First published in 2008
Copyright © Text, Chris Wheat 2008
Copyright © illustrations on
â£
and
â¦
, Heath McKenzie 2008
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(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (
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A
LLEN
& U
NWIN
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest
NSW
2065
Australia
Phone   | (61 2) 8425 0100 |
Fax   | (61 2) 9906 2218 |
Email   | [email protected] |
Web   | www.allenandunwin.com |
N
ATIONAL
L
IBRARY OF
A
USTRALIA
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Wheat, Chris, 1949-
Screw loose / author, Chris Wheat.
ISBN 978 1 74175 495 7 (pbk.)
A823.3
Cover and text design by Bruno Herfst
Set in 10/14 pt Bohemia by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Photo
by Kerensa Low and Raffaele Ammirati
Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group
10Â Â 9Â Â 8Â Â 7Â Â 6Â Â 5Â Â 4Â Â 3Â Â 2Â Â 1
Contents
FIFTY MILLION SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRLS
IS THIS ABOUT YOU? OR IS IT ABOUT ME
A BIT OF A PROBLEM AT BARBECUES
JUST LIKE THE PERSON SITTING NEXT TO YOU
START UP THE MIRROR BALL, BABE
HIS IMMACULATE HANDBALLING SKILLS
THE FORTYFIVE CENTIMETRE RULE WAS BREACHED!
Start the day in an interesting way
SUBTLY, EVERY AEROPLANE IS DIFFERENT
W
HAT'S IT LIKE
to be drafted into an
Afl
team when you're seventeen and then break your little finger in the first five minutes of your first match? To find your photo on the front page of the paper on Monday, holding up your broken finger, your girlfriend beside you hiding under your jumper?
Angelo re-read the caption: Schoolboy Angelo Tarano, impressive draft for the AFL's newby team the Hobart Cockatoos, shows off his broken finger while girlfriend Candibelle Brown hides under his Cockies guernsey. Angelo is a Year 11 student at Vistaview Secondary College and one of this year's most sought-after recruits.
He swore softly to himself. She'd called herself Candibelle Brown. As if. He was crazy about her.
His phone twinkled and he checked the screen. It was the assistant manager, Paul Vasilevski, ringing from Hobart.
âAngelo! Paul here. Seen the newspaper?'
âYes.'
âWe're not too happy down here, old chum. Not too happy to see you on the front page without our permission. Who's this Candibelle?'
âUm, my girlfriend.'
âI can read. What kind of a name is Candibelle Brown? She's not a lap dancer, is she?'
He laughed. âNo!'
âWhat's with the club-guernsey-over-the-head caper?'
âShe's shy.'
âShy?'
Angelo paced his bedroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror, then his eyes returned to the picture spread out on his doona. At least
he
looked pretty good. If the Cockies thing went pear-shaped he could probably become a male model. He smiled at himself in the mirror, the way you do.
âIt's bloody strange, isn't it?' Paul went on. âClub guernsey over the head? Makes you look like a bit of an idiot having a girlfriend who does that.'
âI guess.' He was starting to feel a bit irritated. This joker was way too pushy. And why wasn't he asking about the finger?
âIt's not Cockies style, Angelo.'
Still, he had to stay sweet with them. âYes, sir,' he said, sounding a bit sarcastic without intending to.
âYou two a major item?'
âMajor. She's fantastic.'
âWell, the club isn't happy, mate. This Candibelle doesn't fit the image we're trying to create for you â young schoolboy star. She's right out of left field, Angelo. We want you young players to have girlfriends, but she's not family-friendly, if you get my drift. And we like them normal, Angelo. That's what life's about. She looks as if she's got kangaroos loose in the top paddock.'
He was angry now.
You want to play
Afl
, you shut your trap
and put up with them taking over your life
, that's what his dad and his nonno told him. But Vasilevski taking over his lovelife? No way! âShe's just shy!'
Paul changed his tone. âOkay buddy, back off ⦠Next time there's a photographer on the loose, just make sure you don't let your girlfriend start this guernsey-over-the-head business again. Okay?'
âOkay.'
Paul hung up abruptly without saying goodbye. Angelo grunted, threw his phone on the bed, and was about to punch the wall when he remembered that good players use their heads not their emotions. This was the pressure they'd warned him about. The club was going to pay him heaps, and he owed them one hundred per cent loyalty, one hundred per cent of his time, one hundred per cent of his life.
Life was going to get tough â they'd all told him that â but one day he would be a Cocky icon, maybe an
Afl
icon. They were putting him in the New Drafts calendar:
The Boys Come
Out To Play
. That was an honour. He thought of all the articles in his parents' scrapbook:
Tarano's Stunning Debut; Cockies
Snare Tarano in National Draft; Angelo's Got the X-factor; Cocky
Angelo Champs at the Bit.
He'd become famous before he'd even played a game. And extra famous after yesterday's little-finger-five-minutes-into-the-first-game effort. Kind of.
The phone twinkled again. It was Paul.
âAngelo! Forgot to ask. You wearing your boxers at the moment?'