Kaboom Kid #8 Read online

  ‘Give him a break McNab. Warner’s perfect for the role.’ George gave Davey a friendly push.

  ‘Thanks Pepi.’

  But now Davey wondered why he’d even mentioned it. Did he really want to be vice-captain? That was Sunil’s kind of thing. Davey loved opening the batting with George, and he also loved trying his hand at spin, but vice-captain?

  ‘Warner, it’s a good idea, but someone from Shimmer Bay’s going to get it. Like Caspar or Lydia.’ Sunil looked him in the eye. ‘It’s just the way it works.’

  Davey smiled at his friend. ‘Oh well. All the more reason to talk Mum and Dad into letting me go to this camp, then,’ he said.

  Sunil closed one eye. He was thinking. ‘I like it, Warner,’ he said finally. ‘Could be good. But can you pull it off?’ Davey couldn’t help noticing that Sunil didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Yeah, can you?’ George wasn’t sold on the idea either, Davey could tell.

  ‘Good luck, Warner!’ Kevin gave Davey a half-hearted slap on the back.

  ‘Thanks, guys.’

  The bell rang. But as they dawdled to class, Davey wondered why he’d even mentioned the vice-captain thing. Even his friends didn’t seem to think it was a good idea. And if Mr Mudge heard about it, well, he’d demand a royal commission, Davey thought grimly.

  CHAPTER 4

  A SECOND CHANCE

  Later that day, as he made his way home from a particularly boring day at school, Davey noticed old Mr Henderson out the front of his yard. He was gardening as usual. If gardening was a sport, then Mr H would be a champ.

  ‘Ahh, Davey!’ Mr Henderson gave a warm smile.

  ‘Hi, Mr Henderson,’ Davey sighed and reluctantly stopped. He liked Mr H, but he wasn’t in the mood for one of his longwinded cricket stories today.

  ‘Davey, have I ever told you that I played cricket for New South Wales Country in the annual game against City?’

  ‘You’ve told me, Mr Henderson.’

  ‘Was a long road to get there, had my fair share of bumps along the way. I could give you some tips, if you like.’

  Davey gave a thin smile. He knew where this was going. Mr H’s memory was like a sieve. Davey had heard this story at least five times before, so he changed the subject.

  ‘Did you ever go to a cricket camp?’

  Mr Henderson’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘Do you know, I did! Are you thinking of going to one?’

  ‘I want to. I have a shot at vice-captain. Trouble is, I don’t think my folks will let me go. Anywhere. Ever again.’

  Mr Henderson chuckled. ‘Ahh, yes, they were a little cranky, weren’t they?’

  ‘Maybe I could come and stay with you for a few days?’ Davey joked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it’s all that bad, is it?’ Mr Henderson smiled. ‘Although, you’ve just given me an idea.’

  ‘What?’ Davey shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Mr Henderson beckoned for Davey to come closer. He lowered his voice, ‘You need to help them see the benefits of not having you around for a few days.’

  Davey let his words sink in. Mr H was right. His parents were sick of the sight of him. If he went away, they might calm down. When you looked at it like that, Camp Cricket was a win–win for the whole family.

  ‘You’re a genius, Mr Henderson!’

  Mr Henderson smiled. ‘Always happy to help a fellow cricketer, son!’

  Davey turned on his heel and headed home as if he had a plan.

  Davey had enlisted his father’s help in convincing his mother it was a good idea for him to go to camp. While his parents were discussing the idea in low voices in the lounge room, Davey hovered outside the door.

  ‘He’s meant to be being punished!’ Davey’s mum was saying. ‘May I remind you that you’re cooking tonight’s dinner on a camping stove!’

  Davey strained to hear.

  ‘I had a long chat to their coach about this place,’ his dad replied. ‘The camp’s not just about cricket. There’s a lot of discipline. It could be just what Davey needs.’

  Davey couldn’t quite hear his mother’s answer in full, but caught the words, irresponsible and immature. He got the message. Things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped.

  ‘Hey, squirt.’ Davey’s older brother Steve sauntered past and ruffled his hair.

  ‘Shh!’ Davey grabbed Steve’s shirt and pulled him back out of view of the open doorway.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Steve peered around the corner, ‘Ah, parents talking in low voices. Well, you did try to burn the kitchen down.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Davey hissed. ‘Not on purpose, anyway!’

  They stood silently next to each other as Davey heard his mum’s quiet, cross voice – words like selfish, single-minded, cricket-obsessed.

  What’s wrong with being cricket-obsessed? Davey wondered.

  ‘Can’t you say something?’ Davey whispered Steve. ‘She’ll listen to you.’

  Steve winked. ‘She will, won’t she? It’s this natural charm I have.’

  Davey rolled his eyes.

  ‘Leave it to me.’ He ruffled Davey’s hair again as he walked past.

  ‘Mum, don’t you think the thing you most need right now is some peace and quiet with Davey out of the house?’ Steve purred. ‘And remember, I’ve got that science excursion, so I’ll be gone too. You and Dad can have some time to yourselves.’

  Davey’s Dad looked impressed at the idea. ‘That’s a good point, Steve. What do you say, love?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘It is tempting.’

  There was silence as they waited for her answer.

  ‘You can come out now, David. I know you’re listening,’ Davey’s mum called out.

  Wow. She had eyes in the back of her head!

  ‘Hi Mum, Dad.’ Davey wandered into the room as casually as he could.

  His mother fixed him with a steely stare. Davey held his breath. Finally she spoke: ‘We’ve decided to let you go to the camp.’

  Davey exhaled.

  ‘I know you have some birthday money saved, but you’ll need to earn the rest of the cost through chores at home.’

  Davey beamed. ‘No worries, Mum! Where do I start?’

  Davey’s father pointed in the direction of the kitchen. ‘In there.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum! Thanks, Dad!’

  Davey smiled at Steve and mouthed the word ‘Thanks’.

  Steve nodded. ‘You owe me,’ he mouthed back.

  It was all coming together. He’d get to play cricket for three days straight, and by then his mum would’ve calmed down. Dermot would see what he was made of.

  Things were definitely looking up.

  CHAPTER 5

  PURE GOLD

  Davey, Sunil, Kevin and George took in their new digs.

  Gold’s Camp Cricket was located in an exclusive suburb with river views. The street was lined with jacaranda trees, expensive cars and freshly mown lawns.

  ‘It looks like somewhere the Queen would live,’ George breathed. He was looking at the main building, an enormous double-storey sandstone building with chimneys and a verandah, and was that a clock tower?

  ‘It’s posh, all right.’ Davey made his way up the steep flight of steps leading to a large panelled wooden door. To the right of the door was a small brass plaque with the inscription ‘Gold’s Camp Cricket 1890’.

  The door was slightly ajar, so Davey pushed it open.

  ‘Hello?’ he called into the cool and dark interior.

  ‘So much for a welcome party.’ Sunil followed Davey inside.

  The entrance hall was empty of furniture but filled with framed photographs, which lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

  ‘It’s Gold’s wall of fame!’ Davey felt a tingle of excitement.

  ‘Wow!’ George walked straight up to a wall and began examining the photos.

  There were so many pictures of well-known players displayed here from their younger days, before they had gone on to play profes
sionally. The tingle of excitement was now fully blown.

  ‘There’s Ricky Ponting.’ Davey pointed to a photo of his idol.

  ‘Here’s a shot of Allan Border,’ called Kevin.

  The dates on the photos ranged from 1905 right up until today and showed team after team of smiling players.

  ‘Some of these are really old!’ Sunil was looking at the black-and-white shots from earlier in the century.

  ‘I wonder . . .’ Davey scanned the faces of boys in black-and-white photos as old as his grandpa. ‘I can’t believe it! Here he is!’ A young Mr Henderson smiled at him from Gold’s year of 1948.

  ‘Well, what do you know!’ Davey exhaled loudly. ‘Mr H, you old dog!’

  So, all of those stories had been true. Davey had dismissed Mr Henderson’s talk as the ramblings of an old man, and he’d never stopped to think that Mr H had been young once and that he really did have a lot of cricket experience. He felt really bad for the way he had fobbed off his neighbour.

  ‘Guys, check this out.’ Everyone gathered around Davey and he pointed to Mr H. ‘That’s our neighbour. He’s a total legend.’

  They all recognised Mr Henderson and couldn’t get over that he had played for the state Country team.

  ‘And look at this!’ Sunil was pointing into a glass case. Inside was a very old willow bat and an old cracked leather ball. The bat had a very thin handle and blade compared to modern bats; it had been well oiled and there were small dents and a number of cracks on the blade. Clearly, it had seen a lot of use.

  Davey turned his head to read the signature on the bat.

  ‘The Don!’ he whispered in an awed tone.

  ‘How did he ever hit the ball so hard with this thin bat?’ wondered Davey, contrasting it mentally with his beloved Kaboom which always felt heavy and powerful in his hands.

  ‘Because he was a legend!’ came Sunil’s answer.

  ‘They say this place is haunted by the Don,’ Kevin whispered.

  ‘No!’ George’s eyes grew wide. ‘It’d just be stories.’

  ‘Woohoo!’ Sunil put on a spooky voice and leaned into George’s ear.

  ‘Shut it!’ George’s voice became shrill. ‘You know I have a thing about ghosts.’

  ‘You’re in for a few sleepless nights, then, Pepi,’ Davey joked.

  George dug his elbow into Davey’s ribs.

  ‘Ow!’

  The two friends began mock-wrestling, but were interrupted almost immediately by a voice.

  ‘Let me guess, you’re from the Slammers?’ exclaimed a friendly voice. The boys turned to see a smiling young man, who appeared to be about eighteen.

  George and Davey leapt up quickly and dusted themselves off.

  ‘Yeah, sorry.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ the young man looked at Davey, ‘David Warner?’

  ‘That’s me,’ Davey said, blushing.

  ‘And you’re Sunil, George, and Kevin.’ He shook each of their hands in turn.

  ‘You know us?’ Davey asked.

  ‘I’m a huge fan of the Slammers,’ he beamed. ‘I’ve been following your team.’

  ‘You have?’ Sunil was incredulous.

  ‘Yes, I have.’ He grinned at them. ‘I’m Akhil.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ Davey couldn’t help but be impressed by this guy.

  ‘So where is everyone?’ George asked, looking around at the empty foyer.

  ‘Out there!’ Akhil pointed to an open doorway to one side of the hall. The view outside was of a brilliant green cricket oval full of cricket players practising. Davey could see a few familiar faces from games he’d played and he even noticed the Slammers’ brilliant wicket-keeper Tay Tui out on the field.

  The pitch looked like a batting paradise; it was very hard and perfectly flat, with no cracks or indentations and just a hint of grass showing, Davey felt a flip of nerves in the pit of his stomach. The camp was famous for how tough it was. Did he have what it took? He guessed he was about to find out.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE BLUES

  Akhil gave the four friends a quick tour of the building. Upstairs were bathrooms and four dorm rooms, with twelve beds in each. He explained that the two coaches also slept upstairs.

  ‘Arnold Gold sleeps downstairs; you’ll meet him later.’

  Akhil led the boys into a room called Red Room B.

  ‘What’s the B for?’ George asked.

  ‘B for boys, Red G is down the hall. You’ll eat and train with the one mixed team. Boys sleep in here and girls down the hall.’

  The room itself was plain. Six beds lined two walls, with a small locker beside each bed.

  ‘The rooms look sparse, but the beds are very comfortable. Believe me, you’ll be too tired to do much besides conk out every night,’ Akhil commented. ‘Dining room is downstairs. I’ll show you that in a minute.’

  He quickly showed them the other dorm room, named The Blue Room, which looked much the same. He pointed out a large shared bathroom and his room, as well as the room of the other coach, Tom.

  Davey felt like he was in a daze as he followed the others. He kept being distracted by famous cricket memorabilia, which lined the walls of every available space in the building. Action photos of his favourite players, signed uniforms, bats and balls all called out to him from behind glass cases or on side tables. He felt he could look at these for hours. Gold’s was a cricket museum with some incredible displays.

  Davey stopped on the landing to look more closely at a shirt signed by an Australian Test player.

  ‘Take a good look, wimp!’ a gruff voice sounded in Davey’s ear as he was pushed roughly to one side. ‘That’s as close as you’ll ever get to the baggy green.’

  Davey swung around to find himself face to face with a tall, dark-haired boy roughly the same age as him.

  ‘Easy, Tiger!’ Davey grinned cheekily and stepped aside to let the boy pass.

  ‘I’ll be watching you,’ the boy threatened in a low voice, as he made his way down the hall.

  There’s always one, Davey thought, as he caught up to Akhil.

  Davey met the rest of the Red team in the dining hall. They were an impressive group. Tay was in the Red team and so were Lydia Limone and Caspar Chan, who also played for the Slammers. The others all played rep cricket for other teams and Davey already knew a few of their faces. They were friendly enough and were all looking forward to having three days away from home playing cricket!

  A tall and pale-skinned man, about the same age as Davey’s dad and dressed in cricket whites, entered the room and placed a clipboard and paper on the table in front of him.

  The general chatter and hum from the kids died down almost immediately.

  The man said nothing. He simply stood and waited.

  Soon the room was completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

  Davey had heard about teachers who could have this kind of effect on students, but he hadn’t believed they actually existed.

  Until now.

  ‘Welcome to Camp Cricket,’ he said in a calm voice. ‘My name is Arnold Gold. I’m not here to make friends and I’m not interested in whether you have fun. I am 100 per cent committed to making you all better cricketers. You’re here for one reason only and that is to improve your game. I don’t care if you have hurt feelings when I point out flaws in your game. We try to make this fun, but don’t forget that every drill is scored and noted.

  ‘Plus, we’re not just looking at your physical skills, we’re interested in your sportsmanship. Cricket is a noble game, with a long history. I hope that over the next three days we can teach you a little something about both the game and yourself.’

  The room listened avidly. Davey suddenly felt an unfamiliar sensation. He wanted to hear what Mr Gold had to say. And he wanted Mr Gold to be impressed with him. Davey had only ever felt this way before with their coach, Dermot. If he’d thought Dermot was a tough nut to crack, then Mr Gold looked close to impossible.

  ‘Tom and Akhil are
your coaches. You’ll be split into teams and remain with this team for your entire stay. You’ll also play in this team on your last day in the Camp Cricket Cup Final. I’ll leave you with Tom and Akhil.’

  Davey watched as Arnold turned and left the room as quietly as he’d entered it.

  ‘And that was Arnold Gold.’ Akhil raised his eyebrows. ‘Come on, let’s head outside and play.’

  They followed him outside.

  ‘The best thing about working here is that some of the kids I’ve trained with have gone on to play for Australia,’ Akhil told them. ‘It’s hard work, but very rewarding.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘You already know you’re the Red team,’ he explained. ‘You’ll play together as a team the entire time you’re here. You eat together, sleep in the same dorm together, train together, and fart together.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘I’m serious!’ Akhil laughed. ‘The baked beans in this place!’

  Tom walked outside with his group of twelve kids. Davey counted four girls and eight boys.

  ‘There’s your competition,’ Akhil pointed to the other group, ‘the Blue team.’

  ‘How old are those two?’ asked George through clenched teeth. He stared in shock at two of the boys who towered over the others. ‘They’re huge.’

  ‘They both play for the Monteith Marauders.’ Akhil smiled.

  Kevin gulped.

  ‘Monteith Marauders have been top of the ladder for the last four years,’ Sunil exclaimed, with panic in his voice.

  ‘They come every year to sharpen their skills. If you want to keep winning, you have to stay on top of your game – can’t afford to get too comfortable.’

  Davey watched as the boy who had pushed him stepped forward to demonstrate his batting swing.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  Akhil followed Davey’s line of vision. ‘That’s Kaine, the captain of the Blues.’

  Davey raised an eyebrow. Kaine was a strong batter.

  Akhil clapped his hands together. ‘Come on! Time for some fielding drills.’

  But Davey couldn’t drag his eyes away from Kaine. He looked impressive, but why did he have to be such a loser? Couldn’t he just play without all the aggro?