Free The Year My Life Broke by John Marsden

I really did follow through properly on every shot. So I thought about that as the bowler, Mike, came in. It was a medium-pace delivery, slightly outside off stump, and I wanted to prove a point, so I danced down the wicket and lifted it over Mike’s head, over mid-off’s head, over the fence and onto the roof of the shed of the organic garden. But the main thing for me was to make sure the bat ended up where it was meant to go, over my left shoulder. At the end of the shot I checked its position and thought, ‘Yep, happy with that, good follow-through, that’s what I wanted.’
    Only after that did I notice the silence. I glanced around. Kids were looking at me and at each other. They kind of looked worried, almost, like the world had just turned up the wrong way. Finally Marty said in a strange voice: ‘Have you been taking lessons?’
    â€˜Are you on drugs, Josh?’ Shelley asked.
    Harriet finally piped up from leg slip. ‘Guess he’s just a natural,’ she said.
    I grinned and turned back to face the next ball. It was a long time coming. People had gone a bit mental. They were laughing and whooping and acting like they were at a disco. The next ball was so wild that I let it go. I think Mike had lost his head. The next one was a full toss; I hit it for six and that was the end of the over.
    For the rest of that day and for the next few days I was like the local freak show. Kids didn’t know how to treat me. They’d put me in a box, the way everyone does, the way I did often enough to other people, and now I’d suddenly torn my way out like I was the Incredible Hulk. The whole thing made me really uncomfortable, and I was glad when a week or so passed and they gradually got used to the new me.
    Red and I hung around a lot together talking about how we could improve the team. I don’t think Mr Surrey liked me any better than before but he gave us room to try stuff with the other kids, and I used some good training exercises I’d learned from Mark Watley. Gradually you could see it starting to come together. Even so, and even though I didn’t know how good Maxwell was, we were still a long way from being world beaters. The best thing was that as time passed you could feel a bit of spirit growing. Kids stopped laughing when someone made a mistake and started encouraging each other instead. And the fielding got pretty sharp, which is always a good sign. We played one more practice game, against Ravensburg, and it went a bit better than the one against Bromwich. Rolf got 60, Red 47, I made 39 and Shelley 31. We declared at 7 for 190, and got them all out for 180. It was a good game, I took a few wickets and we played really well in the last half-a-dozen overs, when it looked like they might make the runs.
    And then it was time for the big one, the opening of the new oval, in front of all the VIPs and parents and visitors, where we had to hope that we wouldn’t suffer an embarrassing pulverisation at the hands of Maxwell.

The afternoon before the game Woody came over to play again. This was the fourth time he’d been allowed into our backyard, and each time he’d been escorted by one of his bodyguards – if that’s what they were. I was so confused. I had no idea. Sometimes I wondered if he’d committed a serious crime, but because he was too young to go to jail they kept him in an ordinary house. Didn’t seem likely – he didn’t seem much like a serial killer – but it was the best I could come up with.
    Woody was always quiet, but he was OK, and ever since the first visit he’d got on quite well with Callan. That says a lot for his patience. We’d finished the tree house, so this particular afternoon we mucked around in that for a while. Then I got the bat and ball and we played cricket. The cop seemed to like cricket. He joined in, bowled for a while and then fielded. He was pretty good too!
    Woody, on the other