Tears Before Halftime

By Ged Maybury

Twelve-year-old Jamie gets swept into the world of his soccer-mad father and elder brother, but it soon becomes a nightmare for useless left-footed James Wigram. His heart and his mind are often far from the sportsfield. Has the time come to fight for what does matter? But in his family, speaking up for himslf is scary!

The winter drags on, and as Jamie raises the ire of team captain Fulton away past boiling point, he plans a secret expedition – chasing his own dreams.

But will it unlease yet another calamity, this time inside his own family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ged Maybury
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393546153

Ged Maybury

Ged Maybury is an Australasian author of children's and YA novelist, with 14 books conventionally published (not counting this series) and a lot more in the pipeline. Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 1994: “The Triggerstone” Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 2001: “Crab Apples” He began 1994 in his favourite genre: Science Fiction, later adding comedy and slice-of-life, and finally returned to his sci-fi roots with Steampunk. This series is aimed at young adults and anyone else who likes an engaging adventure, but as far as any full-on “adult” content goes: well that's just not his thing. (Okay – there's a bit of it.) He was born in Christchurch, New Zealand, and grew up in Dunedin; dux of his school; blah-blah-blah … Went into architecture, ended up in the performing arts and has been writing plays, poetry and books ever since. He also has earned some notoriety as a Cosplayer and Costumer, Steampunk Sculptor, Performance Poet and Story-teller. Occasionally he writes plays and films. Even more occasionally they get produced. WORLD-FIRST: Maybury lays claim to the world's first custom-written theme-song to a book. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRQ29QkfKNE He currently lives in Brisbane, Australia. He has a blog and a Wikipedia entry, and is on Facebook.

Book preview

ONE

IT ALL STARTED ON THE day of my twelfth birthday.  It wasn’t a birthday like you see on TV: y’know: big shiny presents, lots of friends, party hats, happy happy happy.  No.  My parents didn’t go in for that sort of stuff.  I just had a pretty ordinary day, went to school, and kept it a secret.  I knew if I told anyone it was my birthday then they’d all start wondering if they were going to be invited, or wondering why they HADN’T been invited, and all that difficult social skills stuff that I wasn’t much good at.

So anyway I came home, did my homework before dinner, and waited.  Dad came home.  I heard him somewhere in the house, low voices, talk-talk, it just sounded like the usual stuff: complaining about the traffic again.  But I knew what was coming up – THE FUSS.  I’d have to open my present in front of everybody and be grateful and all that.  Sigh.

I didn’t even want to leave my room, but finally I made myself go out there, into the dining room.  Last year my present had been my new school uniform!  Can you believe it?  My school uniform, six weeks late!  I’d had to wear ordinary clothes till then, except for my big brother’s school jersey because he wasn’t wearing it because it was February and roasting hot anyway.  Sheesh!

So anyway there I was, wondering what it was going to be this time, and there was Dad, standing up straight and proud like this was some sort of big special moment, and under his arm he had this shoe-box.  Mum was there.  She’d just stepped in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.  My big brother was there, Luke, and my two younger sisters, Holly and Genevieve.

Happy birthday. said Mum briskly, like she wanted to get back to the cooking.  (We always had roast chicken on birthdays – but never any other time.)

Happy birthday!! chorused the girls, and handed me a couple of hand-drawn birthday cards.  They, at least, had gotten into the spirit of things.

Thanks, I said, reading their little crayon messages in tortured lettering: HAPPY BITHDAY JAMES, and HAVE A NISE DAY.  They’re great. I said, and meant it. 

It was art, and that always meant something to me. 

Here. said Dad.  He passed me The Present.  I’d already guessed it was going to be a new pair of school shoes.

Uh, thanks, I said as sincerely as I could, these are just what I ...

But it wasn’t a pair of shoes.  It was a pair of soccer boots.  Used soccer boots.  Sure, they’d been cleaned up and given a good shining, and the laces were new, but the boots themselves were pretty old-looking.  I looked up at dad.  He seemed really proud about something.

I picked them up, turned them over, trying to admire them, trying to think of the right thing to say about them.  Luke came in close, picked one up, and gave it a sort of professional scrutiny.  Luke, you see – he played soccer. 

These are good. he said.

Ah yes, said Dad dreamily, a good brand in their day.

I knew I needed to ask something right then.  I needed to ask the right question.  These boots were something special. Er, whose were they, Dad?

Mine, he said, proudly, I wore those till my fifteenth birthday.  'Course I had small feet for my age but that was never a problem.  In fact they reckoned it was part of my advantage.  Because I was shorter, I could turn quicker.  You’ll be the same.

"How come I didn’t get them? asked Luke.  I’d been wondering the same thing.  Dad looked sort of uncomfortable.  He sighed, ever so slightly, and told us, Remember how I had to go back to England last year and tidy up Granma’s stuff?  I’d always thought they’d been thrown out, but she’d kept them.  Found them in the back shed.  Anyway, he smiled at Luke, you, ya big clodder, you’d never have fitted them!"  Luke grinned.  His feet were a family joke.

I held the boots up, placing them together as a pair.  This was something special.  A surprise.  Better than school shoes, anyway.  I didn’t know what to say.

"Well, thanks, Dad.  Uh, yeah.  This is like... cool.  Thanks!"

WE HAD DINNER.  IT was good.  We each had a bottle of coke and a little party-glass to pour it into, and the pudding was my favorite; steamed treacle pudding with cream, and custard.  Thanks, Mum, I kept saying, thanks, this is great!  (Mind you, I’d soon cop an earful from Dad if I hadn’t said ‘thanks’ enough.)

I didn’t have to wash the dishes after tea.  Not on my birthday.  Mum did them.  I think she preferred it that way: at least they came out clean and nothing got broken.  Me and Luke sometimes took a whole hour and the water was cold soup by then.  Anyway Luke dried (flat out because Mum didn’t muck around!) then he said to me, Hey, grab your boots!  It’s seniors’ practice tonight.  They’ll have the floodlights on.  We’ll have a kick around on the B field.

Sure. I said.  (Dad was there.  I could hardly say no.)

Luke and I headed out into the dusk.  The soccer fields were about two kilometres away.  All last winter he’d biked to practice every Wednesday, and again on Saturday to meet his transport for the game.  Not my idea of fun.

Bit early for practice to start, isn’t it? I asked as we biked, our lights wavering dimly on the road