Gracie Faltrain Takes Control (3 page)

The average goldfish has a memory of approximately 3.65 seconds.
The International Journal of Scientists

Lately Martin acts like he doesn't care enough to remember our fights. He has the memory of a goldfish: gone after a few seconds. Even after our biggest arguments, I can call him and it's as though nothing happened. I never kicked him. Or punched him. Or called him an idiot.

I can't really complain; most times for me that's a positive, but once in a while it'd be good to get a little reaction. At least I don't have to worry about Martin breaking up with me. I'd only have to hang around for five minutes and he'd forget why he'd done it.

‘Wait'll you hear the news, Faltrain,' he says at practice this afternoon.

‘What?'

Coach walks out from the change room and starts yelling before Martin has a chance to answer. ‘Right, team,' he shouts, moving backwards and forwards like a shark about to feed. ‘I've got news. Big news.' He spreads his hands wide to show us the size he's talking about. My stomach twitches. The last time
we had news that wide we entered the Championships. ‘We're playing in the Firsts competition this year.'

My twitches are so big after he says that, it's like my insides are dancing. I can tell by the way everyone's shifting around that they feel the same. The Firsts is the top inter-school competition. We've never entered a team before. ‘No point in entering if you're not good enough,' Martin told me a couple of years ago. ‘You just end up looking stupid.'

‘I'm putting together fifteen of the best players we have,' Coach goes on. ‘Everyone in the school can try out for it. That means you need to be serious if you want to make it.'

‘What happens if we don't get picked?' Corelli asks the million-dollar question. ‘Do we still get to play soccer this season?'

‘I want two teams. One to keep going at the level we are now. Another to play inter-school Firsts.' Everyone here knows what that means. If you don't make the Firsts then you're second best.

‘I have to be on that team, Martin.'

He doesn't answer. His eyes are locked on Coach.

‘Firsts season starts at the end of the month. This year the final is being televised,' Coach says. ‘Talent scouts'll be there. If you're good enough you could get picked to represent the state.'

Okay. My whole body is twitching now. I feel like I've drunk fifty cups of coffee in a row. And I don't drink coffee.

‘For the next two weeks I'm opening up practice to anyone in the school who wants a shot. After that there'll be tryout matches. I'll pick from those. Now drop and show me what you're worth. I want twenty push-ups.'

‘I'll die if I don't make that team,' I say, forcing my shaking
arms straight for the fifteenth time. I'm so excited I barely feel the pain. ‘We're going to win the final on television. We'll get picked to play on the state team.'

‘Pretty sure you'll make it, then?' Flemming asks.

‘You just worry about yourself,' I answer. ‘I know I'm good enough.'

‘You think you're so good, Faltrain, give me twenty more push-ups after everyone's finished,' Coach yells. I might be excited, but I'm not insane. After forty push-ups, believe me, I feel it. I'm glad today that my boyfriend is a goldfish. He drops down beside me and gives Coach another twenty as well.

Martin and I stay on the field until the light fades. We chase circles around each other, stealing the ball and running for goal. He's playful tonight; he knows he can kick any way he wants and still make the shot. This is the Martin I love, so confident on the soccer field that he barely has to try. This is the Martin I want. He runs and all the sadness drops away. I'd give anything to keep him like this.

I race up beside him and kick the ball forwards. He looks surprised when I don't chase it. I catch him instead. Kiss him. I feel the blood rushing along my arms, flooding my skin. ‘You didn't kick a goal, Faltrain,' he says.

‘Yeah I did,' I tell him. And then I take the ball and fly.

I want to be training already, showing Coach and the rest of the team that I'm ready. It'll be the hardest competition I've been in yet. If I can make that team, I'll have proved I'm one of the best.

I can do it; I know I can. I'm better than all of the players in my school and most of the guys in the competition will
be the ones we hammered in the off-season games. If Dan Woodbury is anything to go by, we'll be television champions by the end of the season. It'll be even better than winning the Championships.

Martin and I went along to a Firsts game, once. It was a couple of years ago. I could barely sit still. My feet kicked out as if I was the one taking the goal.

‘You can't stand being in the crowd, can you?' He was right. I wanted to be out there proving how good I was. Me. A girl. Gracie Faltrain.

‘I can play better than some of them,' I said to Martin that day.

‘They're pretty big, Faltrain.'

‘Soccer's about skill, not height.'

‘I'm not talking about height.' He pointed at a kid who looked like he was a close relation of a brick wall. ‘I'm talking about width.'

‘I could take him. No problem.'

Martin's laugh bounced around the stand. ‘I don't know if you could. But I would love to see you try.'

It's almost dark tonight by the time we stop playing. ‘Come on,' he says. ‘I have to be home in time to cook dinner.'

‘About yesterday, Martin . . .'

‘Forget it, Faltrain. It doesn't matter.'

Martin leaves me at my gate and jogs away. He's a shadow before the sound of his feet disappears. I know he hates to fight. I know that talking about his mum is hard. But if you keep saying that nothing matters, then sooner or later, nothing does.

When Coach talked about playing for the state today, Martin's eyes were wide and clear. Whatever has happened
since he came back from the Championships, he has to face it. Maybe if we're picked for the state team, he'll have something to look forward to. Maybe he'll remember what it feels like to win.

Four equals a double date. Every idiot knows that.
Andrew Flemming

‘Faltrain, you're still kicking the ball too wide. You'll miss the goal like that,' Flemming yells from the edge of the field. He and Martin and I have scheduled in extra practice sessions every day before the tryouts.

‘When have I ever missed a goal?' I ask.

‘I can remember last season you missed a few.'

‘That was different,' I say, and to prove it I run in close to Flemming and spin the ball near his feet. He moves to take it off me and I steal it back. ‘What's that you were saying?' I yell, running, feet skimming grass.

‘Knight, tell your girlfriend to stop showing off.'

Martin has already left the field, though. He's sitting at the edge talking to Alyce. She can't play sport, but she loves to watch. She comes to most matches, cheering in the crowd with my parents. Sometimes I look up into the seats and for a second, the faces blurring, I think it's Jane.

Alyce Fuller and I aren't exactly twins, Faltrain
, Jane wrote when I emailed her that. She was right. She's nothing like
Alyce, except for one important point: both of them make me feel like I'm home. I can laugh so hard I almost wet my pants, and I can cry just as hard if I need to.

Alyce's hair falls over her eyes as she's talking to Martin. She wears it like a curtain, pulled across so people can't see the whole of her. I wish she'd throw back her head and laugh loudly like she does when she's alone with me. If boys could see her like that they'd be lining up in the street to ask her out.

‘We're going to the movies tonight, me and Martin and Alyce,' I say as Flemming and I walk off the field. ‘Want to come?'

I can see him hesitate and I feel like punching him. He's thinking two girls and two guys equals a double date. I can see pressure building in his brain. Don't try to add two and two, Flemming; you'll only end up hurting yourself.

‘I've got homework,' he says, and starts running for his life. ‘See you tomorrow, Knight,' he calls, and half waves to Alyce. For the second time this week, he doesn't even bother to say her name. This is going to be harder than I thought if a guy like Flemming would rather do homework than go to the movies.

‘He's not coming?' Martin asks.

‘I think he has to do some stuff for his dad.' Alyce doesn't need to hear that she rates below homework on the excitement scale. She picks up her books and keeps the curtain of hair pulled over her eyes. A person doesn't need a whole lot of imagination to see what the main show is, though: Disappointment, starring Alyce Fuller.

‘It would never work,' Martin says while Alyce is in the bathroom before the movie starts.

‘Why wouldn't it?'

‘For one, because Flemming is a guy.'

‘Isn't that a reason why it could work?'

‘I mean he's a
guy
guy. He hangs with Annabelle's crowd.'

‘I can take care of Annabelle.'

‘He doesn't even read. What would the two of them talk about?'

‘I've seen him with the sports pages. Anyway, what matters is that Alyce likes him.'

‘Stay out of it, Faltrain. Let the two of them make their own decisions.'

If I did that, Alyce would spend every day in the library as part of the ‘I Love Reading' club.

‘Anyway,' Martin whispers, ‘Flemming's too busy for dates.'

‘Busy with what?'

‘He's about five months behind on his schoolwork.'

‘We've only been back four months.'

‘Exactly. He's in serious trouble. His dad wants him off the team if he can't catch up.'

This is perfect. Flemming needs help in the homework department. Alyce runs that department.

‘Did I miss anything?' Alyce asks as she sits down next to me.

‘Nothing's started yet,' I say. ‘But it's about to.'

Martin gives me a sharp kick in the leg. I kick him back. Double hard. The opening soundtrack drowns out his yelp. Don't mess with me, Martin. I know exactly what I'm doing. If Alyce wants Flemming, then it's Flemming she's going to get. Like I said before, in life, things don't happen by chance. They happen because you make them.

I mean, whoever organises fate must get pretty busy. And
quiet people like Alyce? They can't exactly be top of the list. Think about all the celebrities in the world. Why do they get the million-dollar destinies while the Alyce Fullers get nothing? Because they're louder. They're tougher. They don't take no for an answer. With Mum and Dad, fate needed a helping hand. When it comes to people like Alyce, it needs a kick.

I call Jane when I get home from the movies. Mum buys me a phone card every two months. ‘Once it's spent, Gracie, that's it.' I figure I need a little Jane advice if I'm going to get the ball rolling with Alyce and Flemming.

‘Have you actually asked her if she likes the guy?' Jane asks.

‘No. But she never mentions him.'

‘It's a crazy thought, Faltrain, but maybe Alyce never mentions him because she's not interested?'

‘No way. She stares at his feet all the time.'

‘Maybe she likes feet.'

‘She doesn't stare at mine. Or Martin's. Only Flemming's.'

‘You know, you're right. Feet are the windows to the soul. Imagine all those idiots out there staring into each other's eyes.'

‘I just want her to be happy, Jane.'

‘Does he stare at her feet?'

‘Good question. I'll check.'

‘People can hurt easily, Faltrain. There was this girl at school over here who had heaps of friends and now almost everyone's ignoring her . . .'

‘What has that got to do with anything? Alyce doesn't even have any friends other than me, so I can't make things worse in that department.'

‘I'm just saying be careful.'

‘I will be, Jane.'

It's the first time in years that Jane and I have come close to snapping at each other. It feels strange because I don't know why.

‘Well, I guess I'll talk to you soon,' she says, and hangs up. Jane has been overseas for ages now. But this is the first time I've felt like she was too far away to touch.

I sit in between Mum and Dad on the couch tonight. I stare past the TV, and try to remember what Jane looks like. I can picture her hair and the clothes she wore the day she left, but her face keeps disappearing.

‘Something the matter, baby?' Dad asks.

‘Not really. Jane was just acting sort of weird on the phone.'

‘Weird?'

‘Yeah. Kind of far away.'

‘England is far away,' he says.

I guess it is. Jane just never made me feel like it before.

‘Are you watching that DVD I rented?' I ask.

Dad nods. ‘I think I've told you before, your mum and I saw this film on our first date.'

‘You know I never listen to you, Dad,' I say, kissing him on the top of his head. ‘I have homework to do.' I leave them alone so they can move closer on the couch.

It's like there's a fence between them. Dad's waiting for Mum to step across. It's getting smaller every day, so why not just reach out and pull her over? But he doesn't. He stays on his side and she stays on hers. And they talk across the fence like they're neighbours. Not like they had a first date, once, not like they kissed and then fell in love.

‘Mum, can I work some more hours at the shop?' I ask when she comes in to kiss me goodnight. ‘I need a little extra cash.'

‘And why is that?'

‘There's a dance coming up. I want a killer dress.' If Dad won't lob a few memories in Mum's direction then the plan is to do it myself. That's why I rented the DVD.

‘This will be your and Martin's first social.'

‘Yep. And I want to look hot.'

‘Your dad took me to a dance on our second date. He bought me roses.'

Way to go, Dad. ‘That was pretty romantic.'

‘I thought so, until we stopped to pick up the couple we were double dating with. She was allergic. Her face swelled up like a tomato. We spent most of the night in the casualty department. Your dad thought we were bad luck as a couple. The first time we met I hit him in the balls during tennis and by the third date he'd put my friend in hospital.'

‘But he asked you out again?'

‘I asked him, Gracie. Remember, you're my daughter.'

‘What happened on the fourth date?'

‘We kissed. And there was no going back.'

‘I wonder if Dad remembers.'

‘You know he does.' Mum looks at me with her hands on her hips. ‘He told you the story yesterday when you asked him where Martin could rent a suit.' She looks at me accusingly. ‘I think that's what they call “busted”, isn't it?'

‘Pretty much.'

‘Gracie, I know you want your dad and me to be exactly the same as we were before, but some things take time.'

‘How much time?'

‘I'm not a train, Gracie. I don't have an estimated minute of arrival.' She runs a finger down my cheek and the roughness of her skin makes my face tingle.

‘Do you remember last winter when you helped me in the nursery? We had to cut back all the plants. I told you that some trees need to be pruned right to the base, or they'll never grow again.'

‘You let me have the clippers because you said the harder the plants were ripped back, the better it was.'

Mum laughs. ‘They grow so much better for the cutting. When you were young, you followed me around, yelling at me when I chopped off all the growth. You collected the flowers after they fell. I told you that if we didn't cut them, they'd never be green again, just thick and wooden like the old lavender bushes that you hated.'

‘You said that once lavender got like that, it may as well be torn out.'

‘Your dad and I aren't lavender, Gracie.' She smiles. ‘I promise you. We're magnolia: the first things to come back in the spring.'

‘You're saying that you and Dad will be all right in four months, then?'

‘I'm saying be patient. Most things have to sleep awhile at some time in their lives.'

Whenever Mum sliced the garden back to its bones she always said the same thing: ‘Winter will end. And there will be green like you've never seen before.'

I know she's right. I have to trust her. But it's the hardest thing to imagine that the garden will look good again, when the trees are as empty as clothes hangers. And their leaves are lying all over the ground.