The Soccer Ball

• Alison Collins, Grade 6, St Joseph's Merewether
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

Our house seemed so far away. We could hear Mr Johnson stomping towards his front door. We threw ourselves over our threshold. I heard the door slam behind me. My heart thumped in my chest. I stood and glanced at Ben. He looked at me in panic. I shot him an inquisitive look - we were safe. He took a deep breath.
“James,” He said it breathlessly, but I could hear the worry in his voice. “We left the soccer ball outside!”
My eyes widened in fear. Mr Johnson would know who had done it. I closed my eyes and once again saw the glass falling from the window pane to the ground. I shook the troublesome thought from my mind.
“James,” repeated my brother anxiously, “we have to go back and get it. Otherwise mum will kill us.” Metaphorically, of course.
I nodded. I opened my mouth, but was interrupted by Mr Johnson revving up his lawn-mower. Ben and I exchanged helpless glances. It was a well known fact that Mr Johnson mowed his lawn when he was angry. And right now, he had a good reason to be. With a sigh, I voiced my feelings.
“We’re in for it,” I said matter of factly. As the older twin by a whole two minutes, it was my responsibility to voice the truth.
“No!” Ben cried. He refused to believe it. That was his favourite soccer ball. “We can still get it!”
“No, we can’t!” I replied exasperatedly, but not without conviction. “If we go out there we’re doomed.”
Ben knew I was right, I could tell but he wasn’t going to give up that easily and unfortunately, he was captain of the debating team. I wasn’t even on the debating team. BUT I wasn’t going to give in. No way! We were NOT getting that soccer ball, even if Ben came up with a ‘foolproof’ plan, as he always did.
“But,” Ben began, “I have a foolproof plan.” (What did I tell you?) “We can just...” he explained his plan.
It was actually a rather good plan. I wasn’t sure if it would work though. But, yet again, he had convinced me.
“Fine,” I sighed, “we’ll try it.”
Ben jumped up and down with glee.
“But remember,” I continued, with more seriousness this time, “if anything goes wrong, it was your idea.”
Ben nodded, not really listening. Well, what did I expect? He has never, in his whole life, taken
responsibility.
He reached for the door. I whacked his hand away and took the door handle myself. The door creaked open. I saw the soccer ball lying on the lush green grass, and I saw Mr Johnson’s red face behind his huge mower. “Ready?” I breathed.
“Ready,” Ben replied.