Zack’d hear the football long before I could see his house. He’d be waiting in the doorway, having already asked his mum if he could come out. I see his house, dribble down the street - best ever, if only he could see - curl round his gate - it’s always open - and dodge the keeper, flowers, and straight in the back of the net. Cup-winning goal, that. Even Zack’d be proud.
Then I look at the flowers again and bite my lip. I’m not gonna cry. I’m gonna be strong.
I pick up the ball and put it in front of the door. The door’s been boarded up. There’s a sign... as if anyone dare go in. I shiver. Tell myself not to be a girl. But can’t help it.
Keepie up... one, two, three... but I miss it. That’s what it’s like: you start something, then, like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, you’re doing something, then suddenly you’re not.
Zack was gonna have trials for Leicester City. He was good, real good. He outclassed us.
Then Zack’s dad came round. His mum asked his dad to leave. Don’t blame her. He was a dead weight. He was old. Didn’t want Zack playing football. Didn’t understand how good he was. Zack said he didn’t want him to be famous. He never took Zack out. Just came round to see him and argue with his mum.
This time Zack’s mum asked him to leave. He didn’t. She ran round to my mum’s and I went up to my room. Mum didn’t have to ask. Zack’s mum crying always means I have to ‘make myself scarce’. Then it gets a bit weird. I get confused over what happened next. I remember hearing a siren. Didn’t think anything of it. There’s always sirens going off.
Zack told me once his dad was married. I thought he meant his dad’s wife was his stepmum. But he didn’t. I didn’t ask ‘cause I didn’t want to look stupid. But that’s why Zack’s dad didn’t want him to be famous.
I scoop the ball back on the path. Dribble it back to the door again.
I could still hear Zack’s mum crying. So I reckoned I could sneak out. Well, I’m not allowed in when she’s there so I couldn’t ask and mum would have known I’d be at Zack’s, so I figured it was OK. I didn’t take a ball. I don’t know why. It’s all we ever did.
No, I’m not gonna cry. I bite my lip instead, taste blood.
I remember that I smelled burning, saw blue flashing lights and red, red. Someone grabbed me. Stopped me. I pushed forward. But the grabber was stronger. Smoke came out of Zack’s house. Firemen were shouting.
‘Zack,’ I shouted, over and over, ‘Zack!’
I was pulled back. Police were telling people to go home, taping the area shut. I went home, don’t know how, just know I burst into the kitchen. Zack’s mum looked up, eyes all red and blotchy.
‘And where...’ Mum started in her stern voice. Then stopped. ‘Oh my God! What’s happened? You stink of smoke...’
‘Zack,’ his mum started crying again.
‘Fire,’ I said.
Zack’s mum ran out.
I place the ball on the front step. Mum would know what the flowers are called. Zack’s mum liked flowers. Not sure she’d like these though. Sorry Zack, I cried, couldn’t help it.
Zack’s dad was arrested.
There’s no way I’m gonna play for City. But I’m gonna buy a new ball. Might play better.
© Emma Lee 2008