Gracie Faltrain Takes Control (14 page)

Running an ad in the paper once: forty-five dollars.
Running it twice: ninety dollars.
A warning that the bill's arrived and your parents are about to kill you? Priceless.
Gracie Faltrain

‘Gracie,' Mum calls out from the kitchen when I walk in the door after school. ‘Your dad and I would like to talk to you.' When both parents want to talk it can only mean one thing: interrogation.

‘What is it?'

‘My MasterCard statement arrived today.'

I think I need a lawyer.

‘It seems that someone other than me has been using my account.'

A really good lawyer.

Mum and Dad sit across the table from me. I'm surprised she doesn't drag the lamp over and shine it in my face.

‘Where were you on the night of the third?'

I shift around in my seat. ‘Home.'

‘I know you were home, Gracie Faltrain,' her voice gets louder. ‘Because I have the statement to prove it.' She pulls it out from under the table. The woman watches more television
than me. ‘You put an ad in the paper to find Martin's mother. You stole my credit card.'

‘Stole's a strong word.'

‘I'm sorry. You took my credit card and used it without asking. Is that better?'

‘I had to do it for Martin.'

‘Why didn't you use his dad's money? Or at least ask me first?'

The room feels hot. My jumper is itchy. Mum won't stop staring.

‘Martin doesn't know, does he?
Does he
?'
Her last words grab me by the shoulders and shake me.

‘No.'

‘Gracie, what have you done? People's lives aren't something to mess around with. That family is hurting. This could hurt them even more.'

‘I'm fixing things for them.'

‘You're fixing things the way you always do, by running and breaking them. This isn't a game of soccer. This is life.'

‘I know that.'

‘You don't, Gracie. You're a kid. How could you know what that family's going through?'

‘You think I don't know what it's like to miss having your family together? I was here last year, remember, when Dad was away. The only thing I wanted was for him to come back. I would have done anything to make that happen.'

‘Gracie, this isn't the same thing. Martin's mum walked out for good. She left that family with no explanation and Clem Knight had to stay behind to pick up the pieces.'

‘Well he didn't do a very good job, did he?' I yell.

‘I'd say he did a bloody fantastic job, a damn sight better than your father and I. Haven't we taught you anything?'

Her last words suck the air out of me. Her face is the colour of ash after fire, white but hot.

‘I think you should go to your room, Gracie,' Dad says.

I sit on my bed and stare at the floor. I don't get changed, or turn on music. My legs ache from Saturday's game. My throat hurts from yelling. My chest hurts most of all. Because that's where Mum's words are sitting.

She creeps into my room at six this morning. I know the time because I'm wide awake. She gets under the covers with me and lies there the way she did when I was a kid.

‘Gracie, I'm sorry.' Her voice is like my legs after soccer, shaky and tired. ‘But you're changing people's lives in a way that you can never undo.'

It's too hot under the doona. My head feels full of rain. Last week everything seemed clear. Martin would always be in the goal square unless he found his mum. Flemming was right about the way we should play. I'm not sure about anything anymore.

‘So I won't tell him. I'll throw the letter out. Martin will never have to know.'

‘There's a woman on the other end of that letter, Gracie.'

‘She walked out. She's the one who hurt him.'

‘So she deserves to have her hopes raised and then dropped? She's his mother. He's her blood. I've always tried to let you make your own mistakes. And most of the time you find your way. But you have to step into Martin's life and imagine what he's going through.'

‘I did.'

‘No, you put Martin's life on over your own. You imagined how he would feel if he was you. You got it all backwards.'

‘So how can I fix things?'

‘You have to go forwards now, Gracie. You have to play this out to the end.'

‘But if I tell Martin I'll lose him.' I'm sure of it, after Saturday night.

‘I know and I'm sorry,' Mum says. ‘But it's time for you to hear the hard stuff. You have to lose this time. There's just no other way you can win.'

Okay.
Now
I get it.
Gracie Faltrain

I have this feeling in my stomach all week like I'm walking along a shaky bridge overhanging a very deep ocean. The letter from Mrs Knight is as heavy as a hundred bricks in my bag. I've been carrying it with me everywhere along with the ad, trying to find a way to explain to Martin what I've done without losing him.

‘Faltrain, is there something wrong?' he asks while we're sitting in the café after school, waiting for our drinks to arrive.

‘No, why?'

‘You've been acting weird all week.'

‘
No I haven't.'

‘Are you worried about the match this Saturday?'

‘A bit, I guess. It's rougher now that we're close to the final. It's not easy playing when there's a team out to get me.'

‘There's always someone out to get you, Faltrain. Last year it was your own team. Is winning so important that you'd give up the whole reason you love the game? It's not about playing
rough; it's about skill. That's what you always said to me.'

‘There's no way out now, Martin.'

‘There's always a way. Like my mum said, “Marty, it's not whether you win or lose the game that matters” . . .'

‘I have to go to the bathroom.' I can't listen to him talking about playing fair anymore. Not when I've been rolling around in the mud for weeks.

I make a decision while I'm in the bathroom. I love Martin. I want him to trust me again. I can't lose him. And I won't. Mum's wrong; I can start playing a different game from now on. It's not too late.

When I get back, Martin's holding my bag, staring at me. The afternoon has disappeared from his eyes.

‘I forgot my wallet,' he says. ‘I used yours.'

‘That's fine. Are you okay?'

‘You're a crap liar, Faltrain. I knew something was up.' It's only then that I see the letter and the ad, crumpled in his hands, as well as my bag. ‘I recognised her handwriting straight away.'

‘Martin, let me explain . . .'

‘I don't want to hear it.' He clenches his teeth. He sounds like he's drowning, his words gurgling up from somewhere way down inside of him. Before, when Martin tried to explain about his mum, it was just words. Today I see his eyes filling up, ready to spill. I see the inside of him, the things he's been hiding. I see years and years of hurt.

‘I don't even know you anymore. You cheat on the field, you lie to me. You treat Alyce like dirt . . .'

‘What?'

‘Gracie Faltrain is only interested in helping one person. Herself.'

His feet tap out a fast beat on the concrete as he runs away. My heart taps out a slow sad one. And they don't match at all.

‘Gracie, why do you live like this?' Mum asks.

Because I'm stupid. Because I never see anything until it's right up in my face, and by then it's too late. I need life glasses, to blow everything up to three times the size so I can see things coming.

‘I've lost him, haven't I?'

Love's like an egg. Break it, and you might still have almost every bit of yolk and white, but there's no way you're getting that back in the shell. And even if you could, there'd still be all the cracks. It's why Mum and Dad are taking all winter to grow the smallest bit of green. It's why Mrs Knight never came back.

‘Yes, Gracie, love.' Mum doesn't bother lying. ‘I think you've lost him for now.'

Scientific tests have recently proven that goldfish can actually remember for up to three months. They can also be taught to follow a routine and tell the time.
Alyce Fuller, science report, Year 7

Martin ignores me for the rest of the week. He sees me waiting in the canteen line and walks straight past. No smile. No get me a Coke, Faltrain. No nothing. There's a hole in the day without him. Every bone in my body is heavy, like when I had the flu. Only I know that this flu is going to last a long time. As long as Martin's gone.

‘Did you two have a fight?' Alyce asks when he walks past me in the line. I can't bring myself to tell her what I've done.

‘Yeah. But you know Martin, he's like a goldfish. He'll forget by the weekend.' Please let him forget. I look at Alyce and silently beg her to agree with me, so I don't feel so bad.

‘Actually, goldfish have very good memories,' Alyce says.

Perfect. Now she tells me.

I find her sitting in a classroom on Friday and I just tell her straight away. I say, ‘I made a mistake asking you to the dance'. I say, ‘Fuller, we don't even have anything in common. All you do is read.'
And she looks at me and says, ‘It's okay, Andrew'. I mean, who the hell tells the guy who dumps her that it's okay?
Andrew Flemming

‘Hey, Flemming,' I call out when I see him leaving after school. ‘Wait up. You want to go to a movie this afternoon?'

‘Can't, Faltrain. My dad's picking me up. I'm suspended for the rest of the day.'

‘Not from soccer as well?'

He shakes his head.

That's a relief. ‘What did you do?'

‘I threw a chair at a classroom window. Don't look so worried. I missed.'

‘Why'd you do it?'

‘Because I felt like it, Faltrain. I just felt like it. End of story. Why don't you go with Alyce?'

‘She went home sick.'

‘Maybe you should check on her, then.' His dad pulls up and he gets in the car and slams the door without saying goodbye.

I go to the movies on my own. I tell Mum I'm with Alyce so she won't worry about me. I sit up the back and enjoy the darkness until Dan Woodbury walks in with his mates and sits in the row in front. There's no way out. I have to listen to him going on and on about how he kicked the best goal of his life last week.

‘We're playing Faltrain's team tomorrow,' his mate says.

‘Don't worry, Moko. She shouldn't be hard to beat. She plays like a girl.'

For the second time this month I leave before the film starts. I'm so happy I bought a Coke instead of chips. ‘Take that, Woodbury,' I say, pouring the drink over his head, spraying his mates at the same time. ‘You idiot.'

You want to play it like that, Faltrain, then let's play. We'll see how you like it.
Martin Knight

I test Alyce's theory at the match today. Martin seems to have developed a rock-solid memory. ‘Get lost, Faltrain,' he says before I even open my mouth. And then he turns his back.

I used to think that what I loved about soccer was that it was simple. I could do it. I could win. But I'm learning that there are other things that are great about it, and one of them is Martin laughing, shaking his head from side to side at me, saying stuff like, ‘Remind me never to get in your way, Faltrain'. He's the best thing about soccer. I just never realised it.

I have to show Martin today that I'm the old Gracie. We have to play like before.

‘Flemming!' I run over to him in warm-up. ‘We need to talk.'

‘You heard, then?'

‘Heard what?' But I know what he's about to say before he answers. Call it sixth sense. Call it intuition. Actually, let's just call it what it is: freaking bad luck.

‘Let me guess, you're about to say that the guy over there who looks like a tank wants to teach me a lesson and has trained every gorilla on his team to attack at the sound of my voice?'

‘Knight told you about Michael Moko, huh?'

‘No. I poured a can of Coke over his head at the movies last night.'

The important thing is to remain calm. Say after me: I am not scared of Michael Moko. I am not scared of Michael Moko. So he's six-foot-three with a team of mutant gorillas ready to do whatever he tells them. So he wants me dead. I can handle that.

And usually I could. But usually I have Martin.

I look into the crowd for Mum and Dad. There's an empty seat next to them. I wish Alyce wasn't sick. I need all the support I can get.

‘The team has your back, Faltrain,' Flemming says, and runs to the centre. Not the whole team, Flemming. Martin ignores me on his way past to goal. ‘Any last words of advice?' I call to him. Please give me one tiny sign that you only hate me, not want me completely smashed into the ground. He shakes his head.

And the game begins.

It becomes pretty clear from the minute the whistle goes that I'm more than just in the soccer game. I am the game. Gracie Faltrain, forget playing dirty, get the hell out of the way.

Moko is out to get me. I feel his breath against my neck, scratching at me like a jumper that's too tight. Flemming runs in, arms out, and elbows him on the way past. Moko doesn't go down. He gets madder. He waits until I have the ball and then he slams into the side of me. It feels like I've hit concrete,
not grass. I get up and spit blood. I check all my teeth are where they should be.

Ref calls time. Coach runs over to him. I can see them shaking their heads.

‘He said it looked like an accident, Faltrain.' Coach wipes my face while I sit on the sidelines. ‘I didn't see it. But it's safe to say that there's a team out there that wants you dead.'

‘Really? I hadn't noticed.'

‘I think you should sit the rest of this one out.'

‘No way. You need me in there.'

‘I need you alive.' He looks back onto the field, where Singh and Francavilla are racing for the ball. The opposition are racing too. Corelli gets in the way and there's a head-on collision with all five of them. Coach closes his eyes. ‘It's not soccer, Faltrain, playing like this.'

‘When the game's this rough, how else can you win?'

He looks at me and takes a final check of my face. ‘You guys could beat every team from here on in, and you still won't win. Now get out there. And be careful.'

Easier said than done, Coach. When I fall down for the third time, I know I won't make it up again. I lie there, on my back, every muscle aching. The ref calls time. Dad calls, ‘Gracie!' I'm thinking, isn't somebody calling for an ambulance? ‘It's over,' I say, and wait to be carried off.

‘Your back broken?' Martin asks, standing over me.

‘No.'

‘Any other bones?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Then it's not over. Get up.' He heaves at my arm. ‘You wanted to play like this, Faltrain. You wanted to get dirty with the rest of them, so finish what you started.' He pushes me
back into play. He runs over to goal. And stands there watching while I get pummelled.

And believe me, I get pummelled. I am dough by the sixty-minute mark. I am ready to be rolled out and put in the oven. But the thing that hurts more than the knocks? The thing that hurts even more than the humiliation? Is that Martin doesn't once try to help.

In the last five minutes of the game the opposition are one goal ahead. Moko takes possession of the ball. I need to make this shot. I need to leave the game with some respect. I chase him. I chase him hard. I get the ball to Flemming before Moko shoves me in the ribs and I'm out for the count.

Flemming picks up where I fell off and runs with it. If he scores then we tie the game. I can see why Alyce likes him, today. There's almost zero chance that he can make it but he doesn't care about the odds. He swerves around Moko and misses being tripped by a beat. There's no doubt in my mind that in the final stretch, the ball belongs to him. He kicks and scores on the whistle. We tie. By a breath. But it's getting harder and harder to win.

‘Martin, wait!' I call after the match.

‘Faltrain, I don't want to talk to you.'

‘Martin, please. I'm sorry.'

‘Sorry isn't enough this time. You can't fix this.'

‘I can try.'

‘You can try?' he says, his voice scraping out from his throat. ‘You have no idea what it's like for me, for anyone other than yourself. Everything is about you, what you want.' Martin raising his voice is like snow falling in summer. It's wrong.

‘I've never told you about what it was like for me that day, have I? What it was like knowing that my mum kissed me goodbye in the morning, quicker than usual, because she was waiting to run the minute I was out of sight? She didn't care about Karen and me then, and she doesn't now.'

‘Martin, she loves you, I know it.' I've cut him and I need to get close enough to stop the blood.

‘You don't know anything. You don't leave the people you love. You just don't.' He wipes his nose against the back of his sleeve. ‘You think I need to hear her say that? There was a note, Faltrain. She left a note.'

‘But you said you'd never read it.'

‘I asked Dad for it when I came back from the Championships. The paper was thin, like he'd read it a million times. I sat on the bed for ages, just holding it in my hands, holding the last piece of her.'

‘What did it say?'

‘It said, “Goodbye, Clem”. It didn't even mention me. I'd spent years imagining how hard it was for her to leave me and Karen. I'd read that note a million times in my head. And in the end I wasn't even in it.'

So that was it. The secret Martin had been holding on to. It was so small. And so awful. I don't even have to try, now. I can see the world through Martin's eyes. Not how I imagine things would look, but how they are. The world is too bright, like I've been asleep for days and finally blinked my eyes open in glaring sun. It hurts to see in this light. It burns. Martin loving his mum as much as I love mine and walking into a house empty of her. Martin holding that letter, her last thoughts before she stepped out the door. And he wasn't in them.

My head is pounding from the game; a bruise is thumping
out over my left eye. I kneel down and take deep breaths, but nothing works. I'm sick on the grass.

Martin doesn't hold my hair back or ask if I'm all right. He waits for me to finish. ‘I told you, Faltrain,' he says, his voice as empty as the middle of the night. ‘I told you what would happen if you weren't careful with my family. And you hammered into us without a thought.'

‘No, Martin, I did it because I cared.'

‘Can't you see? Other people have a right to decide things for themselves. What would have happened if she'd walked in on Dad and Karen? My whole family, everything that I've fought for since she left, would have been back to square one.'

‘Martin, I'm so, so sorry.'

‘Just leave me alone.'

‘You're not taking me to the dance?' Even as I say it I know how dumb it sounds. But I want things to be like they were three days ago. I want to somehow remind Martin of what we were before this.

‘You promised you wouldn't try to find my mum. You lied to me, Faltrain.
All year
. Why would I take you anywhere?'

Martin's not in the quiet anymore. He's in the middle of a twisting storm. The thing is, that storm was always going to shift, and I guess Martin knew that. It's why he was buried so far under the ground, waiting for it to pass. But I dug him out and pushed him into the open. Good one, Gracie Faltrain, I think, as the wind picks him up. And tosses him far away.

I can't decide what to do after Martin goes. I lie down on the ground and stare at the sky slowly turning to black. My feet take me to Alyce's house in the end.

The light is on in her bedroom, so I knock on her window.

‘Gracie?' She pulls the curtain across. ‘What is it?'

‘Can I come in?'

‘I'm sick. Is it important?'

She comes to the front of the house and lets me in. There's an edge to her voice that I've never heard before. It's hard, like a straw broom sweeping away the mess on the path.

‘Alyce, Martin won't talk to me.'

The one thing I can count on is that Alyce will be on my side. I spill out my story to her; I need her to tell me I'm not as bad as Martin says I am.

‘Gracie, you did a terrible thing. He trusted you.'

‘But I was trying to help.' Even I can hear that I sound like a broken record.

‘You never think before you do things.' She's not yelling. Alyce hardly ever raises her voice, even when she's excited. It's light, like a giant balloon floating, tonight, with fire flashing every now and then. ‘Can't you see that pushing me and Flemming together and telling Annabelle about the dance is just like Martin helping you in the tryouts?'

Well, when you put it like that. ‘But my plan worked. You're Flemming's date.' I don't say it with all that much fire. If I was a balloon I'd be plummeting towards the earth right about now.

‘Just because you think it worked doesn't make it right. If you make my life like yours, it's not mine anymore.'

‘But all I wanted was for you to be happy.'

‘You never even asked me if I was unhappy. You just assumed I must be because I'm Alyce Fuller.'

‘But being with Flemming makes you happier, right?' I need to know that I haven't completely stuffed up another person's life.

‘He took it back. He's going to the dance with Susan.'

‘But he can't do that.'

‘Why, because they're not Gracie Faltrain's rules? He can do whatever he likes. I can't make him take me.'

‘I can't believe you let him walk all over you. Don't you get sick of people treating you like that, Alyce?'

‘Yes,' she says quietly, and stops pacing. She looks at me for a long time. I need to get away from those eyes. I need to run and kick goals. I need to be the old me.

‘You tell me what to do all the time. You push me around. You give my secrets to Annabelle. You sign me up for debates without asking.'

‘They chose you for the team? That's fantastic, Alyce.'

‘I told you I didn't want to do it.'

‘You'll be great, though. I'm sure of it.'

‘You don't have to convince me. You're the one who thinks I have to prove myself.'

‘If people don't see who you really are, Alyce, they'll always treat you like dirt.'

‘I know,' she says, and opens her bedroom door for me to leave. ‘Gracie, can't you see who you really are? You're Annabelle. You're just on my side.'

‘Duck, Faltrain,' I imagine Jane saying, ‘there's that unexpected cow coming your way.'