Alice Henderson Makes the Grade: The Alice Henderson, #2

By S.R. Silcox

How good is too good? Alice Henderson is about to find out.

Cricket careers start at club level. That's what Alice's friend Old George tells her. But how can she start her career when she can't even make her first team?

Will Alice finally get to play a full season of cricket? Or is she forever destined to run out the drinks?

Alice must decide if club loyalty is more important than playing the game she loves if she wants to Make the Grade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juggernaut Books Pty Ltd
• Release date: Jan 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9780992412685

S.R. Silcox

Selena grew up in small-town Australia. A child of the 80s and a teen of the 90s, it was a multi-coloured, fun-filled time of hypercolour t-shirts, Slip’n’Slides, outrageously teased fringes, MC Hammer and Dunlop Volleys. She played cricket in the summer and soccer in the winter, all while wearing shorts and t-shirts with a cap glued firmly to her head. She’s passionate about team sports, has an overwhelming sense of injustice, barracks for the underdog and tries really, really hard to have patience with stupid people. She believes that everyone makes the right choices given the right set of circumstances, but most of all she believes that re-making movies from the 80s should be made illegal. She writes lesbian fiction in various genres.

Book preview

The scoreboard says Adam is 4 for 26. It’s his worst start since two summers ago when I got a hat-trick with my first three balls. Back then, he vastly underestimated my ability to hit the exact spot in the driveway that made the cricket ball scoot through under his bat. This time, he’s underestimated my ability to actually spin the ball off the concrete part of the driveway that would normally make it slow down enough to get a good shot off.

You’re not watching it out of my hand, I tease him.

No-one likes a show-off, he replies. He faces up and I square my shoulders, flicking the ball up in my hand.

I decide to let him off the hook with a couple of gimme balls, slow looping straight ones he can hit easy enough. I should really go for the jugular, but this could be our last game of backyard cricket ever, so I want to at least give him a chance. He hasn’t won a match in two years.

Adam smacks the next three deliveries to almost the exact same spot on the fence, just missing the spot marked with white paint that would have scored him a four.

You’re losing your touch, Adam says, collecting the ball and tossing it back to me.

I don’t answer. Instead, I give him another slow one, except on this one, I tweak the ball to give it some rotation in the air. It digs into the grass when it hits so it holds up, making Adam miss-time the shot, but he still gets it away and scores a single. As he pokes at the grass, he says, You definitely won’t make the team bowling like that.

Talk it up, Buttercup. You won’t be saying that at training tonight. He laughs at me using our favourite sledge to each other, but no matter how hard he tries, I won’t let Adam take away my excitement at actually getting to register as a proper player for the Devils this year instead of just filling in.

At cricket camp a couple of weeks ago, Jules Livingstone’s Brisbane club coach told me that I should seriously think about signing up to play club when I got home to Maryborough because she’d be keeping her eye on me over the next year if I did. There could be a chance to play in their open women’s side next season, and that would be my first step to playing professionally. Just thinking about it now gives me butterflies.

So I came home after camp and asked Mum and Dad if I could sign up for Adam’s team. He’s moving to Brisbane after Christmas, so I know they’ll have at least one spot up for grabs. Mum and Dad both said I could, so we went off down to the club to sign up.

Well, you’d have thought I’d asked to take over as team captain. They made a big song and dance about me being a girl and not being able to handle the pace and strength of the boys, blah blah blah. They obviously totally forget that I’ve been training in the nets with them once a week for the past four years, and I’ve subbed for them in their pre-seasons a fair bit too, so they know I can play. Despite all of that, they agreed I could register and start training, and even though I know I’ll probably be carrying the drinks for the next few weeks until Adam leaves, I’ll be a part of the team officially.

Adam doesn’t think I’ll get his spot when he leaves, so I’m determined to prove him wrong. He’s an idiot, and it annoys me that he won’t be there to eat his words when I suit up for the Devils First XI in January, but I can make him eat them right now.

No more letting him off the hook, and no more being nice to him because it could be our last backyard test match ever. I’m going to try to get him with a slider, a delivery I learned at camp.

I set the ball in my hand so the seam is sideways, and as I bowl it, I try to keep my arm low. It bounces off the grass, and even though it doesn’t stay as low as I wanted, it does take Adam by surprise. He pushes his bat at it and drops it to the ground in front of him. It was slower than he expected, and I smile to myself.

I saw your arm go low, he says. Knew it would be a slider.

I’ll have to try to disguise it better next time.

You’ll never break into the team with that stuff, Adam taunts.

They won’t want me for my bowling, I reply.

Well you won’t get a chance to prove you’re any good at batting if you don’t even make our side.

I snort. Talking about sides, I say. Which one are you playing for in Brissy?

None of your business, Adam replies.

He’s been keeping his cards close to his chest. He hasn’t told anyone which teams have offered him a spot in Brisbane. Mum reckons he’s still making up his mind. Dad reckons he’s keeping his options open and won’t decide until he gets down there.

It would just be nice to know who to cheer against, I say with a grin. It really doesn’t matter who he plays for. It just matters that once he’s gone, there’ll be a spot open for someone else to take. And that someone is going to be me.

Adam shakes his head. Give it up, Alice. You’re not putting me off. Bowl the damn ball.

It’s always been like this between us, having a go at each other, trying to put each other off. Jazz, from the Indoor Centre, would say to let my skill do the talking though, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to try the top spinner, which is one of the balls I bowled well at camp. With the grass on the driveway needing mowing, there are plenty of spots I can hit that will make it kick up. I glance down the driveway, pick my spot and jog in for my delivery.

It comes out of my hand better than I anticipate. Adam doesn’t pick it, and instead, plays for the off spinner. He clean misses the ball, which bounces up past the bat and hits him right where he probably least expects it.

I try hard not to laugh because even though it’s a tennis ball with electrical tape on it to make a shiny side and seam, it still packs a wallop when it hits you. Plus, we don’t wear protective gear when we play in the backyard, something Adam is probably regretting right about now.

If I was any kind of sister, I’d go over and make sure he’s okay, but knowing Adam he’d probably take a swing at me with his bat. Instead, I leave him doubled over on the grass catching his breath.

I’m getting an ice-cream. Need me to bring you some ice? I ask him as I skip up the back steps.

Shove off, he replies.

I can’t wait to try the same deliveries at training tonight and see how much turn I can get with a real cricket ball.

Adam decides to punish me for hitting him in the groin this morning by refusing to take me to training. He says it’s because he has to close up at work, so he’ll be late, but I know it’s because he’s trying to make me late for my first training session. His stupid plan doesn’t work though because Dad decided to work from home this afternoon, so he takes me to training instead. When I arrive, Adam is already there, bowling in the nets to some juniors who have hung around after their sessions. He obviously lied, but I decide to let it go. I’ll get him back when I show him up at training.

I set my kit up at the seats behind the nets and start pulling out my gear. I’m checking my bat for dents when Dad calls me over to the clubhouse. I drop my bat back into my bag and wander over. What’s up?

Dad runs his hand through his hair and scratches the back of his head. Alice, the club wants you to be graded before you play.

What? Why?

They just want to make sure you can handle it.

Handle what? It’s not a contact sport," I reply. The door behind Dad opens and Mr. Jenkins, the club registrar walks out, along with Mr. Rickertson, the club sponsor.

Alice! Mr. Jenkins says, sounding surprised to see me. I’ve just finished signing your rego papers.

You’re making me get graded? I ask.

I’ll leave you to it, Bob, Mr. Rickertson says and walks off in the direction of the nets.

Thanks, Aaron. We’ll be in touch.

Why are you making me get graded? I ask again.

We’re not, Mr. Jenkins replies. Not exactly, anyway. The Association has asked us to make sure you’re put in the right grade. Insurance stuff, I think.

The right grade? The right grade is with Firsts, I reply.

Well, technically, you’re right, he says. But since you’ve never played before—

Never played before? I just went to an elite training camp, with top coaches from Brisbane. I trained with the T20 Women’s team. That’s not good enough?

Well… Mr. Jenkins looks from me to Dad.

Dad says, I don’t think they’re worried about you, Alice. It’s just that most of those boys have played together since they were seven or eight.

But—

Dad puts up his hand. This is your first official season with the club, so I’m guessing they just want to make sure you’ve picked up the skills to handle the seniors. Right, Tony?

Mr. Jenkins nods. Yes. Exactly. I mean, we’ve heard good things about you from the camp, and we’re confident you can handle it. It’s just that the Association wants us to cross the i’s and dot the t’s. He smiles at me, probably hoping him deliberately messing up the saying will make me feel better, but I don’t smile back. I know when I’m being talked down to, and Mr. Jenkins obviously thinks I’m an idiot. We just have to do this for the Association to sign off on your registration. That’s all.

So, if I don’t get graded, they won’t let me play? I ask.

No, Mr. Jenkins replies. Sorry, Alice.

Either I agree to get graded, or I don’t play. Some choice. Fine. When do they want to grade me?

Well, Mr. Jenkins says, and the way he says it, I don’t think I’m going to like what’s coming next. They’ve agreed to let you play in the Second Grade T20 Club Tournament this weekend.

Second Grade? I have to play with Seconds? No way!

Calm down, Alice, Dad says.

No, Dad. I’m good enough to play in Firsts, so why won’t they just let me play?

Dad turns to Mr. Jenkins. Can you give us a minute, Tony?

Sure, Mr. Jenkins replies. I need to see a couple of the boys about their fees, but I’ll need your answer when I get back. I have to tell the Association tonight so they can get someone down to the tournament to watch you play. And I need to let Coach Brennan know he’ll have you for the tournament. He turns to walk away, and then turns back. Oh, but you’ll have to train with Firsts tonight because Seconds trained last night.

So I won’t even get to meet them until the tournament?

Sorry, Mr. Jenkins says. "But your coach will