Chasing a Rugby Dream E-Book

James Hook

• Herausgeber: Arena Sport
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Chasing a Rugby Dream
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 348

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Winner of the Telegraph Sports Book Awards Children's Book of the Year Small, skinny and short-sighted . . . and dazzlingly talented. Jimmy Joseph loves rugby. All he dreams about is one day playing for his country in a World Cup, or winning a Test series for the Lions with a last-minute drop-goal. But when he kicks an up-and-under in the schoolyard and accidentally hits the new head of PE, Mr Kane, on the head, he makes a powerful enemy. Jimmy and his best friends – Manu, Scott and Kitty – try to prove their worth on the rugby field, but to no avail. Mr Kane has it out for them, and he's being helped by team captain Mike Green, well known as the school bully. Can Jimmy and his friends overcome the tyranny of Mr Kane and help Mike see the error of his ways? Or will the combination of bullying, pressure and dirty tactics derail the friends' rugby careers before they have even begun? An epic new rugby series begins here!

Leseprobe

CHASING A RUGBY DREAM

BOOK ONE

KICK-OFF

‘The perfect book for any parent to read with their kids.I absolutely loved it!’

SAM WARBURTONWALES AND THE BRITISH & IRISH LIONS

‘James Hook has nailed it. A book packed with positivemessages – what young rugby fans have been waiting for’

ALAN PEAREYRUGBY WORLD

‘Jimmy Joseph is one to watch. Kick Off does what is says on thecover: kicks off a great new series about a young rugby player’slife on and off the pitch. I can’t wait to read more’

TOM PALMERAWARD-WINNING CHILDREN’S AUTHOR

‘A great read, brilliantly written. It teaches lessonsabout rugby, both on and off the field.’

LEIGH HALFPENNYWALES AND THE BRITISH & IRISH LIONS

‘Read this with my rugby-mad son and we both enjoyedit immensely – it really is a book for all ages’

SHANE WILLIAMSWALES AND THE BRITISH & IRISH LIONS

‘A great read. The perfect book to encouragekids to follow their rugby dreams’

TOMMY BOWEIRELAND AND THE BRITISH & IRISH LIONS

‘This book is a go-to every night before bed with myrugby adoring sons. A great read for young and old’

GREIG LAIDLAWSCOTLAND AND THE BRITISH & IRISH LIONS

‘Loved this book! It’s so good, even I mighthave struggled to get into this school team!’

MIKE PHILLIPSWALES AND THE BRITISH & IRISH LIONS

‘Smashing stereotypes, this brilliant book is worth more than abonus point. Moving and magnificent, as well as one of the mostexciting and confidence-inspiring stories I’ve read. Guaranteed to be agrand slam series; essential reading for rugby fans whatever your age.’

SCOTT EVANSTHE READER TEACHER AND #PRIMARYSCHOOLBOOKCLUB

CHASING A RUGBY DREAM

BOOK ONE

KICK-OFF

JAMES HOOK

withDAVID BRAYLEY

This edition first published in 2020 by

POLARIS PUBLISHING LTDc/o Aberdein Considine2nd Floor, Elder HouseMultrees WalkEdinburghEH1 3DX

Distributed byBirlinn Limited

www.polarispublishing.com

Text copyright © James Hook and David Brayley, 2020

ISBN: 9780957507678eBook ISBN: 9780957507685

The right of James Hook and David Brayley to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

The views expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions or policies of Polaris Publishing Ltd (Company No. SC401508) (Polaris), nor those of any persons, organisations or commercial partners connected with the same (Connected Persons). Any opinions, advice, statements, services, offers, or other information or content expressed by third parties are not those of Polaris or any Connected Persons but those of the third parties. For the avoidance of doubt, neither Polaris nor any Connected Persons assume any responsibility or duty of care whether contractual, delictual or on any other basis towards any person in respect of any such matter and accept no liability for any loss or damage caused by any such matter in this book.

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.

All names and trademarks are the property of their respective owners, which are in no way associated with Polaris Publishing Ltd. Use of these names does not imply any cooperation or endorsement.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication DataA catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library.

Designed and typeset by Polaris Publishing, EdinburghPrinted in Great Britain by Clays, St Ives

This book is dedicated to my wife, Kim, and my three boys, Harrison, Ollie and George, along with my parents, grandparents, brother, sister and my in-laws. Thanks for always backing me.

J.H.

For Debbie, Georgia and Olivia, thanks, always, for your support. Also, my mum, Marilyn, my biggest supporter.

D.B.

CONTENTS

Rugby Dreams

Off to School

The Stray Kick

From Bad to Worse

Rugby Homework

Kitty

No Breath

Girls Can Play Too

Waiting on the Line

The Statement

The Fight

Bully, Bully

Detention

Rugby on the Brain

Theatre of Dreams

Kicking King

The Challenge

Words of Wisdom

The Kicking Competition

The Race

Girl Power

Hanging on in There

The Nightmare Continues

Leave the Boy Alone

Picking the Wrong Fight

A Cheat’s Charter

Foul Play

Hard Truths

An Early Start

It’s Over

Fun, Fun, Fun

The Replay

The Bombshell

A Final Roll of the Dice

The Most Precious Prize

Game Prep

The Team Talk

The Final

The Final Kick

Epilogue: The Letter

Acknowledgements

Chasing a Rugby Dream: Youtube Skills

RUGBY DREAMS

JIMMY WATCHED the ball as it looped down towards him, swirling in the still sky. Without thinking, he shifted his weight to his left side, caught the ball in the crook of his arms and clutched it firmly to his chest as the onrushing defenders closed in to tackle him. As the opposition flanker readied himself for a bone-crushing hit, Jimmy stopped dead on the spot then jinked to the right, sending the flanker flying past him. Not even waiting to see who was next to try to smash him, Jimmy dropped the ball to the floor right in front of him, planted his left foot firmly into the turf, and just as the point of the oval ball kissed the lush green grass and bounced briefly upwards, Jimmy swung his right foot effortlessly through it, sending the ball sailing skywards. Time seemed to stand still. The capacity crowd in the stadium fell silent as they watched the ball on its way, arrowing towards the perfect white posts, spinning end-over-end into the floodlit sky. Everyone was focused on the ball – 80,000 spectators in the stands, millions more watching on TV. Everyone except Jimmy. He was looking at the clock. He knew when he struck the ball that it would go over – it was the time that was more important. Just one second after the clock turned to 80:00 and changed to red, Jimmy’s incredible fifty-eight-metre drop-kick dived over the bar and into the arms of the distraught All Black full back, standing behind the posts. Jimmy swung around and jumped as high as he could, punching the air and screaming with delight.

‘Get in!’ he cried and ran to the touchline to celebrate with his adoring fans, who were uncontrollable with delight. Scoring the winning drop-goal in a Rugby World Cup final against New Zealand in the last minute should be enjoyed, and Jimmy was determined to make the most of it.

Among the cheers ringing in Jimmy’s ears was a voice. A voice he recognised.

‘Jimmy,’ it called. ‘Jimmy!’ It got louder. ‘JIMMY!’ He recognised it . . . it was his mum.

Jimmy swung around, embarrassed. The screaming crowds at the stadium vanished. His cheering teammates disappeared instantly like ghosts. The Kiwi flanker lying on the turf in disbelief and despair, gone.

‘What have I told you about kicking that blinking rugby ball so near the windows? You’ve broken two already, if you do it again, I’m throwing that stupid ball out . . . now be more careful!’

And with that, Jimmy’s mother turned around, walked over the pavement, up to the open front door of their small terraced house they shared with Jimmy’s younger sister Julie and older brother Jonny, and slammed the door behind her.

Jimmy looked down at the rough tarmac surface he was kneeling on. It was not the beautiful green grass that he had so vividly imagined he’d been playing on. He looked towards the fence that led to the empty waste ground behind his house and searched for his ball. The fence was about as far removed from the tall white posts he had imagined as it was possible to get. He saw his scruffy, dirty and worn old rugby ball lying beside a tyre that was half hidden among tufts of long grass in the dusty earth of the waste ground. It wasn’t the World Cup match ball he always pretended he was playing with.

Dreams over, back to reality.

But as he climbed over the fence to retrieve his ball, the sense of joy from his perfectly struck kick still coursed through him. He loved that he could lose himself so easily in his dreams. The street and the waste ground were his own personal rugby fields. He was never happier than kicking his ball about on them, believing that he was running out at some of the world’s greatest rugby stadiums, playing through hundreds of different scenarios in his head – snatching victory at the death, sidestepping and pirouetting his way to glory, performing feats that would leave commentators breathless and his name on the lips of every rugby fan on the planet.

Jimmy walked to his ball and toe poked it so that it bounced off the tyre, then flicked it up behind him with his right foot before turning and catching it. He threw a smooth dummy to an imaginary teammate, then dropped the ball onto his left foot, deftly chipping it over a would-be defender before regathering the ball as it bounced up from the uneven ground, pleased that he’d put just the right amount of backspin on it. Then, in one flowing movement, he dummied again, tying the covering wing in knots, before sidestepping the full back and running in another match-winning try under the posts.

‘And it’s Jimmy Joseph with another spectacular finish! Is there anything this boy can’t do?’

Jimmy looked around, a little embarrassed, but beamed when he caught sight of his grandfather, Will, leaning over the garden fence at the back of his house, which was just a couple of doors along from his own.

‘You’ll be playing for the Wolves in no time,’ called Will.

Jimmy jogged back towards him, chipping the ball to himself as he ran. ‘Thanks, Gramp,’ he said, his face still lightly flushed.

‘Honestly, I’ve not seen many with talent like yours,’ said Will, ‘and I’ve been watching rugby for sixty years!’

He took a sip from his white tin mug and Jimmy watched as the steam from the hot, strong tea drifted away on the gentle late-summer breeze. Clearly surprised by how hot the tea was, Will let out a little yelp as it burnt his tongue, and accidently sent his false teeth clattering into the mug.

‘Urgh, Gramp, that’s gross!’ cried Jimmy, but he was barely able to get the words out through his laughter as Will scooped up his teeth and jammed them back in his mouth.

‘Perils of war, my lad,’ coughed Will, also laughing.

‘What, you lost your teeth in the war, did you? Mum said it was because you ate loads of sweets as a kid.’

‘Libel! Nonsense! Fake news! I hate sweet things.’

‘So there aren’t five sugars in your tea, then?’

‘No, not a drop,’ said Will, covering the tea with his hand as if the sugar granules might float to the surface.

‘Uh-huh,’ said Jimmy dryly. ‘All right then, tell me what happened to your teeth in the war . . .’ He always loved listening to his grandfather’s stories, even though he never really knew if they were made up or not.

‘Well, it was back in 1967. Long time before you were born. I was stationed out in Aden—’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Ah, well, it’s not called that anymore, of course. It’s South Yemen now, in the Middle East, south of Saudi Arabia. But back then it was Aden. And it was hot . . . hotter than hell – hotter than this tea, which I appear to have made with lava.’

Jimmy barked a laugh.

‘Anyway, Aden. Hot, dusty, and there we are: a bunch of pasty boys out fighting a war. We used to ride camels in the desert and one day one of my mates bet me a week’s rations that I wouldn’t kiss one of the camels. So I went in for this big smooch but the camel was having none of it. He turned his face and slapped me with his hoof – and all my teeth fell out. Can you imagine, rejected by a camel! And it costs me all my lovely, perfect teeth!’

Jimmy was bent over with laughter. ‘That never happened! No way!’

‘I’m telling you. All true.’ But there was a glint in Will’s eye.

‘Actually, talking about Aden,’ he continued, ‘there was a boy out there with me who you remind me of. He was from Gloucester, was rugby daft. Good player, too. Small like you, but quick like you, too. Skills not quite as good as you, though.’ He paused, frowning a little. ‘I think his name was Harry . . . Harry Dyer? Harry Dalton? Oh, it was such a long time ago, I can’t quite remember. Anyway, there was this one time we were out on patrol and the rebel forces had just taken Crater, which was an important town. We were on patrol, trying to get a foothold back in Crater when we were shot at by a sniper. We had to take cover and were pinned down behind a low wall. We couldn’t move because of the sniper, so we all just had to keep our heads down and wait for reinforcements. It was a serious situation. But then Harry saw it, and he just had to have it . . . silly fool.’ Will stopped, as if suddenly lost in the details of the story.

‘Saw what, Gramp? The sniper?’

‘No, no, not the sniper,’ said Will, snapping back to the moment.

‘None of us could see him, he was totally hidden, we didn’t have a clue where he was. No, what Harry saw was a rugby ball – a tattered old rugby ball, just lying out in the rubble.’

‘A rugby ball? In a battle? Come on, that can’t be right, Gramp.’ Jimmy was beginning to think that this was going to be yet another tall tale.

‘Yes, a rugby ball!’ Will cried. His eyes were wide and Jimmy could see he was telling the truth. ‘You see, just a few weeks before, Crater had been just a normal town with streets and houses and shops and people living and going about their business. When the rebels moved in, the civilians were all forced out and just scarpered, leaving all their belongings behind. And one of those things was a rugby ball!

‘I can remember it so clearly. It was about ten yards from where we were and it was clear it had once been a cracker – brown leather and with laces – and there it was, just sitting in the gutter. Well, as soon as he saw it, Harry shouted to me, “I’m having that, Will!” and he crawled out to go and get it.’

‘Was he insane? What happened?’ asked Jimmy.

Will threw his head back and started to roar with laughter.

‘No, he wasn’t insane – just a kid who was obsessed with rugby! So he crawled out to go get this ball but just as he moved out from behind the wall, a shot rang out, like a firecracker in an empty church. The shot was followed straight away by a big “clang”. We all looked at young Harry, thinking he must be dead. But all we could see was him sitting there, startled, bolt upright like a telegraph pole, with the tin hat on his head spinning round like a tornado where the sniper’s bullet had glanced off it! It was the funniest thing we’d ever seen.’

Jimmy’s eyes were wide, now as lost in the story as Will was in the telling.

‘But before we could even start to laugh, our huge Sergeant Major – I remember him, Fred Ridge – shouted out “GET DOWN, PRIVATE!” which, luckily, Harry did. Just as Harry hit the floor, another shot from the sniper thumped into the wall behind him. That one woke Harry up a bit, so he spun round on a sixpence, dragged himself across the floor to the wall like the fastest snake you’ve ever seen, and somehow managed to clamber back behind cover before a third shot rang out. This one was close, and hit the frame of the rifle that Harry had slung over his shoulder. It broke his rifle, but saved his life. I’ll never forget the sound of the bullet ricocheting over our heads and into the wall behind us. It was just like you hear in the films. Incredible.’

Jimmy paused for a moment, absorbed in the detail of his grandfather’s story.

‘Wow, that must have been really scary, Gramp.’

‘Scary? No, not really,’ said Will, chuckling again as he spoke, running his fingers through the thinning grey hair on his head. ‘As I say, it was one of the funniest things any of us had ever seen! And what was even funnier, was that just as Harry peeked out to see if the ball was still there, another shot rang out, but this time it completely destroyed the thing the sniper was aiming at. He’d got his prize.’

Jimmy’s face changed from one of interest to one of horror.

‘What? He hit Harry, Gramp? In the head? Was he killed?’

‘No!’ cried Will. ‘The ball. The sniper shot the ball! It just exploded in front of us! He obviously wasn’t a rugby fan like we all were. And poor Harry was more disappointed that the ball was destroyed than horrified that he’d nearly been shot dead on a dusty street thousands of miles from home!’

Will paused for a moment, shaking his head at the memories, before he took some more tea from his mug – this time, just a sip.

‘They were great days, Jimmy, great days. And you know what, it reminds me of rugby.’

‘What, war does?’

‘No, no, no. Being part of a team. Working together. Sharing goals and achieving them as a group. Having a laugh with your friends. Those are the things you remember most as you get older. That’s the point – rugby’s a game. Take it seriously, go out and try to win, work hard to make yourself better – but when you’re out there, enjoy being with your pals on the field. You can be the most talented player in the world, but if you don’t work with the team, if you don’t support them and look after them, then they won’t support and look after you. And without them, you’ll achieve nothing. You understand?’

‘Yeah, s’pose so.’

‘Good lad.’

Jimmy’s mum came out in her garden then and stared across the wasteland for a moment before spotting Will and Jimmy chatting. ‘All right you two, enough gabbing. Jimmy, it’s time for tea and then homework.’

‘Ugh, do I have to?’ moaned Jimmy.

‘In here, now. Otherwise that ball’s getting thrown in the bin.’

‘I’d get going if I were you,’ whispered Will with a knowing wink. ‘We both know she’s a terror if she gets cross.’

Jimmy smiled and rolled his eyes. He flicked the ball onto the tips of his fingers and spun it around like a top before walking the few strides to his garden fence. He leapt over it in one fluid motion and disappeared inside, still spinning the ball as he went, as if what he’d just done was the easiest thing in the world.

Catherine stared after him, with a small shake of her head. ‘Kids. What can you do with them, eh, Dad?’

Will smiled. ‘Listen to you! You were a right handful when you were growing up . . .’

‘I was not—’

‘I tell you what, mind, he’s got talent,’ interrupted Will, his smile broadening into a grin. ‘I keep forgetting he’s only ten.’ He let out a long whistle in admiration. ‘Even Jonny wasn’t as good at that age.’

Catherine nodded slowly. She knew both her sons were talented rugby players, and she wanted to support them with all their sporting dreams – but she also knew it was tough for anyone to make it to the top in sport. Of all the millions of kids who dreamed of being a professional footballer or rugby player or golfer – or a professional in whatever sport they loved – only a few ever achieved it. And fewer still went on to cement their name in legend as Jonny and Jimmy dreamed of doing.

Will seemed to read her mind. ‘Believe me, he’s got it all,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve never seen a kid like him. If he works hard, he could be special.’ He paused, before continuing. ‘If he works hard.’

OFF TO SCHOOL

‘JIMMY! COME on, you’re going to be late!’ shouted Catherine up the stairs. ‘What’s the Monday motto?’

‘Start Monday with purpose, and the rest of the week will take care of itself,’ mouthed Jimmy in perfect timing as his mother called out the words. Jimmy leant forward and reached for his tube of gel on the sink. Squirting a little bit on to his fingertips, he swept it quickly through his dark brown hair until the floppy fringe was transformed into a proud peak. Happy with his work, he washed his hands, swept up his black framed glasses and ran straight back into his bedroom to grab his back pack.

By the time he made it downstairs, his little sister Julie and big brother Jonny were both already out of the door and on their way to school.

‘Why are you always the last in the mornings?’ sighed Catherine, throwing his backpack over his shoulders and bustling him towards the door. ‘You know I haven’t got time to mess about with you before work – why can’t you be more like your brother and sister?’

Jimmy knew his mum was right, but he always loved to watch rugby films on YouTube on her iPad first thing in the morning. He’d find one from the Rugby Greats channel and lose himself watching the legendary players of the past. It was the perfect way to start his day. But he always tried to squeeze an extra play out and, inevitably, he would end up being last out the door.

Despite his protestations that he wasn’t hungry, she crammed two slices of toast in his hand as he swept out the door. ‘It’s the most important meal of the day!’ she cried as he skipped down the short path to the pavement, before turning right and jogging down the road, dodging the dog poo on the pavement that had been left by Mrs Lewis’s Great Dane. Why doesn’t she just pick it up? Jimmy thought to himself as he narrowly missed a mound that was like a mini Mount Everest of disgustingness! But he knew that Mrs Lewis had been having a difficult time of late, so it wasn’t her fault really, he just wished her huge dog would do his mountain-sized poos somewhere else. ‘Doesn’t she realise that’s the halfway line?’ he asked under his breath.

Managing to make it through the minefield of dog dirt unscathed, Jimmy reached the end of his road and turned right towards his school. It was less than half a mile to Central Primary and his mum usually liked to walk him there if she could.

‘I just don’t know why more parents don’t let their kids walk to school,’ had been her favourite topic of conversation in recent days with her friend, Jeanette. ‘It’s ridiculous, all these mothers in their Land Rovers in our little village, clogging up the pavements just so they can all get in the yard for a gossip before they go to the hairdressers . . . they want to get jobs like us, Jeanette, and see how the other half live!’

Jimmy loved his mum. He knew she’d had it hard since his dad had left home and she often had to work double-shifts to help pay the bills – that, as much as anything, fuelled his dream to be a professional athlete one day. He’d buy her a new house, one of those cars she was always complaining about, and she could do any job she wanted, not just the one she had to do to make ends meet.

Jimmy felt a bump on his shoulder, which woke him out of his daydream and nearly knocked his glasses off.

‘All right, Jim?’ It was his best mate, Matt.

‘Hey, watch the glasses!’ said Jimmy, swiping a playful punch at Matt, who dodged out of the way.

‘Ooooooh, stroppy boy on a Monday morning,’ laughed Matt as he bumped into Jimmy’s shoulder again. ‘No need to get all Anthony Joshua on me!’

‘You break them more often than I do!’ muttered Jimmy, sliding his glasses back in place, but keeping hold of one arm just in case Matt jumped on him again.

Before Matt could have another go, they were joined by Manu, another of their rugby-playing gang.

‘All right, booooooys?’ shouted Manu, ‘you heard the news about old Mr Lloyd?’

‘What? He’s not giving us another one of those surprise tests, is he?’ asked Jimmy, his face sagging at the prospect of a Monday morning maths test.

‘Oh man, hope not,’ said Matt. ‘He absolutely slaughtered me last time when I only got five right.’

‘Old Mr Lloyd won’t be slaughtering anyone anymore,’ interrupted Manu.

‘Why?’ asked both Jimmy and Matt in unison.

‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘You know he wasn’t in last week?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jimmy.

‘He was on a course, wasn’t he?’ asked Matt.

‘Nah, that’s just what they told us. My mum’s best friend is Debbie, the school secretary. She was over at ours last night, and I heard her telling Mum that Mr Lloyd wasn’t away on a course – he’s ill, and he might not be coming back. Ever. No Monday morning maths test today, boys . . . no need to worry about that.’

Manu skipped happily ahead, before shouting back over his shoulder.

‘We’ve got a new teacher.’

THE STRAY KICK

OLD MR Lloyd was the only topic of conversation in the schoolyard that morning.

By the time Jimmy, Matt and Manu made it to the old Victorian shelter at the end of the top yard, to dump their bags by the column that made one of the two rugby posts of their imaginary break-time stadium, they’d been told by various friends exactly what had happened to the unfortunate Mr Lloyd.

Depending on who they spoke to, he’d either had a stroke, a heart attack, got cancer, had a car crash, had brain surgery, had died, had not died, was in a home, had Alzheimer’s or had broken his neck falling off a balcony at the golf club. Oh, or he might have been kidnapped. He sounded as if he was the unluckiest man alive. Or dead. Nobody really knew.

The three boys got together and Manu reached into his backpack and pulled out a rugby ball.

‘We’ll find out about Old Lloydy soon enough,’ he shouted. ‘Quick game of touch before registration?’ and he drop-kicked the ball to Jimmy, who caught it effortlessly, leant back and punted the ball as high as he could into the sky above the yard – the little party piece he always did before they began their first game of the day.

As the boys watched the ball climb higher and higher into the sky – everyone always marvelled at this, nobody could kick the ball as powerfully as Jimmy, not even the Year 6 boys – the head teacher, Mr Davies, walked into the top yard, accompanied by a tall, stern-looking man in a tracksuit.

Mr Davies was deep in conversation with the man, pointing out various parts of the school buildings. None of the boys paid much notice to Mr Davies and his visitor, who was probably just a parent of a new kid in school; they were too focussed on the ball high above them.

They watched as the ball soared into the morning sky, until it stopped, seemed to hover for a moment, and then began to hurtle back down towards them.

But then from nowhere, a gust of wind swept across the yard. It caught the ball, and swerved it away from the area by the shelter, where the boys were standing, towards the centre of the yard. Right to where Mr Davies and the man were walking away, back towards the school reception.

The entire yard full of children seemed to freeze as they watched the spinning ball arrow downwards towards the head teacher.

Jimmy, Matt and Manu all wanted to shout out a warning, but as they opened their mouths, no sound came out. It was too late anyway.

Just as it looked as if the ball was going to hit Mr Davies smack on top of the head, the flight of the ball curved on the wind and it bounced directly behind him, an enormous thump echoing around the yard as it hit the ground. The visitor’s head snapped around at the sound – just as the ball bounced up off its tip . . . and hit him square in the face. His head jolted back and his glasses were sent flying. They skittered across the hard tarmac yard, a lens popping out of the frame.

A chorus of ‘Ooooooh!’ reverberated around the schoolyard as the visitor gave a blood-curdling growl and clutched his nose. Mr Davies swung round in a rage and screamed, ‘WHO KICKED THAT BALL?’

Silence.

‘WHO KICKED THAT BALL?’ he bellowed again.

More silence, broken only by the scrape of the visitor picking up his broken glasses.

‘For the last time,’ said Mr Davies, his voice now quiet and infinitely more menacing, ‘who kicked that ball?’

Mr Davies was a man not to be messed with. All the children in school were extremely wary of him, petrified of how angry he could sometimes get, yet they all respected him too – he was always fair . . . but only if you were honest with him.

Jimmy gulped. It was time to be honest.

‘It was me, sir,’ he said in barely more than a whisper. But it was loud enough to cut through the silence of the yard.

‘I might have guessed,’ said Mr Davies coldly. ‘Our resident rugby dreamer. Jimmy Joseph. Come here, boy. NOW!’

On legs that felt like they had turned to jelly, Jimmy sloped forwards, his head bowed, his cheeks flushed. He could feel every eye in the yard on him.

‘I-I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘The wind took it, there was nothing I could do—’

‘The wind couldn’t have taken it, lad, if you hadn’t kicked the thing, could it?’

Jimmy stood in silence.

‘COULD IT?’ roared Mr Davies.

‘No, sir,’ whispered Jimmy, his head bowed so low the back of his neck hurt.

‘No, sir,’ repeated Mr Davies flatly. ‘What have I told you about kicking that ball, boy?’

‘Not to do it, sir.’

‘That’s right, not to do it, sir. And why have I told you not to do it?’

‘In case it hits someone, sir.’

‘Yes, in case it hits someone, sir. Well it has hit someone, hasn’t it, boy?’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to hit a parent, sir. I’m really sorry.’

‘I’m no parent,’ growled the other man, speaking for the first time. Jimmy glanced up at him. He hadn’t appreciated until now just how huge the man was. He was like a bear towering over Jimmy. At least six foot four, with a big scar over his right eyebrow, slightly bald, with wispy blond hair around his ears. His ears! Jimmy couldn’t believe them. They were gross! They were fat and warped and knobbled with scars, as if they’d been repeatedly hit by a plank of wood. They looked like two great big cauliflowers stuck on the side of his head. And in the centre of his face, between two beady eyes that were glaring viciously down at him, was a battered and crooked nose – from which a trickle of blood was now creeping.

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, to apologise again, but he was too confused to say anything. Mr Davies always showed new parents around the school when their children arrived for the first time. But if this man wasn’t a parent—

‘What’s your name?’ asked the man, peering down at him through those narrowed, dark eyes, as if trying to memorise every feature of Jimmy’s face.

‘J-Jimmy,’ managed Jimmy. ‘Jimmy Joseph.’

‘Jimmy Joseph,’ repeated the man thoughtfully, nodding to himself. ‘Year?’

‘F-five.’

Another nod. Then a small snort that caused a bubble of blood to pop from his nostril.

Jimmy looked to Mr Davies for help. He was just too bamboozled by what was happening – and he couldn’t help but feel a little scared around this giant man.

‘Well, this is an unfortunate way to meet,’ sighed Mr Davies. ‘Of course, you’re in Mr Lloyd’s class, aren’t you, Jimmy?’

This time it was Jimmy’s turn to nod silently. His stomach felt like it was turning to lead. Oh, no, please not that . . .

‘This is Mr Kane,’ continued Mr Davies. ‘I was showing him around because he is joining us at Central Primary . . . He’s your new teacher.’

Jimmy didn’t say a word in reply but watched as Mr Kane raised one huge forearm and dabbed some blood from his nose with his sleeve, his eyes never leaving Jimmy’s.

Oh, no . . .

FROM BAD TO WORSE

‘FLIPPIN’ HECK, Jimmy,’ said Manu angrily as he snatched up his backpack from the foot of the rusty, green column of the shelter. ‘Davies will keep my ball for the week now because he thinks it’s yours. My dad will kill me, he brought it back from visiting family in Samoa! Why didn’t you tell him it was mine?’

Jimmy said nothing. He was still in shock.

Manu stormed off to registration.

Jimmy looked at Matt for support. Matt looked as shaken as Jimmy, and stood there, returning the gaze in silence. Then his right shoulder started to twitch. Followed by his left. His head started to move slightly, before he couldn’t hold it any longer and just burst out laughing into the loudest guffaw that Jimmy had ever heard. ‘Your face, your face! You should’ve seen your face!’ laughed Matt, before copying Jimmy’s look when he found out Mr Kane was their new teacher

‘Shut up,’ Jimmy said, snatching up Matt’s Eagles backpack and throwing it at him, which made Matt laugh even more. ‘You’re not the one that just assaulted a teacher.’

Matt swung his backpack over his shoulder and tried to compose himself. ‘Oh, man, did you see the size of him! And those ears! Wow. He’s a monster!’ Matt shook his head in wonder and then started laughing again. ‘Our new teacher’s a monster, and you just cracked him in the face with a ball!’

Jimmy spun around, and pretended to lunge towards Matt, as if to attack him.

‘All right, all right!’ protested Matt smiling, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, ‘I’ll stop. I’ll stop. I’m off now anyway . . . to meet our new teacher . . . the monster!’

And with that, Matt turned and jogged towards the doors of the school, shaking his head and still laughing as he went.

Soon, Jimmy was all alone in the yard, putting off the moment that he would have to confront Mr Kane for as long as he could.

Then he heard a soft voice. ‘You okay, Jim?’ He recognised it instantly. It was his friend, Kitty.

‘Yeah, I’m all right,’ he said, but he could feel his cheeks burning. He’d known Kitty since they were babies, growing up together on the same street and he’d never been able to hide anything from her. With Kitty, it was impossible for him to pretend that he wasn’t embarrassed about what had just happened.

‘Don’t let it get it get you down,’ she said, simply.

‘But what am I supposed to do now? That guy – Mr Kane – he’s going to hate me.’

‘No, he’s not,’ she said, soothingly, picking up his backpack and handing it to him. ‘It was obvious it was an accident – and by the look of Mr Kane’s face, I think he’s had worse.’

They laughed at that and Jimmy started to feel a little better.

‘You know,’ she continued, ‘I couldn’t believe Mr Davies got so angry. What was that about?’

‘Dunno,’ muttered, Jimmy. ‘In fairness, he has told me about a million times not to kick the ball in the yard.’

‘Still, it was unlucky. Bet you couldn’t have hit Mr Kane in the face even if you’d been trying.’

‘Yeah, I could,’ he said and they both laughed again. They reached the door to the classroom and Jimmy took a nervous breath.

‘It’ll be all right,’ she assured him, reading his body language. ‘He’s clearly a tough guy that Mr Kane – but you can see he used to play rugby. He’ll like you as soon as he sees how good you are. And you never know, maybe you’ve just helped to straighten his nose out.’

Jimmy smiled but the laughter didn’t come so easily this time. They were at the door and no matter what Kitty said, he didn’t want to go in and face Mr Kane.

But Kitty didn’t give him a chance to wait any longer. She swept her long, straight brown hair away from her eyes, then grabbed Jimmy by the back of his backpack and pushed him into the classroom.

Mr Kane had his back to them, talking to the teaching assistant, Miss Ayres, and didn’t see them come in. They slinked quietly to their desks at the back of the room that Jimmy shared with Matt and Kitty shared with Rachel.

Jimmy put his backpack on the desk and looked at Matt, who whispered hoarsely, ‘Fancy a game of rugby, mate?’

‘You’re hilarious, you know that?’ replied Jimmy, ‘You should have your own YouTube channel.’

‘Good idea, I’d smash it. Billion hits in no time—’

A booming voice suddenly thundered across the classroom. ‘What are you doing back there?’

Jimmy was relieved it wasn’t him getting into trouble this time – he wasn’t doing anything, so he just took his usual seat next to Matt, and kept his head down.

‘I said, what are you doing back there?’ boomed the voice again.

Jimmy looked up to see Mr Kane, looking straight at him. His eyes were like daggers.

‘Me, sir?’ questioned Jimmy respectfully. He glanced at Matt in the faint hope that Mr Kane was talking to him. But he knew he wasn’t.

‘Yes, you,’ exploded Mr Kane. ‘Don’t answer me back, boy.’

Jimmy remained silent, just looking at his angry – make that extremely angry – new teacher. He didn’t know what to do.

‘Why are you sitting all the way back there?’ asked Mr Kane.

‘This is my seat sir, it’s where I always sit.’

‘Not anymore you don’t. Get down here at the front with me, where I can see you, where I can make sure you’re not spending your whole day daydreaming. I’ve been told about you.’

Jimmy was confused and hesitated, before looking at Matt for some support. Matt was staring intently at his desk as if all the secrets of the world had been scratched on its surface.

‘You,’ said Mr Kane, snapping his fingers at Ryan Lewis in the front row. ‘Swap.’

Ryan looked a little startled at the command and stared straight down at his desk. He’d already started to unload his school bag of his supplies for the morning: two energy bars, a banana, packet of crisps – cheese and onion, of course – three buffet pork pies and bottle of Lucozade sport.

‘And pack all that rubbish away, it’s not lunchtime yet.’

‘It’s not my lunch,’ replied Ryan with a quizzical look, ‘this is for break. I’m just getting it organised. My mother drops my lunch down later. I can’t fit it all in my bag.’

Mr Kane glared at the stocky, sandy-haired boy in front of him. Ryan could see his new teacher wasn’t in the mood for a conversation about his dietary habits, so with a sigh of indignance, he picked up his mid-morning buffet, stuffed it all back into his bag, and made his way to the back of the class, rolling his eyes at Jimmy as they passed in opposite directions.

Jimmy took his seat, flopped down and had an awful feeling in his stomach as he looked at Mr Kane who was logging into the old laptop on his desk and waiting for the projector to warm up. He was sitting so close to him, he could actually smell the garlic on Mr Kane’s breath as he breathed in and out impatiently, waiting for the computer to load.

After a couple of minutes, which felt like two hours to Jimmy, the laptop and projector sprung to life at the same time, and Mr Kane finally stood up.