Penguin Books Australia

Screamer shuffled into the lounge room and handed his dad a can of beer.

'Can you believe this joker?' Mr Johnson continued, pointing at the TV.

Screamer looked over at the screen as he dropped onto the couch in the corner of the room. He and his dad were watching Sensational Stuff, the most popular footy show in the country.

'I can't believe the clowns they have on this program – going on about how much the umpires need stress-free weekends away, and how the league should pay for it. What a load of bull!'

Screamer watched his dad swig a huge gulp from his can, then belch loudly.

'Don't tell me! Look who they've just brought out on the panel. It's bloody Michael Michaels. Craig used to call him Mickey Mick. Hell! The kid's made the big time.'

Screamer's dad shook his head sadly.

'You all right?' Screamer asked.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' his dad snapped, looking back up at the telly.

Screamer knew he wasn't.

'Bloody Mickey Mick,' Mr Johnson mumbled again. 'AFL's newest young-gun player talking to Teddy McMahon on Sensational Stuff. He was your brother's rival, you know that?'

Screamer nodded, suddenly feeling anxious. He didn't want to talk about his brother, Craig.

'He and Craig used to have some tough battles at school. They both fought to play in the same position – like you and Magee last year. By the way, did he turn up for training this arvo?'

'Nup,' answered Screamer, hoping his dad would get the hint that he wasn't in the mood to talk.

'So, the great Simon "Specky" Magee finally got the hint, did he?'

'Yep – when we told him on Tuesday night we didn't want him on the team anymore.'

'Good on ya, lad! I'm glad you convinced those mates of his – that Roberts kid . . .'

'Robbo,' corrected Screamer, rolling his eyes.

'Yeah, Robbo, and that little Italian rover, Castoni . . .'

'Castellino. Danny Castellino.'

'Yeah, him, and the speedy Indian lad and the kid who commentates everything, and that geeky, brainy one . . .'

'The Bombay Bullet, Gobba, and Einstein,' corrected Screamer again, annoyed that his dad couldn't be bothered getting his teammates' names right.

'Yeah, well, all of 'em. They owe you for setting them straight about Magee. Well done.'

Screamer was surprised. Had his dad just said something nice about him? Screamer grinned proudly. It was rare for him to get a compliment from his father.

Mr Johnson finished off the rest of his beer. And burped again.

'Serves Magee bloody right, ya know. Blowing it with a great footy school like Gosmore Grammar.

What an absolute idiot. Only idiots get themselves expelled from school.'

'I was expelled,' said Screamer, his moment of pride suddenly over. 'From Ridley, remember? That's why I'm at Booyong High.'

An awkward pause followed. Then the telephone rang.

Mr Johnson picked up the hand-held from the coffee table.

'Hello?'

'Derek?' Screamer's mum appeared at the door and motioned him to join her in the kitchen. Screamer left his father to take the call.

'Yeah?' he said.

Even at fourteen, Screamer towered over his mother. She reached up to ruffle his hair.

'He mentioned Craig, didn't he?' she asked.

Screamer brushed her hand aside.

'Yeah, like about a hundred times in the last hour,' he replied flatly, opening the fridge door.

'Well, it is his birthday next week.' His mum paused, then said quietly, 'I went to visit Craig today, you know.'

Screamer slammed the refrigerator shut. He settled for an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table.

'Did you hear me?'

'Yeah, I heard you,' mumbled Screamer.

'So?'

'So, what?' Screamer shrugged his shoulders as he chomped into his apple.

'Maybe we can stop by to see him after –'

'What d'ya mean, see him?'Screamer said angrily.

'Derek, please . . .'

Screamer looked away from his mum and continued to bite at his apple.

'Fine, then,' she said, after a pause. 'If you're going to act like that, maybe I shouldn't tell you about my chat with Mr Li this afternoon.'

'What? When?' Screamer's tone had suddenly changed.

'Now you want to talk to me all of a sudden!' said Mrs Johnson, pulling a face.

'Come on! What'd he say?'

'Well, he said that you're definitely ready to go on to the next level.'

'Seriously?'

'Yes, seriously. He said on Sunday he wants to talk about something that might interest you.'

'What?'

'He wouldn't say. He said he'd tell us when we see him.'

'Cool! Anything else?'

'Well, not really – he's still asking me if I want to pay every six months rather than every week. I don't know why he keeps asking me – I've been paying him this way for the past four years. He knows your father will find out if I pay a lump-sum fee and –'

'Fee for what?' said Mr Johnson, walking into the kitchen.

'N-n-nothing,' stuttered Screamer's mum.

'Who was on the phone?' asked Screamer, quickly changing the subject.

'Can you believe it? It was your coach – if she can call herself that! Coach Pate.'

As Mr Johnson brushed past Screamer to grab another can of beer from the fridge, the phone rang again.

'I'll get that,' said Mrs Johnson, hurriedly leaving the room.

'So what did Coach Pate want?' Screamer waited as his dad shook his head, popped the can and took a gulp before answering.

'She had the nerve to call me to see if I could talk to you about your influence on your teammates – and to find out how they've reacted to Magee's return.'

'What d'ya say?' asked Screamer.

'I told her to mind her own bloody business!'

'Derek, it's for you.'

Screamer's mum returned with the phone in her hand.

'Who is it?' asked Screamer. He rarely got calls.

'It's Christina.'