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  Once the players had sorted themselves out, Mr Jenkins chose teams of seven. Roddy and Bryn were split up, but Roddy didn’t mind. It would be interesting to play with some different people for a change. The teams were playing first to two goals and winner stays on. Roddy’s team were on first. As his side put on blue bibs, Roddy spotted the Manor Primary player in the opposition. He hoped that there would be no hard feelings between them.

  Rather than refereeing the game as Roddy had expected, Mr Jenkins stood on the side, sometimes calling out advice, as if he was the manager of both teams. The rest of the time he simply watched and made the occasional note, or chatted with the teams waiting to go on, leaving Peter to ref the games. Mr Jenkins had chosen the teams well, and the blues were evenly matched with their opponents.

  Jones is playing with some unfamiliar faces today, but he will still be looking to shine. With his first touch of the ball he shows off his remarkable talent, whizzing past two defenders before passing to a team-mate. He receives the ball back almost instantly, and hits a belter of a shot to score the first goal. 1–0 to the blues!

  The Manor Primary pupil gave him a menacing look, and Roddy hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

  Jones’s team win the ball back straight from the kickoff, and Jones himself is just getting it under control when an opponent comes steaming in on him. That’s a bad foul! The referee goes straight to his pocket and brandishes a red card. One team will be a man down for the rest of this game. Not what you want to see in a friendly match.

  “Are you all right?” Peter asked, as he gave Roddy a hand up.

  “I’ll live,” replied Roddy. “That kid’s an idiot. My school beat his in the final of a tournament last week.”

  “Well, there’s no place for grudges on the pitch. Mr Jenkins will soon sort him out.”

  There’s a severe earbashing being handed out by the coach. The referee blows to restart the game. Harpendon takes the free kick, and the wayward pass has left a loose ball. Jones puts his head down and tries to make amends. He’s going like a steam train to get to it first! His level of commitment is fantas— Now that’s a real pity. I don’t think there was any malice in it, but it’s a clear foul.

  Roddy felt an impact on his elbow and turned around to see a slightly built, brownhaired girl lying on the ground clutching her face. Peter blew his whistle to stop the game, and gave the other team a free kick.

  “Don’t you start fouling now,” he told Roddy. “She could have been badly hurt.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Roddy, “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” said Peter. “But be more careful!”

  For the rest of the game, Roddy kept himself in check, but he still tried to play with as much passion as he could. His team won three games in a row before they were eventually beaten, and then Bryn’s team went on.

  “Well done, mate,” said Bryn as Roddy handed over his bib. “You’re playing brilliantly.”

  “Thanks,” replied Roddy. “Good luck.”

  The time flew past. When they eventually stopped for a break, Roddy and Bryn were starving, and very hot. Everyone lay around in the shade, chatting, and ate their packed lunches. Then, after they’d eaten, they played another couple of matches. Mr Jenkins was great at giving out advice, and Roddy could have listened to him for ever, but all too soon he and Bryn were back in the changing rooms.

  “That was great, wasn’t it?” said Bryn, as they packed away their boots. “I wish it could have been for more than one day though.”

  “It was brilliant,” Roddy agreed, popping the lid of his last can of drink and swallowing a large mouthful. “I’m going to work really hard on ball control through the holiday. Do you fancy coming round tomorrow?”

  “You’re on,” agreed Bryn. “I thought I might ask for some practice cones for my birthday. They would be better than dribbling balls round our school bags and jumpers.”

  “Good idea,” said Roddy. He crumpled the empty can, and added it to the already overflowing rubbish bin. “Shall we go and have another quick chat with Peter? It’ll be our last chance. Dad’s going to be here soon.”

  “OK,” agreed Bryn, stuffing his sweaty football socks in his bag.

  They headed out of the changing rooms and saw Peter coming their way.

  “All right, lads?” he said as they met.

  Roddy and Bryn nodded. It was so good to be on speaking terms with a Blackburn Rovers player!

  “Actually, I was looking for you,” Peter told Roddy. “Mr Jenkins wants a word.”

  Roddy and Bryn looked at each other. In their experience, teachers only wanted to see you when you were in trouble. Roddy wondered if it was about the girl he’d knocked over. He hadn’t meant to barge into her, but maybe Mr Jenkins hadn’t seen it that way. He’d certainly given the Manor Primary boy a good talking-to. The last thing Roddy wanted was a telling off to sour his enjoyable day, but it looked as if he was about to get one.

  Bryn slapped him sympathetically on the back. “See you in a minute,” he said.

  Roddy followed Peter back into the building. The older boy tapped on the nearest door and pushed it open. Mr Jenkins was in there, talking to the helpers.

  Roddy wondered if it would be better to try to defend himself, or simply accept the telling off. He hated to think that the coach might consider him to be a troublemaker.

  “Ah! The boy with the Wales strip,” said Mr Jenkins, as Roddy entered the room. “Roddy Jones, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Roddy. It was horrible when teachers started off cheerfully, as if they weren’t really annoyed.

  “You want to play for Wales one day, is that right?”

  “Yeah,” Roddy said cautiously, wondering where it was leading. “That would be a dream come true.”

  “Well, I wanted to let you know that we were really impressed with you today,” said Mr Jenkins. “You’ve definitely got something.”

  Roddy looked at the coach in surprise. “I thought you were going to tell me off,” he said before he could stop himself.

  “Did you?” Mr Jenkins looked confused for a moment, and then his expression cleared. “Oh! You mean the girl you knocked over? Don’t worry, these things happen. It’s all a matter of awareness, and you were so focused on getting the ball, I imagine you weren’t thinking of much else.”

  Roddy nodded thankfully. “That’s it,” he agreed. “I try to notice where all the players are, but sometimes I forget.”

  “Well, it’s something you can work on,” said the coach. “But that isn’t why I wanted to speak to you. You see, we’d like to give you a proper trial, if you and your parents agree.”

  “Really?” Roddy was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “We think you’ve got a lot of talent, Roddy,” said Mr Jenkins. “The sort of talent that would be a real asset at Stadium School. I can’t say you’d be a dead cert for a place, but we’re trying out some promising kids in a couple of weeks’ time. If you’d like to join the group, I think you’d have a good chance of getting into the school.”

  Roddy’s mouth fell open. “Me? At Stadium School? Like Peter?”

  “That’s right,” said Mr Jenkins. “If you’re good enough on the day. Would you like that?”

  Roddy could only nod. His heart had started pounding in his chest. It was such a big thing to take in.

  Mr Jenkins clapped him on the shoulder. “All right, lad,” he said kindly. “Is your dad coming to collect you? I’d like to have a word. I’ll come out in a minute. Don’t go until I’ve had a chance to speak to him.”

  Roddy went back outside to where Bryn was waiting.

  “How did it go?” asked Bryn.

  “He wants me to go for a trial,” explained Roddy in a daze, still finding it hard to believe. “It looks like I’ve got a chance of getting into Stadium School!”

  Bryn laughed. “Yeah right,” he said. “Pull the other one.”

  “No, really!” said Roddy. “They want to s
peak to my dad and everything. It’s not a wind up, honest!”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest! Look, there’s Dad now. I’d better go and tell him.”

  Roddy could feel his friend’s eyes following him as he went to meet his dad. He didn’t blame Bryn for not believing him. It was incredible. If he went to this trial, and if he got through, he could be wearing that cool blue-and-green strip in the autumn, instead of starting at Valley Comp. This was one of those rare opportunities Mr Jenkins had talked about. And it had come to him!

  In spite of the hot weather, Roddy felt a shiver run up his spine. There was no way he would let this chance pass him by. No, Roddy Jones was going to do everything he could to earn a place at Stadium School.

  3. A Big Decision

  At home, they spent the whole evening discussing what had happened. His parents wanted to know exactly how Roddy had been singled out as possible Stadium School material.

  “I don’t know how,” said Roddy for the umpteenth time. “I was just playing football like I always do.”

  “Well, they must have seen your potential,” said his dad. “To be picked out like that is amazing! And that coach fellow said you were the only one. I’m really proud of you, Roddy.”

  “So am I, love,” said his mum, giving Roddy a hug. “Perhaps being half Brazilian helps,” she teased. “But this is a big step, Roddy. If you got into this school, football wouldn’t just be a bit of fun any more. You’d be expected to take it seriously.”

  “She’s right, son,” said his dad. “You’d have to train every day, and work at your game like a job. It’s a big decision. Do you really want football to dominate your life?”

  Roddy stared at his parents. “Of course I do!” he burst out. “It’s always been more than a bit of fun for me. Can’t you see that?”

  Mr Jones smiled. “I can see it means everything to you right now,” he said.

  “And it always will,” said Roddy seriously. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  “Well, OK,” agreed his dad. “I can see you need to go for the trial, and we’re with you all the way, but we don’t want you to be too disappointed if you don’t succeed. You must be realistic about your chances.”

  “And if you did get in, you wouldn’t be able to come home whenever you felt like it,” said his mum. “Stadium School is miles away.”

  Roddy tried hard to think about what it would be like to live at a school and only see his family during the holidays, but all he could think about was the trial. What would they make him do? How could he best practise for it? Did he really have a decent chance of getting in?

  “Well?” said his mum. “What do you think?”

  “I want to go for it,” said Roddy desperately. “I really do.” He looked at their worried faces impatiently. “What’s the matter now?”

  His parents exchanged glances. “Well,” said his dad slowly. “There’s also the matter of affording it.”

  “I could get a paper round to help out,” Roddy offered. “Or wash cars … anything!”

  His mum smiled. “I think the fees for Stadium School might be a bit more than that, Rodrigo,” she said. She only used his full name when things were serious.

  “Well, in that case, there’s no point in me going for the trial, is there?” said Roddy, trying to sound mature. But he couldn’t avoid a note of resentment creeping into his voice.

  Roddy’s dad glanced though all the leaflets he’d been given by Mr Jenkins. “There are some grants and bursaries,” he said. “If you got one of those, it would make a big difference.”

  “How do I do that?” said Roddy.

  “Some are awarded on hardship grounds,” said his dad. “But they’re all linked to ability. Basically, the best students get the most help.”

  “So I don’t just have to get through the trial, I have to get through it brilliantly,” said Roddy heavily. “Great!”

  Mrs Jones put her arm round her son. “Dad and I will do a few sums later on tonight,” she told him. “We don’t want you to miss out any more than you do, but there’s only so much money to go round.”

  “OK,” said Roddy quietly.

  When he went up to bed that night, his parents stayed at the kitchen table, with lots of bills and papers spread out in front of them. Roddy felt bad that he was putting them through all this worry, but he was worried, too. Surely he wasn’t going to lose this opportunity for the sake of money! It seemed so unfair.

  The next morning, Roddy came downstairs after both his parents had gone to work. There was a note for him on the table.

  Dad and I think you should go for the trial, it said. We’ll try to manage the money.

  It wasn’t bad news, but it wasn’t entirely good either. It seemed that if he got in his parents were going to struggle finding the money. But they hadn’t said no. That was the most important thing. So he bolted down a bowl of cereal and went straight to the computer. When he googled Stadium School, the website came up straight away.

  The school looked just as awesome as he’d remembered from the TV programme. But Roddy didn’t want to browse, he was looking for information about the school’s trials. When Bryn rang the door bell, Roddy was busy downloading some details. He clattered downstairs and let his friend in.

  “Do you want to go swimming later, after we’ve played football?” asked Bryn. “I brought my gear, just in case.”

  “Great!” said Roddy. “I’m just on the computer checking out Stadium School. Come with me. I need to print out something.”

  Upstairs, Bryn picked at a scab on his knee. “Let’s have a look at the website then,” he said.

  “Go for it,” said Roddy. He got up so Bryn could sit at his desk.

  “Hey! They have a cool swimming pool,” said Bryn.

  “I wonder if I’ll get to use it,” said Roddy. “Mr Jenkins told Dad I’ll have to stay overnight, so I might.”

  Bryn didn’t reply. “What’s that you’re printing out?” he asked.

  “Just some stuff about the trial,” said Roddy. “They’re sending a letter with all the details, but I want to find out now if there’s anything I can practise.”

  Bryn took the page out of the printer and started reading. It said there would be a tour of the school, followed by a big match, where the coaches would be watching carefully. After a team-building exercise, they had the evening free to do what they liked. After breakfast the next day, there would be some more football, focusing on skills.

  “Well,” said Bryn at last. “If you like, I’ll help you with your ball skills now.”

  “Brilliant!” exclaimed Roddy. “Thanks, Bryn.” He looked at his friend gratefully and Bryn gave a feeble smile.

  “Well, I have to help the future star, don’t I?” he said after a pause.

  After grabbing a drink, the friends went out into the garden. It was fun practising passing, and they did some headers, too.

  “Let’s have a go at tackling and dribbling,” Roddy suggested.

  “Nah,” objected Bryn. “I can never get near you.”

  “Please,” said Roddy. “It would really help.”

  Bryn sighed. “OK. Just for a bit.”

  Roddy couldn’t help imagining himself already at Stadium School, training with other stars of the future.

  Roddy Jones is working hard in training today, ready for the new season. His dribbling and pace is a big part of his game, and he’s running rings around his training partner.

  Bryn was right. Roddy was better than him at dribbling, and he soon got rather puffed out and very frustrated.

  “Want to stop?” asked Roddy.

  “No,” replied Bryn through gritted teeth. “I’ve got to win at least one ball from you.”

  Roddy set off, dribbling the ball towards Bryn again. Bryn tried hard to keep his eyes on the ball, but Roddy’s quick feet were mesmerising and, as he lunged for the ball, he accidentally caught his friend’s leg. Roddy collapsed on the grass and clutched his ankle.


  “Sorry,” said Bryn awkwardly.

  “You idiot!” shouted Roddy. “The trial is only a couple of weeks away. How am I going to have a chance with an injured ankle?”

  “It’s not my fault,” argued Bryn. “You shouldn’t have asked me to tackle you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to foul me!” yelled Roddy. He got to his feet and winced. “I can hardly put any weight on it now,” he groaned. “What if it’s a really bad injury? I might never be able to play again.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic!” shouted Bryn. “It’s not broken or anything, is it?”

  “No thanks to you,” muttered Roddy, limping painfully towards the house.

  Bryn left abruptly, and Roddy didn’t bother to say goodbye. He hobbled into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

  Liz was there, making lunch. “What’s happened to you?” she asked. “Has Bryn gone already?”

  “Yes,” said Roddy, pulling down his sock to reveal a puffy looking ankle. “Look what he did,” he added angrily.

  “Ah,” said Liz unsympathetically, giving his leg a brief glance. “I expect you’ll live.”

  “But it’s my trial soon! What if it’s not better in time?” The break in Roddy’s voice got his sister’s attention.

  “Oh, yeah!” she said, sounding more concerned. “Well, what’s wrong with it? Can you move it?”

  Roddy tried swivelling his ankle, and winced.

  “Aren’t you supposed to put it up, with an ice pack on, or something?” Liz suggested. “Here, prop your leg on this chair.”

  “We don’t have an ice pack,” said Roddy, looking dismally at his swelling ankle. “Perhaps I ought to go to casualty.”

  But Liz was already dunking a tea towel in cold water and wringing it out.

  “Try this,” she offered.

  Roddy wrapped the cloth round his ankle and then leaned back in the chair. He tried to think positively. Some people must get ill or injured before a trial. Surely they’d let him go on another day?