Academy Smash Page 3

  Six o’clock had passed and the market was beginning to get busy, but there was no one milling about Olga’s stall when Billy arrived. Truth was, Billy rarely saw anyone at Olga’s stall.

  ‘And you’re sure about old Mrs Butterwhump?’ she asked, looking questioningly at Billy.

  ‘Certain,’ Billy said, nodding.

  ‘Okay, this sounds like fun,’ Olga said, rubbing her hands together and glancing around. ‘You’re lucky it’s quiet at the moment. So I think I can get something organised for you. Tomorrow morning, you say?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Olga!’ Billy said.

  Next stop for Billy was Damien’s art and craft stall. Unlike Olga’s stand, there was always plenty of people gathered around Damien’s bright and colourful stall.

  ‘Howdy Damien! I’m gonna need one hundred signs advertising my bowling comp for tomorrow,’ Billy said, bursting into his space.

  ‘Are you now?’ Damien said, looking up from his counter.

  Billy nodded impatiently.

  ‘Well, you better sit yourself down and get writing,’ Damien added, pointing to a table with a stack of blank sheets of paper on top.

  Billy groaned. ‘Really?’

  ‘Who else is going to do them?’ Damien asked, looking around.

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Billy replied, taking a seat.

  He spent a few minutes deciding how he wanted the poster to look, before finally coming up with a design he was satisfied with.

  ‘Yeah, cool,’ he said, admiring his work.

  While Billy worked on the signs, his mind drifted back to his first Big Bash League game. It had been at the MCG. One of the kids in his class, Lou Fleet, had decided to celebrate his birthday party by going to a game. Billy had heard about the competition, but it was only after experiencing it first-hand that he’d fallen in love with Big Bash cricket, and the Melbourne Stars, especially.

  The fireworks, the colour, the noise and excitement around the ground – Billy had barely said a word as he sat there transfixed, completely overwhelmed by the spectacle. He’d been lucky to be seated next to Lou’s dad, who’d patiently explained the scoring and the rules. Billy had picked it up quickly.

  His favourite moment was watching the fast bowlers. He liked the hush of anticipation as the bowler stood at the top of his run-up and then the growing roar of excitement as they charged to the wicket before hurtling the ball at the batter, sometimes at over 140 kilometres per hour.

  That was when Billy knew he wanted to be a fast bowler. A very fast bowler. Maybe the fastest bowler the world had ever seen?

  He’d been to a couple more Big Bash games, but his parents didn’t like sport. Billy had tried to explain to them that it wasn’t just sport, that it was sport and action and circus all rolled into one, but they still hadn’t really got it.

  One day, he thought, one day I’ll get them to a game, then they’ll see. He pushed another finished flyer to the side.

  Saturday morning

  ‘Off to the market again?’ Billy’s mum asked.

  ‘Sure am,’ Billy said, pausing at the kitchen door. ‘It’s going to be massive.’

  ‘Oh?’ Mrs Hunter looked up from the kitchen table.

  ‘Yup, you should come down, Mum.’ Billy glanced quickly at his dad, whose head was hidden behind a newspaper. ‘And Dad too. The bowling competition, remember?’

  ‘A bowling competition? At the market? What on earth for?’ Mrs Hunter looked blankly at Billy. Mr Hunter peered over the top of his newspaper.

  ‘I told you last night, remember?’ Billy sighed.

  Mr Hunter put his newspaper down. ‘Of course we remember and, like I said last night, we completely support you, Billy. You’ll get no freebies from us, but if you’re up and about and willing to put in the hard yards and earn a dollar or two, then we’re right there behind you. Ain’t that right, Shirl?’

  ‘Of course, Barry, of course,’ Mrs Hunter muttered.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Mr Hunter said, looking very pleased with himself. ‘For every fifty dollars you make, we’ll put in five dollars. How does that sound?’

  ‘Oh, cool. Thanks, Dad.’ Billy wasn’t sure whether that was a lot or not, but it was something, especially coming from his dad. ‘Maybe I’ll see you down there?’ Billy said hopefully.

  The adults exchanged glances. ‘It’s a busy morning, dear, but we’ll see how we go. Won’t we, Barry?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Hunter said, picking up his paper.

  The tram stop wasn’t far from Billy’s home and he didn’t have to wait long before he heard the familiar rattle of the old green and yellow tram trundling over the hill. He could have walked to the market, but he enjoyed scanning his card and riding the tram. He didn’t mind if he was sitting or standing. He liked watching all the different people shuffle on and off.

  ‘Northstage Market’, the driver announced as the tram approached the next stop. Billy was excited to see lots of people getting off with him. The competition was still an hour away, but he hoped that some of the kids on the tram, and even some of the adults, would be willing to have a go.

  ‘Billy boy.’ Giorgio grinned, slapping him on the back when he arrived at the fruit stall. ‘What are you doing here on a Saturday?’

  ‘Giorgio, it’s the bowling competition, remember?’ Billy said, a bit hurt.

  ‘Ah, Billy, I completely forgot,’ Giorgio replied, hitting his forehead in mock surprise. ‘Course I remember. Look, we’ve set up the bowling lane for you.’

  ‘Bowling pitch, Giorgio. It’s not tenpin bowling.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ Giorgio said. ‘C’mon.’

  Billy followed Giorgio to the space behind his stall. He couldn’t help noticing the colourful signs advertising his competition, which were stuck to the poles of each of the stalls he passed.

  ‘Who did these?’ he asked, running his fingers over the bright poster. It looked almost professional.

  ‘Ah, well, don’t take this the wrong way, but Damien didn’t think the signs you’d made were quite ready for display, so he just fiddled with your design and made a new one.’

  ‘A new one? There are heaps of them everywhere!’ Billy gasped.

  ‘Ever heard of a photocopier, hmm?’ Giorgio asked, giving Billy a wink.

  ‘This is awesome,’ Billy breathed, staring around in wonder. ‘Damien did all this?’

  ‘You have a lot of friends here, Billy,’ Giorgio said, smiling at him.

  Giorgio’s truck was nowhere to be seen, and all the boxes and crates had been carefully stowed away under the trestle tables. At one end of the rectangular stretch of grass was a set of plastic cricket stumps. At the other end, someone had painted an image of a set of stumps and a batter against the wall. They’d even made the uniform of the batter green, like the Melbourne Stars.

  But the most incredible feature of the whole set-up was a huge television screen that had been erected to the side of the competition space.

  ‘Billy, you’re just in time to trial my speed-timing device.’ Olga grinned, climbing halfway down a ladder after appearing to have turned on some switches.

  ‘Okay,’ Billy said, reaching for a ball. ‘How does it work?’

  ‘Well, it’s quite simple, really. I’ll stand here with my stopwatch and press it as soon as the ball is released from your hand.’ Olga pressed the watch. Click! ‘Then I’ll press it again when it hits the wall.’ She pressed her finger down again. Click! ‘Then, presto.’

  ‘Presto?’ Billy asked, not sure what the word meant.

  ‘Look at the screen, Billy,’ Olga instructed. ‘It shows your time.’

  ‘But there’s nothing there,’ Billy said. A small crowd had already gathered, sensing that something different was happening at the market today.

  ‘Oh, silly Olga,’ she huffed, waddling over to the ladder and scrambling up again. She flicked a few switches. ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nope,’ Billy called.

  Olga frowned, then slapped the side of the
screen with the palm of her hand. ‘Stupid screen. Must be loose –’

  ‘No, there it is!’ Billy cried, pointing at it. He saw his name in bright yellow letters and, below, a huge digital display of the speed. ‘That’s amazing! Let’s try one for real, yeah?’

  ‘Righto,’ she said, clambering back down the ladder.

  It worked perfectly. Billy bowled the ball at the wall, Olga clicked her stopwatch, and the numbers on the screen changed to show the speed of Billy’s delivery.

  Wen-Lee appeared with a plastic tub of colourful balls. ‘Got these from Lucy. I reckon they’ll be faster than tennis balls,’ she said.

  ‘For sure.’ Billy picked one up. It was smaller than a tennis ball, harder too. ‘This is going to be brilliant, but the new signs say that everyone wins a prize. What will they be?’

  ‘Billy, the prizes are awesome!’ Wen-Lee said. ‘There are lolly bags and ice-creams. Giorgio is giving away bags of cherries and bunches of grapes; there’s coloured pencil sets and stuffed toys. Mona’s made a whole stack of cupcakes, and Olga’s got some lucky-dip bags. There are heaps of stuff!’

  ‘Wow, that’s fantastic. Everyone has been so kind,’ Billy said, amazed at the support his friends had offered. ‘But what if someone bowls faster than me? What do they win?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Wen-Lee, pointing a finger in the air. ‘That’s a secret.’

  ‘Really?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Really,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, it’s not going to happen, is it?’

  ‘No, course not,’ Billy said. ‘Now, I’m going to measure my run-up. This is going to be the most important day of my career.’

  Saturday morning

  The throng of people was growing by the minute, and with Olga’s hysterical screaming through a red megaphone, more and more people were gathering at the far end of the market to see what was going on. Already a long queue of people – girls and boys, mums and dads – had lined up to have a go at bowling at the brick wall.

  ‘All right then, this is what you’re up against,’ Olga cried, beckoning for Billy to step forward.

  ‘Come on, Billy!’ Giorgio cried, clapping loudly. Others joined him.

  ‘This is our champion, Billy Hunter, the fastest bowler in all of Australia!’

  ‘Olga,’ Billy spoke in a low voice, embarrassed. ‘I’m not, really.’

  ‘Course you are, Billy.’ She grinned, giving him the thumbs-up. ‘Now, Billy will bowl at the Melbourne Stars batter down there on the wall. His time will appear up here on the screen. Then it’ll be your turn.’

  Billy felt his stomach tighten as he bent to select a ball. He quickly made his way back past the crowd to the end of his run-up. He wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

  ‘Okay, Billy, are you ready?’ Olga shouted.

  Billy nodded, took a deep breath, stood tall and began his run-up. It felt smooth and good. He pumped his arms and stretched out his strides, then extended his arms as he neared the bowling mark.

  Click! went the stopwatch, then, barely a second later, Olga clicked it again.

  Gasps erupted from the onlookers as the ball thudded into the wall, right into the stomach of the Melbourne Stars batter. Everyone turned their attention to the screen.

  ‘One hundred and twenty-nine point four kilometres an hour!’ Olga cried as the numbers appeared.

  ‘Forget it,’ Billy heard someone mutter, leaving the queue. Some kids looked anxiously at their parents. Billy watched, concerned, as the man sauntered away. Had he bowled it too fast? Had he just knocked everyone out of the competition before it’d even begun?

  ‘I’ll have a go,’ someone else said, laughing. ‘Good on the lad.’ Suddenly, the mood changed. ‘Here you go, love,’ the man said, giving Olga a two-dollar coin.

  He collected a ball from the tub, sauntered back a few metres, then jogged in and bowled. The ball hit the wall halfway up, well above the Melbourne Stars batter.

  Everyone turned to look at the screen.

  ‘Ninety-three!’ Olga called. There was a clamour as more and more people made their way to the queue.

  Billy jogged down to Wen-Lee. ‘I think it’s going to be okay,’ he said.

  Wen-Lee tossed the ball back. ‘Of course it is,’ she replied.

  People of all ages, shapes and sizes were soon lining up to take a turn at bowling at the wall. There were a few illegal deliveries – throws rather than bowls and underarm tosses. Some efforts missed the wall completely, and others didn’t even make the wall. Olga let those people have another go. Not many of the customers were paying five dollars for three bowls, but Billy didn’t mind.

  Everything was coming along nicely when, from the other side of the market, there was a commotion.

  ‘It’s the Melbourne Stars,’ Billy thought he heard someone say. Dropping the balls he was returning to the tub, he raced across the stretch of grass, squeezed through the line of people waiting their turn to bowl and found himself face to face with a group of Melbourne Stars players gathered around Franky’s shoe stall.

  ‘Hi,’ Billy gushed, without thinking. ‘Do you guys want to come over and have a bowl? It’s for a good cause. It only costs a couple of dollars to enter.’ The three Melbourne Stars players turned to look at Billy. ‘Well, I could probably let you guys bowl for free, you know, seeing as you’re probably bowling all the time and want a bit of a break from bowling, actually,’ Billy continued. The three players were smiling now. One of them was Ben Hilfenhaus.

  ‘We’ll come over and have a look, okay?’ Ben said.

  ‘Sure, Ben, thanks. I reckon you might even be almost as fast as me,’ Billy said cheekily.

  Ben’s smile widened. ‘Is that right?’

  When Billy returned to the bowling competition, he noticed four female Melbourne Stars players watching on while signing some autographs. If anything, the crowd was even bigger.

  ‘Billy, people are thinking that the Melbourne Stars here are all part of the act and that you’ve organised the whole thing. It’s just a shame that no one’s seen Glenn Maxwell,’ Wen-Lee said.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about Glenn, but still, all the others seem to be here. This is the best! I’m going to get myself some autographs,’ Billy said, racing off again.

  Billy didn’t know where to look. There was so much going on. There was the bowling competition; Olga, who was collecting the money; the big scoreboard, which still had Billy’s name displayed as the fastest bowler; and now groups of Melbourne Stars players, casually wandering around the market. Even Giorgio was getting involved. He’d turned away from his beloved fruit and veggie stall and was talking with a Melbourne Stars official.

  Why are they here? Billy wondered. Had someone from the market told the Melbourne Stars coach or manager about Billy’s bowling competition? Maybe it had been Mrs Butterwhump? She probably knew someone important at the Melbourne Stars.

  ‘We’ve got trouble, Billy,’ Jack Karuzo said, carrying a large empty pot.

  ‘What trouble?’ Billy asked. ‘It’s going brilliantly.’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Jack said. ‘There’s no one shopping at the stalls. Everyone’s down here at your bowling comp. Old Butterwhump’s on the warpath.’

  Billy’s stomach tightened. ‘So what should I do?’ he asked.

  ‘Wind the whole thing up, mate. Go see Olga. See how much money she’s made. You might already have enough to get into your cricket camp. Gotta dash, but don’t worry. It’ll be okay.’

  But it wasn’t okay. Mrs Butterwhump burst into the area like a tornado. Without realising it, people stepped back. Mrs Butterwhump had that effect on everyone around her. Billy watched warily as she marched straight in front of a man about to bowl, causing him to stop suddenly. She strode up to Olga. Billy noticed a couple of stall owners scurry off, probably returning to their spots inside the market.

  ‘Am I good to go?’ the man with the ball called to Olga.

  ‘Won’t be a moment,’ Olga said, giving him a nervous smile.


  Billy’s heart lurched when he saw Mrs Butterwhump peer into Olga’s money pouch. Her eyes narrowed momentarily before she took several paces back, folded her arms and looked sternly at the man waiting to bowl.

  ‘Righto then,’ Olga called, but with none of the earlier enthusiasm in her voice.

  The line of bowlers thinned quickly. The Melbourne Stars players had disappeared as fast as they’d arrived, and soon there were only a few people, mainly children, waiting for a turn to bowl.

  ‘Wow, Billy, no one seems to have got near your speed,’ Wen-Lee said.

  ‘Wen-Lee, I think Mrs Butterwhump is up to something.’ He glanced in her direction. She hadn’t moved from her spot. She was like a statue.

  Olga’s voice rose above the din around her. ‘It looks like Billy Hunter is the fastest bowler here today!’ There were some muted cheers and clapping from the fifty or so people who’d stayed to watch. ‘Billy, come on over and say a few words.’

  Billy hesitated.

  ‘Go on, Billy,’ Wen-Lee said, giving her friend a gentle shove.

  ‘What do I say?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Well, for one thing, you can thank Olga and the stall owners.’

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ Billy agreed, but by the time he’d got to where Olga was standing, Mrs Butterwhump had taken hold of the megaphone.

  ‘Hello. This is a new activity I’ve brought to Northstage Market, making it the best market in all of Melbourne. So you better come again soon because you never know what exciting things will be happening here next!’ She was practically shouting by the time she’d finished. Billy watched in horror as she wrenched the purse from Olga and bustled back into the market.

  Billy hesitated, torn between chasing after Mrs Butterwhump and staying to address everyone. He decided to do both and picked up the megaphone from the ground.

  ‘Um, well, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming along and having a bowl. I especially want to thank Olga, Wen-Lee, Damien and all the other stall owners for helping me out.’ Billy hesitated, then raised his voice. ‘And also a big thank you to Mrs Butterwhump, who let me run the bowling competition in the first place.’