Scott was spitting as he spoke. ‘He’s better at footy!’

  Joel suddenly realised what was about to happen. ‘Scooter!’ he warned, but it was too late. Scott was shouting over the top of him.

  ‘Adam is better at footy! That’s why he’s in the Vic Country squad and you’re not! You ask Joel. We overheard the coaches. Adam is in and you’re not. Because he’s better at everything than you!’

  Scott watched the colour drain from all of his brothers’ faces.

  ‘Is that true?’ Troy asked. His shoulders slumped as he turned to face Joel. ‘Did you really overhear the coaches?’

  ‘Ummm.’ Joel stared at the ground and kicked his sneaker.

  Troy didn’t need to hear any more. ‘Congratulations, bro,’ he told Adam in an icy voice. ‘I guess Scooter’s right. You’re better than me.’ Now it was Troy’s lip that was wobbling. ‘Great.’

  He walked quickly from the tennis court.

  ‘Top effort, Scoot,’ Joel said, shaking his head.

  Scott was barely able to speak. ‘But he was over the line,’ he said hopelessly. ‘He was over by miles.’

  EIGHT

  A normal day for Joel went something like this:

  Wake up. Breakfast while sorting footy cards. School. Footy at recess. Footy at lunchtime. Arrive home. Homework. Footy until dark. Dinner. Footy under streetlight. Clean teeth. Bedroom Footy with Scott. Go to sleep. Dream of footy. Repeat until cricket season.

  If it were up to Joel, there would be no cricket season. And school would only be recess and lunch. For him, a perfect day meant footy, footy and more footy. Every minute he was awake was a chance to be practising. He wanted to be as good with his skills as the twins were. He might not be able to match them for speed or strength, but he could make himself a perfect kick, left and right.

  There were so many footy games to be played. Games like:

  Hoop footy — like basketball, but instead of tossing throws at the hoop, you aimed kicks and handballs.

  Pop the pole — fifteen-metre kicks aimed at the pole holding up the basketball hoop, fired from the other side of the tennis net.

  Tramp hovers — throwing the ball high on the trampoline and taking the grab three metres in the air.

  Full-court footy — two on two, a twin on each side, playing brutal mini-matches. Most of these were on the tennis court. Sometimes the games were out the front in the cul-de-sac. Some days, half the neighbourhood joined in.

  Joel was often the last one left playing. Eventually, the others might be lured inside by a box of crackers, or a game of NBA Jam on the Nintendo. Joel, on the other hand, always had to be called in for dinner.

  If his brothers went inside, he’d sometimes call Tommy O from across the street for a kick. Tommy O was a chirpy prep kid with wild red hair. He was even younger than Scott, but he worshipped Joel and loved footy. Tommy O was almost like a spare brother Joel could call on when he wanted to keep playing.

  And Joel always wanted to keep playing.

  After school on Wednesday, Joel and Scott followed their older brothers as they rode their bikes to Snake Trails. It had the best BMX tracks and was a ten-minute ride away through scrub and trees on winding dirt tracks.

  At Snake Trails there were jumps. Someone’s dad had built them with an excavator a few years earlier. Sometimes trail bikes whizzed around the homemade circuit. Usually though, it was kids like Joel and his brothers on their BMXs, taking on the jumps, testing their nerve.

  ‘Dare you to do Whale’s Nose,’ Troy said to Adam, skidding to a stop at the top of Dead Man’s Slide. Whale’s Nose was just a speck in the distance. It looked tiny. Up close though, it was a different story. It was the one jump Joel knew his brothers had not tackled yet. It was massive, with white clay piled on a boulder that rose high and steep, just like a whale’s head. It was at least double the size of Joel. And when kids rolled down the runway and hit it at speed, they soared like birds.

  ‘Come on. I dare you,’ repeated Troy.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Adam replied. ‘So I can break my arm and miss the rest of the season?’

  ‘What about you, Joel? You should do it. You’re not playing.’

  ‘I gotta umpire,’ Joel said.

  The twins laughed. Joel didn’t usually mention his umpiring duties. He really was looking for any excuse not to attempt Whale’s Nose.

  ‘You do it, big man,’ Joel said to Troy. ‘Aren’t you the BMX champ here?’

  Troy coughed, suddenly less sure of himself. ‘Well, I would . . . but . . . you know . . . my bike chain’s been playing up. Don’t know if I could trust it . . .’

  He was just finishing his sentence when a squadron of BMXs skidded to a halt behind them.

  ‘If it isn’t the Smellwoods,’ a sneering voice said. They swung around and saw none other than Leo Kransky, propped out in front of a gang of Swallows hangers-on. His meaty arms squeezed out of a too-small Ninja Turtles singlet, and his killer thighs threatened to squash his undersized BMX.

  Kransky gave a mean smile. ‘Yes, the champion Smellwood twins who the umpires love, because Gloverboy here is a boundary umpire, and he tells his umpire mates to give his brothers easy free kicks.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Joel said.

  ‘Don’t even bother talking to him,’ Troy replied. ‘We’ll do our talking with the footy, when we have our return match.’

  Kransky wasn’t going to be stopped. ‘You’re umpires’ pets, all of youse, and you’re gonna get smashed by us next time.’ Kransky suddenly pushed the pedals and pulled his front tyre up, balancing like a circus performer. Then he bounced on the back tyre. The Swallows kids cheered him on.

  Joel’s eyes widened. Kransky might be a knuckle-dragging bully, but he was pretty handy on two wheels.

  ‘You boys are scared,’ Kransky snarled. ‘You’re scared we’re gonna smash youse.’ He spat as far as he could, and they all watched the gob as it sailed. He rolled closer to Joel. ‘And you’re extra scared ’cause I owe you. For what you did to me nose.’ He flashed a fist in Joel’s direction but pulled the punch up short. ‘I’ll bet youse are too scared to go over Whale’s Nose.’

  Troy guffawed. ‘I’d like to see you do it.’

  Without another word, Kransky pulled a wheelie, then spun around on one tyre so he was facing down Dead Man’s Slide, and hit the pedals. He hollered, ‘Yeeeeeeehaaaaa!’ and within seconds was flying down the hill, then up the jump, and then he was soaring off Whale’s Nose, high into the sky. His little bike dangled below as he pulled a splits move with his legs. Then bike, legs and ground all came together in perfect unison, and he stopped with a stylish skid. It was magnificent.

  With the Swallows kids cheering, Kransky pedalled his way back to the top of the hill.

  ‘Your turn,’ he said. There were beads of sweat on his pasty upper lip.

  The twins hesitated. The Swallows kids jeered.

  ‘Fraidy cats!’ Kransky laughed. ‘Better ride on home and change your underpants.’

  ‘Why don’t you go . . . away . . . and . . .’ Adam didn’t finish his sentence. He seemed distracted. Joel turned his head to see what had caught Adam’s attention. A kid was suddenly pointing his bike down Dead Man’s Slide, beginning to roll.

  It wasn’t just any kid.

  It was Scott.

  NINE

  ‘Scooter!’ Joel screamed, as Scott hurtled down the hill.

  ‘Scooter!’ the twins chorused.

  Scott could hardly hear them. The wind was rushing in the gap between his skull and his helmet. The gravel track fell away below him, and his bike went faster and faster as it roared towards the giant boulder. Scott suddenly had doubts. What was he thinking? Even Troy and Adam steered clear of Whale’s Nose.

  But that was it. He was sick of being the little one. If he landed Whale’s Nose, he’d be the first Selwood to do it. Imagine that! He was never the first Selwood to do anything. The twins were the big ones, the stars. Joel was the talented one, the one who was going to be great. Scott was always just the little one.

  His bike’s back tyre fishtailed on the gravel and he fought his ride like it was a wild bull. Phew, it was back under control, but now Whale’s Nose was right in front of him. It was huge! Much bigger than Scott remembered it.

  Scott was going too fast. There was no way he could control the jump. In a panic, he hit his brakes. A cloud of dust kicked up behind him and he skidded his way up the base of the boulder. But it was too late to stop now. Up, up, up. He was on the back of the Whale.

  ‘Scoooo-ter!’ Joel cried, a distant echo from the top of the hill.

  Scott wasn’t going so fast now. The brakes had slowed him down, and the jump had a steep incline. It almost looked as though he’d stop at the very top of the Whale.

  But he didn’t. He rolled on, and on, and . . .

  Over.

  It wasn’t a glorious jump. It was more of a dive. The front of the bike tipped over the top and Scott flew over the handlebars, plummeting down and landing chin first on the ground.

  His brothers were down there, almost before he hit the gravel. Kransky and the other Swallows kids bailed, perhaps sensing this could mean big trouble.

  ‘Scooter!’ Troy cried.

  Adam pulled the BMX off his little brother. ‘Scotty . . .?’

  The helmet had pushed down over Scott’s eyes. ‘I did it!’ he croaked, rolling over to see his brothers. He had a small cut on his chin and a graze on his cheek. There were grazes on both elbows and both knees.

  ‘You’re crazy! Joel said.

  ‘I’m the first Selwood to do it,’ Scott murmured.

  Adam and Troy helped their brother to sit up. ‘You didn’t need to do that!’ Adam said. ‘Joel’s right. You’re insane!’

  Scott wiped his chin and looked at the blood on the back of his wrist.

  ‘I was the first Selwood,’ he repeated groggily.

  The older boys picked him up, dusted him off and walked him home. He’d buckled the front wheel on his BMX.

  When they got home, Mum had made chicken pie for dinner.

  ‘Oh good heavens,’ she said when she saw Scott. ‘What’s happened here?’

  None of them told her about Kransky and Whale’s Nose.

  ‘He had a spill,’ Troy said, as she dabbed Scott’s wounds with disinfectant. ‘He went into a corner too fast.’

  He winked at Scott. Mum didn’t need to know.

  TEN

  ‘Okay, boys. In the car! Time to go massacre some lawns!’

  All four boys grumbled their way out the front door towards the car. It was a Sunday-morning ritual. During the week, Dad worked at a menswear shop, but on weekends he had a second job mowing lawns — looking after half a dozen lawns around Bendigo. The twins used to complain, but they stopped when Mum explained that Dad only took the job to pay for sports gear and registrations. He was a great dad like that. Fun and smiley. Willing to do anything for the boys and their sport.

  ‘Where we going, Dad?’ Joel asked. ‘Don’t say it’s the Big Units.’

  ‘The Big Units it is!’ his dad beamed. ‘But with five of us on the job, we’ll knock it over in a jiffy.’

  Joel particularly disliked the lawns at the Big Units. They were bigger than regular house lawns, and the property manager demanded perfect green stripes, like it was the MCG or something. Dad didn’t seem to mind. ‘Give him his stripes!’ he’d say with a grin, but Joel always found it a drag.

  This week things were especially tough. Troy hadn’t been himself since Scott had blurted out the Vic Country news. After the initial tears, Mum had told him not to panic. ‘They can’t have decided for sure yet, love, you just have to keep playing well!’ But it hadn’t really helped. Scott and Joel had heard what they’d heard. There was room for A. Selwood. But when it came to T. — No thanks, Rosco. One’s enough for me.

  Adam was almost as shattered as Troy. He didn’t want to be elevated above his brother. They constantly joked about which one of them was better. They had endless grudge matches in tennis and wrestling and one-on-one basketball. Yet when it came down to it, neither wanted to leave the other behind. Not with something as important as the state team. They were the twins! Everyone knew they belonged together.

  Joel was upset, too. Upset because he hadn’t been able to stop Scott blowing the secret, and upset because it was just so unfair. Troy had finished with four goals against the Swallows when the ground was half underwater! What other forward in the comp could have managed that?

  ‘You wanna rake, Troy?’ Scott asked. Scott still felt guilty for saying what he’d said. Raking was the easiest job on the unit lawns. That’s why normally Scott got to rake.

  ‘I’m right,’ Troy said. ‘I’ll bag.’

  They worked solidly for an hour. It was a clear, sunny morning, and the sun reflecting off the glass of the Big Units was making them sweaty. Dad whipper-snipped, Adam mowed, Joel worked the catcher, Troy did the bagging, and Scott raked, except there was nothing to rake, so Scott did nothing. They were making beautiful stripes.

  Looking at Troy’s glum face, Joel decided to try to cheer up his brother.

  ‘Hey, Troy, Scooter hasn’t had much to rake, has he? Check out my boundary-umpire technique.’

  He crouched down with the catcher between his knees, and then threw it back, intending to throw some clippings over Scott. But he got it wrong, both in terms of power and aim.

  ‘Hey! Whatcha throwing grass over me for?’

  Joel spun around, horrified. It was a grown-up’s voice, and it wasn’t Dad. In fact, it was a familiar, raspy voice. He watched as a man wearing a purple dressing gown clawed grass clippings from his nearly bald head. When he emerged, Joel saw with horror — the round belly, the slug moustache bristling with black-and-grey hairs, now with quite a few straggly strands of green grass as well.

  ‘Um . . . sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . . I was trying to throw them . . . at him.’ Joel waved vaguely at Scott.

  ‘I was only trying to get me paper!’ Slug Moustache said, but then he grinned. ‘Ha! Pretty funny though. Never expected to get buried alive!’

  Scott’s mouth was flapping like a goldfish. ‘You’re . . . you’re . . .’

  ‘Nugget,’ Slug Moustache said, holding out his hand. ‘Actually it’s Geoff, but you can call me Nugget — everybody does.’

  Scott was stunned by the reappearance of Slug Moustache, the one who had rejected Troy.

  ‘You’re the Vic Country selector!’ Scott blurted. ‘You’re the one who . . .’

  ‘Scooter!’ Joel yelled. ‘Shhhh!’

  Nugget’s eyes opened wide. He seemed amused and surprised to be recognised. ‘Why, that’s spot on, kid! How did you know that?’

  ‘We saw you!’ Scott said. ‘At the Sharks game last week. You were watching the twins.’

  By now Adam had killed the motor on the mower. He walked over. Nugget watched him approach.

  ‘Good lord, you’re a Selwood!’ he said, extending his hand. ‘And your kid brother’s right. I am one of the Under-12s Vic Country selectors for the central Victorian region, and gee, it’s a thrill to meet you. You’re a hell of a player, kid.’

  Nugget still had his hand out, so Adam trudged forward and shook it.

  ‘And this strapping fella must be Troy?’ Nugget waved towards Troy, who’d stopped bagging clippings. He started hand-pulling non-existent weeds out of the lawn.

  Troy shrugged. He had been like this — low-spirited — since Scott had blurted the bad news. He didn’t answer.

  ‘Are you . . . Troy?’ Slug Moustache tried again.

  Troy refused to look up. ‘Yeah, I’m Troy.’

  ‘Wow, both of you are here! You’re a jet, too, Troy! First class. One of the best forwards for your age I’ve seen for a long time around here. And believe me, I’ve been around a while.’

  ‘Why don’t you stop lying to my face, saying stuff like that?’ Troy snapped. ‘What’s the point of saying that if you’re not even going to pick me!’

  ‘Troy!’ Dad had killed the whipper snipper and removed his protective earmuffs, so he heard everything. He walked over to intervene. ‘That’s enough, Troy!’

  But Troy hadn’t finished. ‘You stand here now, saying what a good player I am, but I know you’re not picking me! Maybe I’m not meant to know, but I know, because my two brothers overheard you in the grandstand last week.’

  Troy pointed to his younger brothers. Joel felt sheepish about spying.

  Nugget seemed more confused than angry. ‘What? That doesn’t sound right. What did you hear us say, son?’ He was staring at Joel.

  ‘Um, I think the other guy, the one with the hair who you called Rosco — he said that you needed A. Selwood, and then, you said he was best on ground and picked himself, then he said, “D’you want T.?”, meaning do you want Troy, and you said, “No thanks, one’s enough for me”.’

  Nugget’s moustache started to twitch. Then it dived for the corners of his face as he started to grin. Then he started to chuckle. Then he started to belly laugh.

  ‘I know what’s happened here,’ he said, grinning wildly. He ran both hands down his face, as if wiping tears from his eyes. ‘When Rosco said, “D’you want T.?”, he didn’t mean do you want T. Selwood.’

  Troy stood up straighter. ‘He didn’t?’

  ‘No, he meant, do you want tea? As in the drink. As in the stuff they grow in India. As in go on have a cuppa.’

  Nugget started guffawing his heart out. He stepped forward and tousled Scott’s hair. ‘Do you super-sleuths remember that we were sitting up there, huddled under a blanket, sipping from a Thermos?’

  Scott’s mouth flapped open. He nodded. Joel remembered, too.

  ‘He asked me if I wanted tea, but I said I was happy with one, because I’d already had one tea, and I never have two, because I’m an old grandpa, and if I have two I have to go to the toilet before the end of the game.’

  ‘So you’d be happy with more than one Selwood, then?’ Adam asked. Could this be true? This was such a ridiculous misunderstanding.

 

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