Bella's Backyard Bullies Page 5

  We line up single-file and Grace takes first kick. Her dad dives for the ball but misses and it hits the back of the net.

  ‘Score!’ shouts one of the younger players.

  There are high-fives all round before Chloe takes a kick. She’s the first to admit she’s not very good at sport, but what she lacks in skill she makes up for with heart.

  Mr Bennett catches the ball effortlessly and rolls it back to us. ‘Not bad, Chloe,’ he says. ‘You almost got there.’

  One after the other the anti-princesses take turns. Grace’s dad catches four attempts and misses nine. I wonder if he’s taking it easy on us.

  ‘Your turn, Bella,’ he says. ‘Show us what you’ve got.’

  I kick the ball as hard as I can and Mr Bennett leaps into the air. He stretches his arms above his head and catches the ball with the tips of his fingers.

  He’s certainly not taking it easy on me.

  ‘Good try, Bella,’ he says. ‘Very high. I almost didn’t get it.’

  The team seems happy with its performance and so does Mr Bennett. ‘I’m pleasantly surprised,’ he says. ‘You must all train hard.’

  Grace mouths, ‘I told you so,’ and steps in front of her dad to address the team.

  Phweeeeeeeeeet. ‘Does everyone think it’s time to put forward our proposition?’

  Everyone squeals ‘YES!’ at once.

  Grace’s dad sighs. ‘I should’ve known I wasn’t here for a simple training session. Is this about the tournament again?’

  It’s time to put the pressure on.

  ‘We want to enter, Dad,’ Grace says. ‘Pleeease?’

  The rest of the team echoes Grace. ‘Pleeeeeeease?’

  Grace’s dad slaps himself in the forehead. He really ought to break that habit. ‘There aren’t any girls’ teams in the tournament,’ he says. ‘There’s no one for you to play. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What do you mean, there’s no one for us to play?’ Grace asks. ‘There are six teams in that tournament.’

  ‘But they’re boys,’ says Mr Bennett. ‘No girls’ teams.’

  I can feel the tempers of everyone in the team soaring. We’re like a pack of angry wolves about to pounce.

  ‘So?’ Grace asks.

  ‘So?’ Emily asks.

  ‘So?’ Chloe asks.

  ‘So?’ I ask.

  ‘SO?’ everyone asks.

  Grace’s dad takes three steps back, as if he’s been hit by a gigantic gust of wind. ‘I… uh, I …’

  We all take three steps forward. Mr Bennett doesn’t back away this time, just takes his hat off and shrugs hopelessly. ‘I guess there’s no rule to say a team of girls can’t enter.’

  The anti-princesses break into squeals. Everyone is jumping up and down as if they’ve already won a match. Or the entire tournament. Or the World Cup.

  We’re glued together in one big huddle.

  Except for Grace. Her arms are in a bear hug grip around her dad.

  As much as I try to ignore it, I can’t.

  The backyard is littered with eggshells. The stinky goo is still stuck to the walls. The police called to say they’ve got the evidence they needed so we’re free to start cleaning up. I just can’t muster the energy.

  Mum joins me on the deck. She hands me a hot chocolate in my favourite mug – I made it myself on a potter’s wheel.

  We sip and sadly stare at the slime-covered treehouse.

  ‘I know how upsetting this must be, Bella,’ she says. ‘That treehouse is almost sacred to you. Building it brought us together as a family, and you’ve had such special moments with your friends in it. It must feel horrible to have had something so special invaded.’

  Mum is right. My first mission when the Anti-Princess Club began was to design and build our headquarters. My whole family helped.

  ‘But you know what?’ Mum asks. ‘There are two ways you can handle this. One is to feel sad and be angry with the boys. That’s probably what they want, you know.’

  I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sitting here moping while the vermin Vernons are probably kicking a ball around without a care in the world. I’m letting them win.

  ‘The other way to handle this is to see it as an opportunity not just to clean up the treehouse but to give it an entire makeover,’ Mum continues. ‘I bet you have loads of ideas on how to improve upon the old design or decorate it. You haven’t really painted the inside. And, eventually, you can actually be grateful for those boys giving you the motivation to renovate.’

  She might be pushing it a little there. I can’t imagine ever being thankful to the vermin Vernons for vandalising our headquarters.

  I look at the treehouse again. My eyes drift to the second storey. We never seem to use that level. We’re always hanging out on the first floor.

  ‘Mum, you’ve given me an idea,’ I say. ‘I have been thinking about turning the secret storage area in the roof into a planetarium.’

  Mum laughs. ‘I knew you’d have something up your sleeve,’ she says. ‘A planetarium sounds like a great plan. A little complicated, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Bella.’

  I run inside to my room, grab a sketchpad and pencil and start drawing a gigantic dome.

  There’s a knock on the front door and I hear muffled voices.

  ‘Bella,’ Mum calls. ‘There’s someone here to see you.’

  Poo. I loathe being interrupted in the middle of a sketching frenzy. This had better be good.

  Constable Murphy is at the door. ‘Hello, Bella,’ she says. ‘We’ve concluded our investigation into the vandalism of your treehouse.’

  I wonder what that means. Have they caught the vermin Vernons? Maybe they’re in gaol.

  ‘After some questioning, the Vernon brothers admitted to causing the damage,’ Constable Murphy says. ‘They’ve also admitted to sending you some threatening messages online. The question for you is, how do we make them pay for it?’

  Mum glares at her. ‘Won’t they be charged? Isn’t that what happens to vandals? Not to mention trespassers, and thieves, and cyberbullies?’

  Constable Murphy looks at us sympathetically. ‘They’re just children. We were hoping you’d have some suggestions on how they could make amends.’

  I cut her off. I know exactly how I want the vermin Vernons to pay – beyond the soccer field.

  ‘They have to help the anti-princesses clean up and improve our headquarters,’ I say. ‘And return our stuff.’

  ‘I’ll have a chat to their parents,’ Constable Murphy says, making a note in her pad. ‘I’m sure they’ll be agreeable.’

  She clicks her pen and slides it back into her jacket.

  ‘Anti-princesses, hey?’ she asks. ‘I like the sound of that. I think I might be an anti-princess myself.’

  We call the room below Emily’s study the ‘torture chamber’. It’s her mum’s at-home beauty salon.

  Every now and then we hear a yelp echo through the floorboards. If I were the architect responsible I would have soundproofed the ground floor.

  ‘Someone must be getting some waxing done,’ Emily says.

  Chloe looks intrigued. I can tell her definition of ‘waxing’ is the scientific one: the time of the month when the moon’s illuminated surface is getting bigger.

  ‘Not that type of waxing, Chloe,’ Emily says. ‘It’s when women get hot wax poured over the hair on their bodies. Then my mum rips it off, pulling the hair off with it.’

  Chloe shrieks and rubs her hands across her legs. I wince and smooth down the hair on my arms. Grace covers her eyebrows as if they need protecting.

  Emily doesn’t bat an eyelid. She’s used to the sounds of pain that ring through her house.

  ‘I call this meeting of the Anti-Princess Club to order,’ she says. ‘Why did you want to meet at my place, Bella?’

  ‘Because the vermin Vernons are at the treehouse at this very moment,’ I say.

  The anti-princesses gasp, stunned.

  ‘They’re on cl
eaning duty,’ I continue. ‘As ordered by the police.’

  Emily grabs her belly and almost falls over laughing. Chloe hoots and Grace jumps in the air cheering.

  ‘And I’d like to propose another mission,’ I say. ‘I want to make an addition to the treehouse. I want to build a planetarium.’

  The anti-princesses nod enthusiastically – but they don’t know the catch.

  ‘And the Vernons will be helping,’ I add.

  Emily drops her laptop in shock. Grace freezes mid hamstring stretch. Chloe spits out a mouthful of water.

  ‘The police officer in charge of the investigation came back last night,’ I say. ‘She told me the boys admitted to the damage and she asked me how they might pay for it. Cleaning up was one thing, but it wasn’t enough.’

  Emily screws up her nose. She can think of a million other ways she’d rather get payback. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to see them suffer? Like getting them to scoop up dog poo around town? Or clean some toilets…with their toothbrushes?’

  Chloe likes this game. ‘How about making them walk to school in their undies? Or singing the national anthem in tiaras and tutus?’

  Grace throws in her two cents. ‘I think we should make them lick the bottoms of their shoes. Or eat a bunch of the fieriest chillies imported from Mexico.’

  The anti-princesses are hilarious – that’s one of the reasons I love them. But this is serious.

  I try to explain my reasoning. ‘They want us to feel sad and defeated, but I want to use this as a chance to make an even more amazing treehouse. And what better way to do that than force them to help?’

  We hear a door close and an engine start up. The yelping hairless woman has left.

  ‘Emily, can you come downstairs and help me tidy up?’ her mum calls out.

  Emily picks up her laptop and speedily types:

  ‘All in favour?’ she asks.

  Everyone slowly raises their hands.

  ‘I guess so,’ Chloe says. ‘Although I would’ve loved to see them in tutus, cleaning toilets and licking the bottoms of their shoes.’

  The piece of black paper is rotating so quickly that the sand, rice and glitter are a blur.

  I’m not sure what is spinning more: the record player or my head.

  Chloe and Michael Vernon are proudly standing beside their project, watching it spin.

  Ms Bayliss sticks gold stars on their shirt collars. ‘Good work, guys. Can you explain to the other students what we’re seeing here?’

  Chloe flicks a switch and the paper slows down. ‘When the sand, rice and glitter spin, we see a ring – just like the phenomenon of the rings we see around the planet Saturn.’

  Michael turns the record player back on. ‘So what we’re learning is that Saturn’s rings aren’t solid. They’re are made up of gazillions of small particles that orbit around the planet.’

  Chloe smiles at Michael and heads back to her place at our desk.

  ‘There’s only one strange phenomenon in this class right now, Chloe,’ I tell her. ‘And that’s your new friendship with the vermin Vernon.’

  Chloe elbows me. ‘We’re not friends,’ she whispers. ‘We were just partners for this project.’

  Michael stays at the front of the classroom and whispers something to Ms Bayliss.

  Ms Bayliss wheels out a projector, pulls down the blinds and turns off the light. Michael plugs the projector into Ms Bayliss’s computer and slips a USB stick into the drive.

  A bright star appears on the wall.

  The smile quickly disappears from Chloe’s face. She looks angry. No, outraged.

  Ms Bayliss is awestruck. It’s as though she’s been slapped in the face with a wet trout. ‘Oh my goodness, is that a comet, Michael?’

  I should’ve known. The vermin Vernon not only stole Chloe’s USB stick, he’s about to take credit for her discovery.

  ‘Not so fast, vermin!’ I shout.

  Ms Bayliss swiftly turns on her high heels and points at me. ‘Bella Singh, how very rude! I don’t know what’s come over you. To the principal’s office, now.’

  ‘But, Ms Bayliss,’ I say. ‘You need to know the truth.’

  She stomps a heel. ‘Out!’ she yells, pointing at the door. ‘Now!’

  Michael holds up two fingers in a peace sign. ‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘Calm down, everyone.’

  ‘Bella didn’t do anything wrong, Ms Bayliss,’ Chloe says. ‘It’s Michael, he stole my USB stick. He’s the one who should be in trouble.’

  Ms Bayliss pulls up the blinds and turns on the light. ‘What on earth is going on?’

  Michael giggles. ‘Maybe the question should be, what in space is going on?’

  Rat Vermin is the only one who laughs.

  ‘I admit I stole your photos, Chloe,’ Michael says, wiping the smile from his face. ‘Matt swapped your USB stick with another one from Bella’s living room. We took it when we were in there playing video games with her little brother.’

  I cringe as Matt slumps in his chair.

  ‘But we had no idea what was on your stick, Chloe,’ Michael continues. ‘I thought it would be some boring homework.’

  Chloe crosses her arms. She’s not buying Michael’s story.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw the filename “Comet Discovery” and then the comet,’ Michael says. ‘I wanted to make it up to you by showing the whole class what an amazing discovery you’ve made.’

  Ms Bayliss flops into her chair and takes off her heels, looking fed up. ‘So, what you’re saying is, Chloe discovered this comet. And you stole her photos.’

  Michael blushes. This isn’t how he imagined things would turn out. ‘I’m sorry. We’re already in trouble with the police and our parents. Chloe can have all the photos back now.’

  Ms Bayliss ejects the stick from her computer and hands it to Chloe. ‘We’d better get these to the observatory quick smart, Chloe. And Michael, you’d better go to Mrs O’Neill’s office.’

  Michael hangs his head. ‘Sorry again,’ he says. ‘But I thought the comet was awesome.’

  Chloe curls her fingers around the USB stick. ‘Stop,’ she calls as Michael opens the door. ‘Thank you for saying my discovery is awesome. And thank you for returning the photos.’

  Wonders of the universe never cease.

  A sea of striped soccer jerseys gathers around Grace’s dad to hear the draw for the tournament.

  He passes a piece of paper to me and I push it straight to Grace. I figure she, as captain-coach, deserves the honour of announcing the playing order.

  Grace glances at the draw, then folds it up. She’s not giving anything away just yet.

  ‘Follow me, anti-princesses,’ she says. ‘We need to go through our game plan.’

  We jog after her to the dressing sheds, where we sit in a circle with Grace in the middle.

  Emily can’t take the suspense. ‘How many games do we play? Do you need me to calculate the odds of us winning? How about a formula for us to get to the final?’

  ‘There’s no maths involved, Emily,’ Grace says. ‘It’s a sudden death tournament.’

  One of the younger players swallows loudly, her eyes bulging. I can’t help but giggle as I realise she has taken ‘sudden death’ too literally.

  ‘Sudden death means as soon as you lose a match you’re knocked out of the tournament,’ Grace explains.

  The younger player looks relieved, but Chloe, Emily and I are petrified. A sudden death tournament could mean we don’t get to play the vermin Vernons. And if we don’t get to play the vermin Vernons we don’t get to complete our mission.

  The corners of Grace’s lips curl up. She throws the paper on the floor and pumps her fists like a boxer getting ready to enter the ring.

  ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’ Chloe asks.

  Grace laughs. ‘It helps having a dad who also happens to be one of the tournament organisers,’ she says. ‘He knew about our mission to beat the vermin Vernons, so he made sure – with some hassling fro
m me – that we’d go head-to-head in round one!’

  Everyone leaps to their feet as Grace starts her pep talk. ‘Now, let’s not lose focus out there. It only takes one moment of brilliance to win a game.’ She touches her toes. ‘Dad says the vermin Vernons are great attackers, so we need to be strong in defence. Let’s keep them away from the goals. If we can keep them scoreless right to the end, we only need one great shot to claim victory.’

  Grace points at me and Chloe. ‘Bella, you can put your bodyguard skills to work as a defender. Chloe, I know you’re not the most confident player, so just do your best to back up Bella in defence.’

  Three other players are allocated defensive positions.

  ‘We’ll also have four midfielders,’ Grace says. ‘And one all-important striker to score that crucial goal we need to win.’

  She holds her palm out and everyone stacks a hand on top.

  ‘We all know we’re just as good as them,’ she says. ‘But today we’re going to be even better. Goooooooooooo Anti-Princess Club!’

  ‘Gooooooooooo Anti-Princess Club!’ we repeat, throwing our hands into the air.

  Everyone runs out of the sheds to the field. The vermin Vernons and the rest of their team are already in position, waiting to kick off.

  ‘About time,’ Matt says. ‘Now let’s get this over with so we can move on to the games with the real teams.’

  No one takes the Vernons’ bait. We’re too focused for lame heckling.

  Grace surprises us all by pulling on the goalkeeper’s gloves.

  Emily counts as everyone takes their places. ‘Hang on – that only leaves me as striker.’

  Grace kicks her the ball. ‘That’s right. Like I said, winning the game only takes one moment of precision. Scoring is all about angles – we need a mathematician to plant that goal.’

  Emily nods nervously and runs to her spot up the front. She passes the ball to Matt so the game can begin.

  A few of the vermin and their teammates laugh. They’re positioned much differently, with five forwards and just a few defenders.

  Phweeeeeeet.

  The boys attack.