Horrid Henry and the Soccer Fiend (4 page)

“… AND with 15 seconds to go it’s Hot-Foot Henry racing across the field! Beckham tries a slide tackle but Henry’s too quick! Just look at that step-over! Oh no, he can’t score from that distance, it’s crazy, it’s impossible, oh my goodness, he cornered the ball, it’s IN!!!! It’s IN! Another
spectacular
goal! Another spectacular win! And it’s all thanks to Hot-Foot Henry, the greatest soccer star who’s ever lived!”

“Goal! Goal! Goal!” roared the crowd.

Hot-Foot Henry won the match! His teammates carried him through the fans, cheering and chanting, “Hen-ry! Hen-ry! Hen-ry!”

“HENRY!”

Horrid Henry looked up to see Miss Battle-Axe leaning over his table and glaring at him with her red eyes.

“What did I just say?”

“Henry,” said Horrid Henry.

Miss Battle-Axe scowled.

“I’m watching you, Henry,” she snapped. “Now class, please pay attention, we need to discuss—”

“Waaaaa!” wailed Weepy William.

“Susan, stop pulling my hair!” squealed Vain Violet.

“Miss!” shouted Inky Ian, “Ralph snatched my pen!”

“Did not!” shouted Rude Ralph.

“Did too!” shouted Inky Ian.

“Class! Be quiet!” bellowed Miss Battle-Axe.

“Waaaaa!” wailed Weepy William.

“Owwww!” squealed Vain Violet.

“Give it back!” shouted Inky Ian.

“Fine,” said Miss Battle-Axe, “we won’t talk about soccer.”

William stopped wailing.

Violet stopped squealing.

Ian stopped shouting.

Henry stopped daydreaming.

Everyone in the class stared at Miss Battle-Axe. Miss Battle-Axe wanted to talk about…soccer? Was this an alien Miss Battle-Axe?

“As you all know, our local team, Ashton Athletic, has reached the sixth round of the National Soccer Cup,” said Miss Battle-Axe.

“YAY!” shrieked the class.

“And I’m sure you all know what happened last night…”

Last night! Henry could still hear the announcer’s glorious words as he and Peter had gathered around the radio as the draw for round six was announced.

“Number 16, Ashton Athletic, will be playing…” there was a long pause as the announcer drew another ball from the hat…“number 7, Manhattan United.”

“Go Ashton!” shrieked Horrid Henry.

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted—” Miss Battle-Axe glared at Horrid Henry, “Ashton are playing Manhattan United in a few weeks. Every local elementary school has been given a pair of tickets. And thanks to my good luck in the teacher’s draw, the lucky winner will come from our class.”

“Me!” screamed Horrid Henry.

“Me!” screamed Moody Margaret.

“Me!” screamed Tough Toby, Aerobic Al, Fiery Fiona, and Brainy Brian.

“No one who shouts out will be getting anything,” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Our class will be playing a soccer match at lunchtime. The best player of the match will win the tickets. I’m the referee and my decision will be final.”

Horrid Henry was so stunned that for a moment he could scarcely breathe. National Soccer Cup tickets! National Soccer Cup tickets to see his local team Ashton play against Man U! Those tickets were like gold dust. Henry had begged and pleaded with Mom and Dad to get tickets, but naturally they were all sold out by the time Henry’s mean, horrible, lazy parents managed to heave their stupid bones to the phone. And now here was another chance to go to the match of the century!

Ashton Athletic had never got so far in the Cup. Sure, they’d knocked out the Tooting Tigers (chant: Toot Toot! Grrr!) the Pynchley Pythons and the Cheam Champions but—Manhattan United! Henry had to go to the game. He just had to. And all he had to do was be MVP.

There was just one problem. Unfortunately, the best soccer player in the class wasn’t Horrid Henry. Or Aerobic Al. Or Beefy Bert.

The best soccer player in the class was Moody Margaret. The second best player in the class was Moody Margaret.

The third best player in the class was Moody Margaret. It was so unfair! Why should Margaret of all people be so fantastic at soccer?

Horrid Henry was great at shirt pulling. Horrid Henry was superb at

screaming “Offside!” (whatever that meant). No one could howl “Come on, ref !” louder. And at toe treading, elbowing, barging, pushing, shoving, and tripping, Horrid Henry had no equal. The only thing Horrid Henry wasn’t good at was playing soccer.

But never mind. Today would be different. Today he would dig deep inside and find the power to be Hot-Foot Henry—for real. Today no one would stop him. National Soccer Cup match here I come, thought Horrid Henry gleefully.

Lunchtime!

Horrid Henry’s class dashed to the back playground, where the field was set up. Two sweatshirts either end marked the goals. A few parents gathered on the sidelines.

Miss Battle-Axe split the class into two teams: Aerobic Al was captain of Henry’s team, Moody Margaret was captain of the other.

There she stood in midfield, having nabbed a striker position, smirking confidently. Horrid Henry glared at her from the depths of the outfield.

“Na na ne nah nah, I’m sure to be MVP,” trilled Moody Margaret, sticking out her tongue at him. “And you-ooo won’t.”

“Shut up, Margaret,” said Henry. When he was king, anyone named Margaret would be boiled in oil and fed to the crows.

“Will you take me to the match, Margaret?” said Susan. “After all,
I’m
your best friend.”

Moody Margaret scowled. “Since when?”

“Since always!” wailed Susan.

“Huh!” said Margaret. “We’ll just have to see how nice you are to me, won’t we?”

“Take me,” begged Brainy Brian.

“Remember how I helped you with those fractions?”

“And called me stupid,” said Margaret. “Did not,” said Brian.

“Did too,” said Margaret.

Horrid Henry eyed his classmates. Everyone looking straight ahead, everyone determined to be MVP. Well, wouldn’t they be in for a shock when Horrid Henry waltzed off with those tickets!

“Go Margaret!” screeched Moody Margaret’s mom.

“Go Al!” screeched Aerobic Al’s dad.

“Everyone ready?” said Miss Battle-Axe. “Bert! Which team are you on?”

“I dunno,” said Beefy Bert.

Miss Battle-Axe blew her whistle.