Free The Whole of My World by Nicole Hayes Page A

no matter what sport we’re doing or when we’re doing it.
    â€˜I don’t know why you bother,’ she says to me at the half-time break. Despite the cool air, I’m sweating bullets and my lungs ache with the effort to breathe. I’m playing on the wing and against Ginnie, who, to add to her already stupendous number of accomplishments, is a state-level netball champion. I’ve managed to avoid netball until St Mary’s, and my footy skills are only able to take me so far. She’s beating me and I hate that.
    â€˜It’s fun,’ I lie, returning to my position. It’s anything but.
    The whistle blows and I leap forward just as Ginnie’s foot catches mine, knocking me off balance. ‘Sorry!’ says Ginnie, as I stagger for a step or two, just managing not to fall over.
    â€˜Tripping!’ I call out, and point to Ginnie, who smirks discreetly. ‘She tripped me.’
    Mrs Hodge does the eyebrow lift. ‘I didn’t see it.’ She doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m a bad sport. Between Mrs Hodge and my dad, I’m starting to think they may be on to something.
    I shake it off and get ready to go again. Ginnie knows the game, but I’m faster. So I think through how to make this work. I fall back from the centre line and hang outside the ring, on my toes, circling a bit as we wait for the centre pass. Seconds before Elena Irving releases the ball, I jog towards the line, then sprint at it, breaking through a split second after the whistle blows, timing it perfectly. The ball slams into my chest and I’ve left Ginnie several paces behind play. I pass it forward, run to meet the next pass on the top of the circle, then slot it into Kathy Doyle’s waiting arms. She shoots and scores, and Ginnie is left panting behind me. Tara cheers like it’s the footy.
    I wink at Ginnie, rubbing it in. Somewhere deep down I’m ashamed of my gloating, but it’s pretty deep and easy to ignore.
    After the game, which, despite a slight improvement at my end, we lose, Tara and I head to the lockers to get our lunch.
    â€˜So Saturday morning at the Burke and Wills statue at eleven?’
    I look over my shoulder. Is she talking to me? Tara’s face is buried in her locker and I’m the only person around, so she must be. Except I have no idea what she’s talking about.
    â€˜I can only wait fifteen minutes max because we have to catch the eleven-twenty up Elizabeth Street.’ Tara closes her locker and looks at me. ‘Saturday trams are dodgy,’ she adds, as though I’ve asked her a question.
    â€˜Are they?’
    She nods. ‘I always watch the reserves first. That’s why I go so early.’
    And then I get it. She’s asking me to the footy. Not just training but to an actual game. On the weekend. This weekend. ‘Okay,’ I say, shock doing a very nice job of flattening my voice despite my excitement. I’ve never gone to the footy just with a friend before. It’s always been a family thing – with my parents or Josh’s or both. Going with Tara alone feels important, somehow, for all kinds of reasons.
    Dad seems pleased when I tell him that night and offers to drive me to the station. But as I get dressed to go on Saturday, the doubts kick in. Will Tara even turn up? Or what if she does show up and ignores me for the whole match? I let all the horrible and excruciating possibilities pile up in my head even as I rush Dad to get to the station early.
    Josh is on the platform when I get there, but the train isn’t. Vic Rail is as bad as the trams on a Saturday – actually, every day. I take a seat beside him on the bench. ‘We need to stop meeting like this,’ I say, yanking my scarf out from under my leg, where it threatens to choke me half to death.
    â€˜Go Gorillas,’ he says predictably.
    â€˜Loser,’ I reply. He’d already called to gloat about the