Representative Clash Read online

  Monday morning

  It was going to be a hectic week. At lunchtime a group of Under 16 State cricketers would be arriving at Mount Lofty to bat and bowl against any students keen to trial for the team that would be representing Hobart City in the Clash game. The winning team would then progress through to the Adelbart Clash. The same would be happening in a number of other schools in and beyond Hobart. For those lucky enough to get chosen, there would be an all-day training session on Wednesday with the City Hobart team as they prepared for the match against Country Hobart on Thursday afternoon.

  Tommy found it hard to concentrate in class that morning. He couldn’t wait to dash across the Tasman Bridge after school to see Dan Christian and the rest of the ’Canes.

  Tommy’s prized possession, his special cricket bat, was safely stored under his desk at his feet. Every time he felt the bat, his nerves tingled. Tommy knew that it wasn’t actually magical; it didn’t have mystical powers that made the ball go further or anything. But still, there was something about this family-made bat that gave Tommy a feeling of peace and comfort whenever he held it. To him, it was kind of magical.

  Ali nudged him in the ribs.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Look at Lazarus. He seems so sad.’ Tommy glanced in his friend’s direction. Lazarus was staring out the window, as if he was a million miles away. Tommy felt a pang of guilt. His day today was full of activity and excitement; batting, bowling and fielding this arvo before racing off to meet with the Hobart Hurricanes.

  ‘Hey, Lazarus can come with us,’ Tommy said, cross that he hadn’t thought of that earlier. There’d be room in the car if they squashed up a bit in the back seat. Maybe Mel wouldn’t want to come.

  ‘He doesn’t just want to watch stuff, Tommy. He wants to play,’ Ali said.

  ‘But he can’t play,’ Tommy snapped, angry that his day was being spoiled. But his anger quickly turned to guilt for thinking such a selfish thought. Sighing, he put his pencil down, stole a glance at the teacher, and turned to Ali. ‘I’ve kind of checked it out a bit already.’

  ‘Checked what out?’ Ali asked.

  ‘Wheelchair cricket. Went online and everything. It’s around, but there’s just not enough people in wheelchairs who actually want to play cricket.’

  Ali’s face twisted. She was thinking. ‘So,’ she said, a little too loudly. A few faces looked in her direction.

  ‘So?’ queried Tommy.

  ‘It’s simple,’ Ali said. ‘We don’t have enough people in wheelchairs, but if we could find a whole stack of empty wheelchairs, then anyone can play. We can all play.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Tommy said with a frown.

  ‘You, me, everyone in the class,’ Ali said, gesturing around the room.

  ‘Have you got something to share, Ali?’ Mr Broadbent, their class teacher asked, glancing up from his desk.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No!’ Tommy snapped, interrupting her.

  Mr Broadbent glared at them impatiently. ‘Yes? No?’

  ‘Not now,’ Tommy whispered to Ali. ‘Let’s talk, okay?’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Broadbent. I just had the best idea, for, um, a story. But I want to get it down first.’ Ali lowered her head and started writing frantically.

  There were 15 students who’d put their name down for the City versus Country Clash trials. The winner of that game would go on to play in the first ever Adelbart Clash.

  Lots of kids, teachers and even some parents were milling about on the oval, watching the older cricketers set up for the trials.

  ‘I warned you,’ Ralph sneered, sidling up alongside Tommy.

  ‘Yes, and I’ve decided to ignore your warning, Ralph. You can’t stop me from having a go at the trials. Anyway, like you said, I suck at running and don’t bowl much, so I probably won’t get in.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. Everyone loves you and pretty much hates me. So maybe it’s not all about cricket.’ Ralph narrowed his eyes. ‘But it’s not worth the risk.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do, Ralph? Kidnap me? Lock me in a classroom for the afternoon? What?’

  ‘Don’t be so daft.’ Ralph rolled his eyes. ‘That would be gutless.’

  ‘Ralph, what’s gutless is you with your stupid threats trying to scare me from having a go.’

  For a moment Tommy thought he’d actually got through to Ralph. His face went blank, loose and hard to read. Then his head snapped up and he glared at Tommy.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Tommy leant back as Ralph edged closer. ‘I do what it takes to get what I want. Simple. All my family is the same. That’s why we’re so successful.’

  Pulling out his phone, Ralph typed a message, his face creased in concentration. A moment later he nodded curtly, grunted in satisfaction and slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘Good luck,’ he whispered in Tommy’s ear.

  Shaking his head, Tommy followed Ralph and the rest of the cricketers to the gym where Mr Price was waiting.

  ‘Thank you to everyone here today for putting yourselves forward for the trials,’ he began. ‘This is Cameron and he’s the coach of the Under 16 State side. He’s brought along some of his players to put you all through your paces. They will bowl at you and you will bowl at them. If you’re not batting or bowling you’ll be in the field. Is there anyone here who wants to try out for wicketkeeper?’

  No hands were raised.

  ‘Okay, that makes it easy. Cameron has brought along a keeper.’ Mr Price exchanged a few quiet words with Cameron. Tommy could feel the tension in the room. He glanced about at the nervous faces all staring intently at the two adults.

  ‘So, Cameron will assist me in assessing who the person will be to represent Mount Lofty. You all know that only one player can be chosen. We can pick a reserve but –’

  Mr Price’s speech was interrupted by the sound of the school alarm coming through a loudspeaker. The piercing wail of the siren filled the space.

  ‘Righto, everyone, leave everything and let’s head out in an orderly fashion.’

  Tommy looked over at the pile of half-open bags strewn against the wall on the other side of the gym. It would only take a few seconds to dash across to grab his stuff – or just his bat.

  ‘Tommy?’ Mr Price shouted over the screech of the siren. The others had pretty much disappeared. ‘Now!’ he said firmly.

  Tommy spun around and walked past the teacher.

  ‘I’m sure this will only take a moment,’ Mr Price said as they exited the building.

  Everyone was streaming onto the oval towards the evacuation meeting point. Mrs Lehmann, the principal, in her orange fluoro vest and matching hat, was barking orders through a megaphone as the children lined up in their classes.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the siren cut out, leaving a weird ringing noise in Tommy’s ears. There was total confusion as a group of kids dashed across to the playground. Others followed. Mrs Lehmann’s megaphone had stopped working and she was banging it onto the ground.

  By the time order had been restored and all the children were lined up in their year groups it was lunchtime. The clash trials would be starting any minute. As everyone began dispersing, Tommy turned and started jogging back to the gym.

  Tommy could see his bags exactly where he’d left them at the far side of the gym. Relieved, he rushed over and began to gather up his belongings. But his relief quickly turned to panic. His beloved cricket bat was missing.

  Monday afternoon

  ‘Mr Price, my bat’s gone,’ Tommy said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He knew that Mr Price had loads of other things on his mind, but he needed to tell someone.

  ‘Tommy,’ Mr Price said, his face creased with concern. He knew about Tommy’s bat, just like everyone else at Mount Lofty. He’d watched Dan Christian swat that ball almost out of the school grounds. ‘Mate, retrace your steps. Check the storeroom. Someone might have put it in there and check with the other kids too.’ He sighed, placing a hand on
Tommy’s shoulder. ‘I had you down to bat first, but I’ll change the order, okay?’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Price,’ Tommy said, racing off to the gym storeroom. It was locked. By the time he’d found a teacher with a key, he’d wasted a precious five minutes. A brief search confirmed what he already knew – his bat wasn’t in there.

  Tommy ran out onto the oval. The trials had started. Several of the competitors were at the crease and the others were spread out around the field. Kids sat or stood in groups, munching on lunch and waiting for the action to begin. Everyone seemed so calm and relaxed, unlike Tommy, whose heart was racing at a thousand beats a minute.

  ‘Tommy?’ a voice called.

  ‘Hey Lazarus,’ Tommy answered, half turning to look at his friend.

  ‘I thought you’d be opening.’

  ‘I’ve lost my bat,’ Tommy said.

  ‘You’ve what?’ Lazarus gasped. ‘Are you sure? That’s impossible.’

  ‘You’re right, Laz,’ Tommy snapped, his eyes wide. ‘I haven’t lost my bat.’

  ‘Hang on, you haven’t?’

  ‘Lazarus, it’s been stolen.’

  ‘Stolen? When? How? By who?’ The boys glanced at each other.

  ‘RALPH,’ they said simultaneously.

  But how? He had been with Ralph in the gym the whole time, he couldn’t have stolen the bat without everyone seeing him, Tommy thought to himself. Then Tommy remembered, Ralph had been on his phone just before the fire alarm went off.

  ‘That siren.’ Tommy gasped. ‘It was a fake. Ralph planned it!’

  ‘The fire alarm do you mean? It was a shambles. Rumour is that Mrs Lehmann will be running a proper drill tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Tommy, we’re up next,’ Jake Carlisle panted, coming to a stop next to them. Jake was a friendly boy in the same year level as Tommy. He was always smiling, but for once his freckled face was looking very serious.

  ‘But I don’t have my bat.’ Tommy groaned, closing his eyes and trying to calm his nerves. This was a total disaster.

  ‘Tommy, you’re good enough with any old bat,’ Lazarus said softly. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘No, you don’t get it, Laz. It’s my lucky bat, it’s magic. I mean, not real magic, but, you know. It’s carved from special wood by my grandpa. It’s –’

  ‘C’mon, Tommy,’ Jake pleaded.

  ‘Go!’ Lazarus commanded.

  Had one of the other kids picked it up? Tommy wondered. Clinging to this new, but faint hope, Tommy ran over to the mound of cricket bags by the side of the oval.

  ‘Can you help me?’ he panted to Jake, rummaging through the messy pile of bags and cricket gear. Nothing.

  ‘Maybe someone’s using it now?’ Jake suggested. Both boys gazed out onto the oval. But there was no way any of Tommy’s classmates would be using his bat. Tommy was big and strong for his age, the other kids would have barely been able to lift it, let alone score a run with it.

  ‘Okay, I can do this,’ Tommy mumbled to himself, removing his pads, gloves and protector from his cricket bag. Trying to put the missing bat out of his mind, Tommy started putting on his gear.

  ‘No luck?’ Mr Price asked, eyeing the bat Tommy was using.

  Tommy shook his head. He’d grabbed the only spare bat lying around, the words ‘Mount Lofty’ scrawled roughly in black texta near the handle.

  ‘Okay, Jake and Tommy,’ Mr Price called from his umpiring position at the bowler’s end. ‘You’ve got four overs to impress myself and Cameron. Just play your natural game. Fielders, I want everyone to move clockwise one position.’

  From the non-striker’s end, Tommy noticed their positions. Two slips, a gully, point, cover, mid-off, mid-on, mid-wicket, square leg just behind the umpire, a fine leg and third man, the only two fielders close to the boundary. Ralph and his batting partner were putting on their pads.

  Two Under 16 bowlers stood waiting behind Mr Price. One would be bowling spin, the other pace.

  ‘Play,’ Mr Price instructed.

  ‘Yes,’ Tommy called, as Jake nudged the first ball streakily between second slip and gully. It was an easy single.

  The bat felt like a twig in Tommy’s huge, strong hands. It made a light, almost hollow sound as he tapped it against the crease. He took a last glance around the field and then further to the boundary line. He saw his parents standing with Ali and Lazarus in the crowd.

  ‘Just do what you do best,’ Tommy whispered to himself as the bowler strode to the wicket. The first ball was slightly over-pitched, just right for a drive. Tommy planted his big foot down the pitch to meet the ball. He swung through with all the timing and power he could muster. But as soon as he heard the sound of ball hitting bat, Tommy realised he’d mistimed the shot badly. The ball trickled slowly to mid-off. His hands stinging, Tommy glared at the bat in his gloves.

  ‘C’mon, Tommy,’ Ali shouted from the boundary line.

  ‘Head up, son,’ his dad called.

  Tommy glanced over to them. Then he saw Ralph, pads on, his arms folded, staring out at the wicket. And behind him, sitting alone on the grass, with her knees to her chin, was Molly. Tommy assumed she was just moody, like she was most days. But then he realised she wasn’t moody at all, she was crying.

  One of the close-in fielders started clapping and Tommy tore his attention away from Molly and back to the job at hand. He gripped the bat tightly. He might as well have been batting with a wooden spoon. Tommy knew there was something wrong with the piece of wood in his hands.

  One more ball and that’s it, he thought, tapping his bat angrily. The delivery was faster, shorter pitched, aimed at Tommy’s stomach. He was inside with time to spare, swivelling on one foot, bat turned to keep the shot down. CRACK. The force of the delivery knocked the bat out of Tommy’s hand as it connected with the ball. His full-blooded pull shot had caused the ball to bobble and limp about three or four metres onto the onside.

  ‘The kid’s batting with a piece of bark,’ Cameron called to Mr Price, leaving his position at square leg and heading towards Tommy.

  Cameron picked up the bat and spun it in the air.

  ‘This is no Kookaburra,’ he scoffed, eyeing the sticker warily. He peeled its edge and the green label came away easily. ‘Throw me that ball,’ he called to the spin bowler. He tapped the ball a few times with the bat then swung back and went to hit it out into the covers. The ball carried a few metres and came to a stop moments later.

  ‘So you’ve lost your bat and you come out with this?’ Mr Price asked.

  ‘It was all there was in the kit, Mr Price. Honest,’ Tommy said.

  ‘Cameron, I’m really sorry about this,’ Mr Price said, obviously embarrassed with what was happening.

  ‘Pity,’ Cameron said, nodding at Tommy. ‘He’s got great footwork. Could see that straight away. Can we give him a proper bat?’

  ‘I wish,’ Tommy muttered.

  ‘Ralph! Here. Now!’ Mr Price bellowed across the oval. ‘With your bat.’

  Ralph’s head jerked about, looking in every direction but Mr Price’s. The very last thing he wanted was to lend his precious bat to Tommy. ‘Me?’ Ralph mouthed, feigning surprise.

  ‘How many Ralphs you reckon there are?’ Jake said, joining Tommy in the middle of the pitch.

  ‘One, and that’s one too many,’ Tommy answered, glaring at Ralph.

  ‘We need to borrow your bat, Ralph,’ Mr Price said.

  ‘Why my bat?’

  ‘Because you’re next in and that makes sense to me.’ Both Mr Price and Cameron were looking unimpressed. It occurred to Tommy that perhaps Mr Price did suspect Ralph of being involved in the mysterious disappearance of the bat. Maybe this was his way of putting Ralph on the spot.

  Reluctantly, Ralph held his bat out. ‘Jake can borrow it; I’m not lending it to him.’

  ‘That suits me,’ Jake said, dropping his bat and taking Ralph’s sticker-laden five hundred dollar Gunn & Moore Paragon DXM 606 Academy bat.

  Tommy shrugged. ‘Whatever,�
�� he said, bending to pick up Jake’s bat.

  It took a while, but as he started to play his strokes, Tommy was able to put the drama of the last half hour out of his mind. Finally – he was doing what he loved most; batting and scoring runs. And for Tommy it didn’t matter who was doing the bowling.

  Even though Tommy was enjoying himself, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he would be playing a million times better if he had his own bat. Yes, he was scoring runs, but it didn’t feel right. He just hoped that it looked impressive enough for Cameron and Mr Price.

  With an over left of their allotted four, Cameron called for a girl named Neve to come on. She was small and wiry and bowled leg spin. Tommy could hear the ball fizz as it spun wickedly through the air towards him. Using his feet, he danced out to the pitch of the ball and smacked it past mid-on to the boundary. Her next delivery came through a bit quicker and Tommy had to adjust, playing a delicate late cut for a couple more runs.

  ‘Six to win, young man,’ Cameron called from square leg. ‘Set your field, Neve.’

  ‘Any restrictions?’ she asked.

  Cameron grinned. ‘Nope.’

  Tommy waited patiently as Neve directed all the fielders to the boundary line. Even the wicketkeeper left his position and trotted out to the mid-wicket area.

  Tommy felt his pulse quicken as Neve began her brief walk to the bowling crease. He wouldn’t anticipate anything; just rely on his sharp reflexes and quick feet.

  The delivery was low and flat, speared down the leg side. With lightning speed Tommy jumped back near his stumps, then whipped his bat around, hitting the ball with a mighty thwack.

  Tommy turned to watch the ball’s flight. It cleared the boundary by a good ten metres.

  ‘Batters, swap over,’ Mr Price called.

  Tommy grinned to Jake as they passed mid-pitch. ‘Would have been a lost ball if I’d had my bat.’

  Jake was clean-bowled by Neve’s next delivery but managed to keep out the last two.