Free So Gross! by J A Mawter

and the worst thing that can happen is he’ll catch a cold.’
    ‘Which is exactly what we want to happen,’ Simon smiled.
    ‘Yes,’ said Dillon with a chuckle.
    The plan went like clockwork. Yonnie told Coach that he’d heard his phone ring when he’d ducked into the change room for a leak. Said he’d taken a message from an old mate who was comingto visit and needed picking up from the bus stop — the one that was ten kilometres out of town. ‘Who was it?’
    ‘Didn’t catch it, Coach,’ said Yonnie. ‘Poor reception.’ Coach was always grumbling about the reception on his mobile and he nodded in understanding.
    ‘Tonight, you say? The bus station, at seven?’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    ‘Righto, then.’
    The boys winked at each other.
    Yonnie, Dillon and Simon met in the park at six o’clock and cycled out to the bus station. They got there at a quarter to seven, leaving plenty of time to hide in the nearby scrub.
    ‘Here he comes,’ said Dillon, spotting the unmistakable orange VW beetle that Coach liked to drive.
    ‘I’ll go then,’ said Simon, whose job it was to distract Coach. ‘Meet you at the back of our house in say…’ he looked at his watch, ‘an hour.’
    As luck would have it, Coach parked his car on the roadside near a clump of bushes — the clump of bushes where Dillon and Yonnie were hiding — and got out to stretch his legs. The wind whirled around him, causing him to turn up his collar and pull down his beanie. He started to pace up and down, stopping every now and then to blow on his hands and peer up the road.
    ‘Put a stocking over his head and he’d look like an escaped crim,’ whispered Dillon.
    Yonnie didn’t answer. He was waiting for the signal that would distract Coach away from the car. He didn’t have long to wait.
    ‘Help. Help.’ It sounded like a young girl’s voice. Followed by a scream.
    Coach stopped pacing and looked in the direction of the noise.
    Simon screamed again.
    Coach hesitated a second.
    Was it the wind?
    The third scream sent him off in the direction of the sound.
    Before Dillon could blink, Yonnie was returning with the borrowed car keys firmly clasped in his hand. The wind had picked up now, making an eerie whistle through the trees.
    Dillon shivered. ‘Poor Coach,’ he said.
    ‘Poor Coach!’ said Yonnie. ‘Now you are sounding like a wuss. He’s the tough one, remember?’
    Gumby came back to school the next day looking a bit peekish but none too worse for wear.
    ‘What did Coach say about me not being at training?’ he asked his mates.
    ‘N…’ Dillon was about to say ‘nothing’, when Yonnie elbowed him in the ribs.
    ‘He said, It’s a shame we’re down one of our best players,’ said Yonnie.
    The sparkle came back to Gumby’s eyes. ‘Really?’ he said with a grin. ‘Can’t wait for training this afternoon.’
    ‘Me neither,’ said Simon.
    ‘Or me,’ agreed Dillon.
    ‘Last one before the big game,’ said Gumby.
    That afternoon four o’clock came and went but there was no sign of Coach.
    ‘Hope he’s not sick,’ said Pete Richards. ‘Not before the final.’
    Yonnie, Dillon and Simon exchanged glances. They hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t expected Coach to get sick so quickly.
    ‘It’s twenty past,’ said Secker. ‘Maybe he’s not coming.’
    The boys scanned the road for a glimpse of the familiar orange beetle. Nothing.
    ‘S’pose we should start without him,’ said Yonnie. ‘Do a few laps of the oval.’
    There was nothing for it. They would have to train on their own.
    They started their run, but without Coach it didn’t feel right.
    ‘Here he comes,’ yelled Frank Castro. The boys ran up just as Coach was climbing out of his car.
    ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Coach. ‘Everything’s going wrong. My mate didn’t turn up last night and I lost my keys up the bus station. Had to get somenew ones cut. You know how slow old Joe is up at the hardware.’
    The boys smiled with relief.
    Coach noticed