‘You just can’t keep out of the way, can you, Grady?’ was all Fisk said to me as the ball sailed over our heads and through for a goal to Ascot. Car horns blared and people were screaming and clapping as Ascot College took the lead. There must have been only a few minutes left to play.

Once again the ball surged towards us from the midfield, this time rolling and bouncing, being kicked along like it was a soccer match. I was confident of my skills when the ball was close to the ground, so I raced out to meet it at full steam. As I was about to grab it, though, the ball bounced at right angles from me, then behind me.

I doubled back, but not before the ball had bounced kindly up into the full-forward’s hands. He started to spin around for goal.

I threw myself into the air and reached my arms out at his quickly disappearing waist. My fingers caught at his jumper and I hung on for all my life. If he broke away, he would be running into an open goal and maybe sealing the game for Ascot.

I wasn’t letting go.

Why wasn’t the umpire pinging him for holding the ball? I was dragging him now, spinning him around. I had pinned one of his arms and all he could do was drop the ball. In a flash, Fisk had swooped in, scooped up the ball and was racing away. The umpire did blow his whistle, but thankfully was now waving advantage.

We both lay there and watched Fisk weave a magical path up through the middle of the ground. He bounced the ball four times and dodged past three Ascot players before booting a massive drop-punt that must have gone over 40 metres.

Richard Mazis knew exactly what was going on and just how far Fisk could kick a ball. He had doubled back towards the goal square, and now took an easy mark on his chest. He calmly turned around and thumped the ball through the goals and into a cypress tree way behind the oval at the far end.

We were back in front. Now Fisk, Mazis and Paisley were charging into defence.

‘We’re flooding,’ Mazis yelled. Sandhurst players were streaming into defence. There was total confusion on the field. The Ascot players didn’t know whether to follow or stay in their original defensive positions. Bubba was a lonely figure, hands on hips, standing in our attacking goal square. There wasn’t a player within 50 metres of him.

Again, Ascot got the ball away from the centre bounce. The ball was booted down to their half-forward line where Mazis punched the ball away from the pack. Fisk was onto it, but being held up in a strong tackle. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I took off like a hare from my fullback position to create an option on his outside.

He dribbled a handball out. Jimmy Paisley punched it further out and it bounced up into my hands beautifully as I raced by.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. He must have been looking for the boundary.

Dodging around a couple of players, I cut back into the centre corridor. The Ascot defence was flooding back towards Bubba.

I let fly with the biggest kick of my life. It was a barrelling torpedo, clean off the boot and piercing the sky.

It flew over the retreating pack and caught Bubba smack on the chest. A split-second later he was steamrolled by about five Ascot defenders. I kept on jogging toward the goal square.

The umpire was blowing his whistle indicating a mark, free kick and 15 metre penalty to Bubba. They didn’t have 50 metre penalties like in AFL for our matches.

The mass of arms and legs in the goal square slowly untangled until finally there was only Bubba lying on his back, the huge Bubba grin spread across his face.

‘Nice pass, Mitch.’

‘Nice grab, Bubba.’

He slammed the ball through for a goal as the bell rang to signal the end of the game.

Once again Mr T let me know I had disobeyed instructions by running off.

‘Why?’ he asked, as we stood in front of the change rooms.

‘I can’t explain it,’ I replied. ‘One minute I’m there with the full-forward, the next I’m flying off to help out.’ I shrugged.

‘It’s called footballer’s instinct,’ he said, laughing. ‘It might not win you the Legend of Football, but it will raise the eyebrows of any scouts looking for what it takes to play footy at the highest level.’

‘Were there scouts here?’ I asked, excitedly.

‘Plenty of them,’ he said. ‘You’re talking to one!’

As I tugged at my bootlaces, I wondered about my score. Mr T didn’t seem too upset with my brain fade when I’d disobeyed team instructions. I reckoned I was good for at least an eight or a nine out of ten. We wouldn’t know our game scores till after the final match against the Hoods, but all the games combined were worth 50 per cent of the total score.

‘Mitch, you did well.’ It was Luci, who had come over to the car park with most of the rest of the netball team.

‘You saw our game?’

‘Yep, since you guys watched our last game,’ said Becky.

‘How did you go?’ I asked.

‘Don’t ask,’ said Luci. ‘Though now that you have, Mia got shifted to goal shooter and only shot two out of about ten attempts. We lost by three goals. And we were up by about that many at three-quarter time.’

‘Mia’s not a happy girl. She’s torn between crying and screaming,’ said Becky.

It was getting pretty dark as I strolled over to our car. Dad was standing chatting to a few other parents, but I thought I recognised a familiar figure halfway round the oval.

‘Hey, Jack!’ I called.

The figure kept on walking away from me. ‘Jack! It’s me, Mitchell!’

There was no way he could have missed it, but he made no sign of hearing me. I turned back to the car.

The next morning the usual crowd surrounded the noticeboard. This time there was a ladder, along with the results of all the games that had been played so far.

The Wetherhoods were breathing down our necks. They had a massive percentage. It was all down to who won the last game between us.

	P	W	L	For	Ag	%	Pts
Sandhurst	2	2	0	174	130	133.8	8
Wetherhoods	2	1	1	158	80	197.5	4
Ascot	2	1	1	120	118	101.7	4
Scornly	2	0	2	90	214	42.1	0

The netball ladder was also there for all to see. It was kind of in reverse; we were doing the heavy breathing with a higher percentage.

	P	W	L	For	Ag	%	Pts
Hoods	2	2	0	33	29	113.8	8
Sandhurst	2	1	1	36	28	128.6	4
Ascot	2	1	1	33	31	106.5	4
Scornly	2	0	2	24	38	63.2	0

There was still no sign of Jack. At recess I nabbed Bryce and got him to ring Jack’s home on his mobile. There was no answer. We tried throughout the day, but each time it just rang out.

I finally got to tell Bryce, Bubba and Luci about Fisk knowing about the secret room in the library.

‘But how?’ asked Luci.

‘He must have been within earshot when we were talking,’ Bryce suggested.

‘But surely we would have noticed him?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, unless he was actually in the secret room,’ Bubba said, laughing. He kept on laughing at his own little joke, but no one else laughed. Especially not Bryce. Finally Bubba realised that the funny moment had passed.

‘Not a bad suggestion, eh guys?’ he said, suddenly serious.