Offside

Offside

  By Lynne Roberts

  Copyright 2014 Lynne Roberts ISBN 978-1-927241-05-9

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter One

  “Couch potatoes,” thundered Mr Marshall. “That’s what you lot are. A bunch of couch potatoes!”

  The class gazed at him open mouthed.

  “It is not good enough.” Their teacher punctuated his words with loud thumps on the desk in front of him. “Too much television, that’s the trouble. When I was your age we didn’t sit and watch television.”

  “Probably hadn’t been invented,” suggested Seth quietly.

  “In my day we played sport. Healthy outdoors stuff. That’s what you lot need. Get some oxygen into your brains. These essays are disgraceful. I give you a simple topic – ‘What I did in the holidays - and all most of you did was to watch television. Words fail me.”

  “I wish they would,” whispered Maggie to Melanie in the next seat. “I hate it when he shouts.”

  “And you, Maggie Johnson, can take a lunchtime detention for whispering,” said Mr Marshall. “Everybody take out their text book please. Page forty-seven. Do all the examples in silence.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes at Melanie who gave her a sympathetic look. Mr Marshall’s English classes were always tricky. He was fussy about presentation, fussy about spelling, “and fussy about jolly near everything,” thought Maggie.

  “Bad luck,” her friends muttered to her as the bell rang and they trooped out, leaving Maggie alone in the room with her teacher.

  “I’m not spoiling my lunch hour,” said Mr Marshall grimly. “I’ll leave you a page to write and when you’ve finished it, put it on my desk and go.”

  “What do I write about?” asked Maggie nervously.

  “The importance of exercise,” glared Mr Marshall as he swept from the room.

  Maggie’s relief turned to indignation.

  “What about him spoiling my lunch hour?” she thought. But she knew that the sooner she wrote her essay the sooner she could meet up with her friends.

  Why is exercise important? - she wrote. It is important because .... Maggie hesitated and sucked the end of her pen. What had Mr Marshall said?

  “Oh yes, to increase oxygen to the brain. And to get fit of course,” she thought. “I guess to make you feel better, to keep healthy...” she started scribbling, trying to keep up with the ideas flowing and was surprised to see after ten minutes that she had covered two pages. Placing it neatly on the teacher’s desk she ran out to join Melanie and Lisa at their favourite seat by the library.

  “Poor you,” said Lisa sympathetically. “Mr Marshall always picks on someone.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mind too much,” said Maggie, “But listen you two, I’ve had a great idea.”

  “No, no, no, no!” said Melanie putting her hands over her ears. “I’m not listening.”

  “Not another idea,” groaned Lisa. “You know what happened last time!”

  “Well that wasn’t so wonderful,” admitted Maggie. She had been struck with the idea of doing good in the community. Maggie had talked Melanie and Lisa into joining with her and offering to help elderly people. They had helpfully weeded old Mr Stewart's garden and dug up all his prize dahlia tubers thinking they were potatoes. They had painted Mrs Jenkins steps with shiny new paint that she slipped on and nearly broke her leg. They had tidied Mr Burcher's shed and thrown out boxes full of old irreplaceable antique tools. Lisa and Melanie shuddered at the memory of the irate phone calls their parents had received.

  “Not another idea Maggie,” pleaded Melanie.

  “But this idea is brilliant,” said Maggie stubbornly. “Just listen. Mr Marshall said we were all couch potatoes.”

  “He’s probably quite right. I like being a couch potato,” said Lisa. “Especially when the soap operas are on after school.”

  “Me too,” agreed Melanie. “Lying on a couch in front of TV and eating pizza is my idea of heaven.”

  “Just listen for a minute, will you?” said Maggie in exasperation. “We should start a keep fit campaign and show Mr Marshall how good we are at exercising. We could ask him if he’ll give a special class award, like a day off or a medal, to the person who gets fittest in our class.”

  Melanie and Lisa looked at her in horror.

  “What do we get out of this?” demanded Lisa.

  “We get fit,” smiled Maggie. “And,” she added hastily,” if we take up a sport we may meet some neat guys.”

  “Hey yeah.” Lisa’s eyes lit up. “Some of those body builders from Year Twelve. I’d like to meet them.”

  “Well you wouldn’t if they’re anything like my brother Nick,” said Maggie darkly. “He’s in Year Twelve. He has dirty socks and smelly feet and all he does is eat. None of his friends would be even remotely interested in us; they all talk about movie stars not 13 year old girls.”

  “I’d still like to meet some. They can’t all be like that,” said Lisa stubbornly.

  “Perhaps we will, but probably not straight away. But it’s worth a try. Will you give a go? I’ll go and ask Mr Marshall now what he thinks.”

  Melanie shook her head sadly as Maggie marched off.

  “Mad,” she said. “Quite mad. He’ll never agree to it.”

  To Melanie’s surprise, in fact to the whole class’s surprise, Mr Marshall was in favour of the idea.

  “We’ll do a fitness test in the gym with Mr Smith the PE teacher after school,” he announced. “I’ll record your levels now and we’ll compare it again at the end of the term. You will all keep a weekly journal of any sports activities or exercise program you are involved in.” Several of the girls glared at Maggie. “For the best journal there will be a prize, and if more than half the class stick to it for the term and improve their fitness levels, I will organise a bus trip to take you to the mountain for a day next term. You’ll be able to go snowboarding or tobogganing and even skiing if you want to.”

  The class was very excited and happy about the prospect of a day at the mountain, but not so keen on the journal idea. Melanie cried, “A whole term,” in horror to Lisa, as they lined up for their fitness test.

  Mr Smith recorded their pulse rate and made half of the class do four laps of the gym followed by twenty step-ups. He then put them into pairs to have their pulse taken again.

  “Take it for fifteen seconds, then multiply it by four,” he instructed. “Keep taking it every minute and note how long it takes for the pulse rate to return to normal. The fitter you are,” he explained, “the sooner your pulse rate will return to normal.”

  Most of the class groaned and panted through the test. A few of the boys, like Seth and Mike who played sport regularly, were already very fit.

  “We have to make an exercise schedule,” Maggie told her friends. “What would you like to do first?”

  “Have a hot bath then die,” groaned Lisa. “My legs hurt from running.”

  Melanie agreed. “But I don’t want to do a whole heap of boring exercises,” she said. “Can’t we do something interesting?”

  “We could try a sport,” said Maggie thoughtfu
lly. “They are holding Netball trials on Saturday. How about if we go along?”

  “I thought you didn’t like netball,” said Melanie. “You’ve never been any good at it, and you always found an excuse not to play whenever we did it in PE. You used to tidy up the equipment cupboard as I recall.”

  “That was when I was little. I’ve grown up now,” said Maggie indignantly.

  “Do you know how to play now?” enquired Lisa innocently.

  “Well no,” admitted Maggie. “But it can’t be too hard. I’ve watched the Silver Ferns on TV.”

  Maggie imagined herself captaining the Silver Ferns. They were playing Australia and the score was 32 all. Three seconds to go and now was her chance to score the winning goal. Negligently she leaned around five large Aussie players and tossed the ball lightly into the hoop. The crowd cheered. Her team held her shoulder high. A reporter rushed forward.

  ‘That was amazing Maggie.’

  Maggie smiled.

  ‘It was nothing, really,’ she said modestly.

  Maggie woke up with a jolt to see Melanie and Lisa staring at her.

  “Well, shall we try netball?” asked Maggie.

  “Anything for peace,” sighed Lisa and the girls agreed to meet at the netball courts at the school on Saturday.

  Saturday morning was fine and warm.

  “It’s going to be far too hot,” grumbled Lisa as they walked up the tar sealed driveway past the gymnasium. Around them the empty classrooms shone blank windows onto groups of giggling girls and the occasional young boy zooming past on a skateboard.

  “That’s because it’s still the end of summer,” said Maggie reasonably. “They like to get their teams sorted out in plenty of time.”

  “Let’s get it over with,” said Melanie with a sigh, tossing her hat and backpack down on a nearby bench.

  The three girls put their names down and were each allocated a position in a team. Maggie pulled on the bright orange top over her T-shirt.

  “I’m Wing Defence. This should be fun,” she said encouragingly, as Melanie and Lisa reluctantly pulled on their tops. The girls were disappointed to be put in different teams and agreed to meet and compare notes after the trial games. Maggie walked confidently onto the second court.

  “Hi Maggie. Are you taking up netball now?” asked Mrs Robinson. She had three daughters of her own and helped coach a team each week.

  “Yes,” said Maggie, “I’m sure it will be fun.”

  Mrs Robinson gave her an encouraging smile as she blew the whistle to start the game.

  Maggie stood helplessly watching as what seemed like dozens of girls, all of whom towered head and shoulders above her, began running purposefully in all directions around her.

  "Ow!" she gasped as an elbow hit her in the back. “Ouch!” she cried as a foot stamped hard on her toe. She dodged out of the way.

  “Pass it to me, pass it to me,” she cried as she ran forward.

  “Out of my way, you idiot,” came a cry from behind her.

  “Stay in position,” “move forward,” “move back.” The shouts came from every side. Maggie ran around the court attempting to do as she was told. All the girls seemed to know instinctively what to do. They caught the ball, passed the ball, and tossed it lightly through the hoops at either end of the court. Maggie found the pace a lot faster than she had expected and grew hotter and hotter as she leapt around. The laces on one of her sneakers came loose and she half ran, half hopped around the court.

  “Here, Maggie. Catch.”

  The call came from Chelsea in the centre. The ball sailed into Maggie’s waiting hands and she spun on the spot to throw it to Chelsea as she ran forward. But as she turned, Maggie tripped on her trailing shoelace and sprawled on her face on the court. The Centre from the other team joyfully snatched the ball and passed it down to the goal area where their Goal Attack popped it into the net. Maggie felt foolish. Hastily she stumbled off the court to tie up her lace, with double knots this time. One of the selectors gave her a sympathetic smile as she scribbled on her clipboard.

  “That wouldn’t have impressed her,” thought Maggie gloomily. “I’ll have to do better from now on.”

  Mrs Robinson blew the whistle and the girls moved to the side to sip water from their drink bottles. Maggie tried to talk to her team mates but they ignored her as they huddled together discussing tactics for the next quarter of the game. She glanced across to see how Melanie and Lisa were getting on but couldn’t tell for the crowds of girls and mothers milling around the courts.

  “I can do this, I can do this,” Maggie told herself. She stuck to her opposing Wing Attack like glue, but was unable to stop her catching and passing the ball at what appeared to be lightning speed. At last the ball came in Maggie’s direction. Pushing past the Wing Attack Maggie ran forward and caught the ball.

  “I’ve got it,” she screamed “Who wants it?”

  The whistle blew.

  “Your foot is over the line,” pointed out the Wing Attack scornfully.

  “Half time,” said Mrs Robinson. “Change ends now, girls.”

  The last two quarters of the game were no better for Maggie than the first had been. Her shoelaces stayed firmly tied but she had little success in catching or passing the ball. The rest of the team passed the ball between themselves and ignored her desperate cries for it. Not that she could blame them, as she when she did manage to catch it she inevitably passed it straight to the opposition. The opposing players all appeared to be at least two metres tall and still growing, as no matter how high she jumped the ball flew above her outstretched arms. With a sigh of relief Maggie heard Mrs Robinson blow the whistle for full time.

  “Bad luck orange team, better luck next time. Hand in the vests please.”

  Maggie disconsolately handed back her vest.

  “Do you think I’ll get into a team?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not at this stage,” said Mrs Robinson gently. “You would need to join the younger girls and do the training sessions to brush up on your ball skills first.”

  “Oh well,” said Maggie despondently, “perhaps I’ll give it a miss then. Thanks for letting me try out today,” she added and went to find her friends.

  Lisa had been more successful than the other two. Lisa, despite her protests, was very well co-ordinated and picked up sports quickly and naturally. She had played a reasonably competent game and admitted to having played it for a year or so at Primary School. She was offered a place in a team but turned it down from a sense of loyalty to a crestfallen Melanie and Maggie. Melanie was disgusted.

  “I hardly touched the ball at all,” she said. “I was Goal Defence and the other team was useless. I’m all hot and sweaty and I barely did anything. I did stop them scoring one goal though. How did you get on Maggie?”

  “The most impressive thing I did was to trip over my own shoelaces,” admitted Maggie. “It’s not funny,” she said indignantly as Melanie and Lisa roared with laughter. “All the other girls thought I was useless. I probably was too. Tidying the equipment cupboard obviously didn’t teach me any netball skills. Never mind,” she cheered up; “at least I can enter it in my journal. There are lots of other things we can try to get fit. Let’s go to the information centre down town and see what else there is.”

  “As long as we stop for a drink and an ice-cream on the way,” said Lisa. “I feel like a boiled lobster.”

  “Sounds good to me,” agreed Melanie. “Anyway, we said we wanted to meet hunky guys. I didn’t notice many of them hanging round the netball courts. The only boys I saw were about six and were waiting for their mothers.”

  The girls wandered down the main road to the information centre, stopping at the corner dairy on the way. They finished their ice creams on a seat outside it, and only moved hastily away when an old lady informed them that it was a bus stop.

  They stood outside the information centre and looked at the notices on the community board. Cars and trucks drove past in a ste
ady stream and the footpath bustled with Saturday morning shoppers.

  “Someone wants to buy a lawnmower,” said Lisa. “Must be in working order.”

  “Here’s one for babysitting,” called out Melanie. “Phone Jody. Hey, I know her. Her sister’s in our class. That must be how she can afford those neat clothes she wears. She must earn her money from babysitting.”

  “We want things to do with exercise,” said Maggie firmly, “Look for those.”

  “How about aqua aerobics for 50 years plus?” giggled Lisa.

  “Or what about Sit - Fit for seniors?” suggested Melanie. “Sounds about my style at the moment. My legs hurt from running round the netball court.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously,” scolded Maggie. “Hey, here’s something we could do. Line dancing.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” gasped Lisa. “Dressing up in cowboy hats and boots. Urgh. Not my style thanks.”

  “But it would be good exercise,” insisted Maggie. “Moving to music is fun. Remember when our class did that line dancing with Mrs Meadows a couple of years ago?”

  “Yes, and we all loathed it,” said Lisa firmly. “The only music she used was Home on the Range and that awful Seth Hardy used to kick me whenever he turned around.”

  “These are adult classes though, so they should be much better than that.”

  “I guess guys do it too,” said Melanie thoughtfully. “It might not be too bad an idea. When is it on?”

  “Thursday night at the Memorial hall at seven o’clock,” replied Maggie. “That’s the advanced class. The beginners’ class is at six but we’ve already done some line dancing so there is no point going to that one.”

  “Seven!” wailed Lisa. “But that’s when Shortland Street is on. I never miss that.”

  “You could always video it,” pointed out Maggie.

  “It’s not the same,” grumbled Lisa. “Count me out of the line dancing. You two can go without me. Let me know what it’s like and if it’s any good I’ll come along. Maybe.”

  “Ok” agreed Maggie. “We’ll do that. But we need to be fitter. How about if we go for a run each day as training.”

  “She’s trying to kill us,” exclaimed Melanie. “Running! I’m down to a slow crawl already and it’s not even lunchtime.”

  “We don’t have to start today,” said Maggie patiently. “We can go tomorrow night after tea. It’s light for hours still. If I run down to your place, Melanie, we can both go to Lisa’s and all run from there. We’ll go around the rugby field and past the kindergarten and back home again.”

  Despite her friends’ protests Maggie got her way. Lisa and Melanie unwillingly joined her the following night. The rugby field was fringed with houses and the occasional tree cast welcome shade on the girls as they staggered along. Melanie and Lisa looked longingly at the backyards where people sprawled on beach chairs in the shade of trees and children splashed, shrieking, in paddling pools.

  “Slow down,” groaned Melanie. ”Make yourself go slow and steady all the way. If we try to keep this speed up, we’ll be dead before we’re halfway round.”

  Maggie obligingly slowed down and had to admit Melanie was right. She felt decidedly tired as they came round the top of the park and was very relieved when Lisa suggested they walk the rest of the way. All three girls were humiliated to see Lisa’s younger brother Sam with a couple of his friends running past them effortlessly.

  “How did they know we were here?” squealed Melanie crossly.

  “I told them,” said Lisa wearily. “They said they wanted to get fit as well. They thought it was a great idea.”

  “They look fairly fit already,” said Maggie sadly, as they watched the boys disappearing into the distance. “Never mind, we can only get better. We’ll just have to run every day, that’s all.”

  Despite Melanie and Lisa’s groans, Maggie got her way.

  “My calf muscles feel like concrete,” said Melanie accusingly on Thursday evening as Maggie called at her house. “I don’t know if this Line Dancing is a good idea, now.”

  “You’ll be fine,” encouraged Maggie. “I’m sure it won’t be very strenuous.”

  Maggie could see it now. The world famous line dancing team putting on a special command performance for the kings, queens and presidents of all the major countries. They all watched in awe as Maggie, in a pure white costume ,with fringed leather boots and ten gallon hat, kicked and clapped, encouraging her team as they danced to the country and western song she was singing. A song she had written and composed and recorded as a platinum CD. They couldn’t get enough of her.

  ‘Maggie, you are incredible,’ a reporter cried.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing, really,’ said Maggie modestly.

  ‘When did you start?’ the reporters asked her.

  ‘I first started with my friend Melanie,’ she replied with a shy smile. ‘But my talent was quickly spotted and I won the Junior World Line Dancing Championship after only six weeks...’

  Maggie’s words came back to haunt her as she and Melanie stood in the middle of a line in the town hall. The music was okay, Country and Western with a good beat to it. There was a range of people, from their local butcher to an old lady who helped in the school library.

  “Not many hunky guys,” whispered Melanie in disappointment.

  Then the dancing started. “How hard can it be?” Maggie had said confidently to Melanie. The answer was ‘very hard.’ The dancers stepped and clapped, stepped and turned, kicked and clapped, all in time to the music. Maggie and Melanie blundered their way through the dance, their feet echoing on the wooden floor.

  “I don’t know my left from my right,” wailed Melanie as she collided for the sixth time with a young mother. Maggie didn’t answer. She was trying to avoid being stamped on and kicked by the butcher, whose large boots had already connected painfully with her kneecaps.

  “Ouch,” she panted. “Ooh,” she groaned.

  “Move a bit faster, can’t you?” complained the butcher. “I have to do a Lindy step there and you are in the way.”

  “And a one two three kick, one two three turn,” called the instructor cheerfully. “Come on you new girls, step to the right, then back, ball change, one two three turn, clap and kick left!”

  After six rehearsals of the same dance, they all took a break. As the crowd headed for drink bottles and spilled outside for some cool fresh air, Melanie and Maggie sneaked off.

  “Quick, run,” said Maggie breathlessly and together the girls fled down the street away from the hall.

  They arrived at Lisa’s place just as the credits for Shortland Street were rolling on the TV screen.

  “How was it?” asked Lisa, as she opened the door for them. “You both look red in the face,” she added unsympathetically.

  “Awful,” said Melanie, pushing past her to flop into an armchair in the living room. “Terrible. I can’t even begin to describe it. There are people in this town I can never look in the eye again. I’ve kicked them, stamped on them and bumped into them.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” protested Maggie.

  “Yes it was,” insisted Melanie. “Your problem Maggie, is that you’ve got two left feet. You have no sense of rhythm and line dancing is not, repeat not, a good idea. I’m not going again.”

  “Perhaps we should have started with the beginner’s class after all,” Maggie said thoughtfully.

  “No!” shrieked Melanie. “I am not even going to try the beginner’s class.”

  “But...” began Maggie.

  “Read my lips,” said Melanie threateningly, as Lisa snorted with laughter from the couch. “No more line dancing. No way, never, no more. Got it?”

  “I guess you’re right,” agreed Maggie reluctantly. “But we can still go for runs each night to get fit. And there must be lots of other things we can try.”

  “Oh no,” groaned Lisa. “Don’t you ever give up?”

  “What are you going to make us do next?” inquired Mela
nie. “Mountain climbing perhaps, or water polo? How about bungy jumping? That’s bound to be good for the leg muscles.”

  Maggie thought for a moment.

  “Cricket,” she said brightly. “That’s what we’ll try next. I’ll find out about it tomorrow.”