at school during recess on Wednesday with his mum and dad. Bubba and I saw them walking through the quad towards the main office. We caught up with Jack at lunch. Bryce had returned from who-knows-where (he’d said something about Sydney). Becky and Luci were also with us.

We explained the little three-on-three in the gym the previous Friday to the girls.

‘They eventually took me to the doctor. I’ve got three bruised ribs,’ said Jack.

‘What?’ I gasped.

‘Mum and Dad are pretty mad. I guess it’s lucky my ribs aren’t cracked.

‘Have you spoken with your parents since their interview with Mrs Waite?’ asked Bryce.

‘No. I don’t know how that went.’

‘This is just stupid. He’s got to be stopped. We’ve got to tell Mrs Waite everything. The whole truth.’ Luci was angry.

‘No. The truth sucks. Believe me. The only way to beat Fisk is at his own game.’ Becky was even angrier.

I had already made up my mind, though.

‘No,’ I interrupted. ‘Luci’s right. Fisk has got to be stopped. And there’s only one way to stop him. By me pulling out. That way he’ll back off and no one will get hurt.’

Everyone went quiet. I had actually been hoping for a bit of an argument.

Finally, Jack piped up. ‘No.’

Bubba quickly followed, but I wasn’t going to back down.

‘Maybe just for the footy, and we’ll see if things settle down,’ I suggested.

‘It will give everyone a chance to cool down,’ said Luci.

Bryce nodded. ‘It’s a big sacrifice, Mitch.’ He was actually smiling.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ I walked off to find Fisk and tell him the good news.

He was surprised. I told him to expect a visit to the principal’s office too. That didn’t seem to bother him. And I almost fainted ten seconds later, when I found out why.

‘Aunty Jean’s always had a soft spot for me. There you go. A little secret for you, since you’ve shared your library secret with me.’ He was laughing loudly as he wandered off, his two bullyboys by his side.

I couldn’t work out what he meant by me sharing a secret. How did he know about the library? And then there was the Mrs Waite thing. I was totally gobsmacked. I got mobile again and headed back to the trees by the tennis courts where the others were waiting.

‘What’s Mrs Waite’s first name?’

‘Mitch, you’re not allowed to call–’ began Bubba.

‘Anyone know?’

‘Jean, isn’t it?’ said Becky. ‘Why?’

‘Is anyone aware that Travis Fisk is actually her nephew?’

‘What?’ four voices yelled at the same time.

‘Yeah, and another thing. Somehow–’

‘Mitch,’ hissed Jack, looking over my shoulder.

I turned. Fisk was walking quickly towards us. He stopped a few metres away.

‘Grady,’ he called. I walked over. ‘My secret, your secret, okay?’ he said quietly.

‘What?’

‘Listen, I was just being an idiot about Mrs Waite, okay? And I won’t say anything about your little library secret. Done? Okay, Mitchell?’

I crossed one foot over the other. ‘Done.’

He walked off without another word. The others looked at me expectantly as the bell sounded for afternoon classes. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

It was Wednesday. For the kids doing the Legend of Football or Netball that meant a whole afternoon of sport: research, watching footage on the big screens, kicking goals, whatever they chose. But not for me. For me Wednesday afternoon meant Art and then English.

Neither teacher seemed to care or even notice that I had suddenly turned up. A few of the kids looked a bit surprised, but no one said much.

I left for home with a lot of other kids, the sound and sight of footballs filling my head as I walked past the ovals.